Another inappropriate analogy.

Genevieve keeps passing out quietly on the family room floor. I'll walk by with a load of laundry and find her on her side like this:



So, being myself, I've dubbed it "dead dog pose", and will lightly announce to Dan "She's gone dead dog again".

My future daughter and son in law are going to talk about me on the car ride home from visits, aren't they....

Oh yes we did.

Oh yes I did:

Put my daughter in teeny ugg style boots with little puppy faces on them. Note the trendy sock layering there. I win.

She was too mesmerized by the tiny countenances that had sprouted from her toes to smile.

Oh yes he did:

Throw Payne a box of cereal this morning while I was in the shower. I walked into the family room and laughed so hard. I can vividly imagine this scene playing out again in 20 years with potato chips and beer.

Dan thought I would be mad, but dude, why would I be mad? I got an uninterrupted shower!

Who's on First?

"Momma, my hurt."

"What hurts?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"No. Where does it hurt?"

"My what."

"No Payne, what isn't a body part. What hurts?"

"Yeah. What hurts."

"Huh?"

"What."

(Fights urge to slam own head into kitchen counter) Ok, point to where on your body it hurts."

"My fine Mommy."

Genevieve is 5 months old.

She is still a blabbermouth, and is really into babbling and grabbing her associate's face, which I'll admit is cute enough that I don't really mind all of the nose pinching and fish hooking.

She is starting to try to learn to sit up, but still has a ways to go.

In much more important news, her hair is now thick enough that clips stay in it fairly well. I'm so proud.

This wasn't my best photo shoot of the month:

"Diaphragm is collapsing...need support...turning purple...S.O.S.!"

"Listen, If I'm going to have to work with this idiot, I want to talk to my agent. And what the heck is this back of a sofa set we have going here? What is smeared on it? Is that chalk? Cheese? I am not C-list people. I'm walking..."

"Get that thing out of my face. You'll be hearing from my lawyers."

After a set change, she was slightly more cooperative:

"Your days are numbered Mr. Toucan Bird of Paradise Peacock thingie. My arms will only be getting longer."

Then Dan took pity on me and grabbed the camera:

"Don't worry baby sister. I've got a plan. Just lay low and smile a lot for a couple of years. They like that. Then, when they're least expecting it, the mutiny will begin."

I love this! If only Payne had been in a proper shirt, and like, wearing pants.

AND ALSO: I need to record a couple of outfits in here.

This is so insanely cute, but I bought the shirt on clearance and it is a little snug, so I'm not sure if she'll ever get to wear it again.

This was also taken when she was at her most sick with the RSV stuff. I was all "Sure, you can't really breathe, but you'll look smashing at the Pediatrician's office!". I'm so mature.

And this is a dress we bought when Payne was misidentified as female. I think I was 22 weeks pregnant or so when I bought it for him, so it's over 3 1/2 years old, and someone was finally able to wear it!

...and then I realized that I put it on her backwards. Three years of study and I put it on wrong. I'm terribly perceptive. Heh heh.

Christmas odds and ends.

A) Payne is obsessed with the beginning of the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. He asks to "see the wats (rats)" constantly.

Last night, at Christmas Eve mass, he kept making the dreaded poop face and I kept running him to the back to wait in line for the restroom, sweat under pressure as he played with the t.p. and made a leisurely game out of washing his hands, and running after him back to our seat with his cowboy boots in my hand because I didn't want to make any 4 year old girls pee in their black patent shoes because they were waiting on my pokey three year old.

So, after the poop face made another appearance I ran him back there, waited in line, put him on the toilet and promised him The Rats if he would go. Voila! Job done. Then I sweated as he made a leisurely game out of washing his hands, and ran after him back to our seat with his cowboy boots in my hand.

B) We've been telling Payne about Christmas being Jesus's Birthday. This morning, as the boy crouched before the presents under the tree like a wee cat of prey, ready to spring, Dan quizzed him about this idea one more time:

Dan: "Payne, who's birthday is it?"

Payne: "Presents!"

Dan: "Is today Jesus's birthday?"

Payne: "Yeah! Jeedis birday!"

Dan: "Let's sing Happy Birthday to Jesus!"

Payne: (wild desperate look appears in his eyes, which have yet to leave the area beneath the tree) "Dis one mine, and dis one mine, and dis one Gen-veev's, and dis one mine, and dis one Daddy's, and dis one mine..."

Dan and I: "Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You...."

Payne: (kicks at air vaguely near Dan and I)

Dan: (captures Payne and bear hugs him in his lap for the duration of the song) "Happy Birthday to Youuuuu."

Payne: (claps) "Dis one mine!"

C) We all currently have colds, and Genevieve (who has RSV) has been prescribed a breathing treatment regimen involving a nebulizer, in order to make sure her lungs stay clear. The thing makes medicated mist come out of an oxygen mask. I kid you not, when I put that thing on her she either screams, or closes her eyes, coos, and starts sticking her tongue in and out slowly. Weirdo.

D) I had Genevieve all dolled up for Christmas. She was wearing a little gingerbread themed tunic, onesie, and jeggings (Yes. Jeggings.). We showed up at the house of my parents in law, took a couple of pictures, and she very unceremoniously pooped herself in a forceful manner, thus befouling the outfit.

I gues we now know her opinons regarding the appropriate uses of stretch denim.

Payne's new favorite word.

Poop.

I think potty training has created a higher awareness of the concept, but how does he know that poop is funny? It's not like I'm allowing him to screen new episodes of South Park...

Today, at the mall, he took Genevieve's bow out of her hair. I asked him if it was his, he said no. I asked him if it was mine, he said no. I asked him if it was Genevieve's, he said no. I asked "Well, who's is it?"; he responded in a gleeful shriek "Stinky poop's! Haaaaa ha ha ha!".

Why is poop so damn funny to all males? Is this another collective memory thing, like the enjoyment of Kung Fu movies and the ability to repeat baseball stats?

I have another possible explanation regarding the frequency with which this word is now uttered around my household. He just likes to hear himself say it, or he is enjoying the power the word now possesses since he is in the process of potty training. To be more direct; Payne enjoys saying the word and watching my head snap up in the manner of a buck that just heard a twig snap in the forest during peak hunting season.

My dog is sabotaging me.

Genevieve is a lighter sleeper. I tried to break her of this, but I failed. The other night I accidentally woke her up from her bed while putting Payne's toys away in the family room (damn you clattery megablocks!). Therefore, I nearly close her door during her naps.

SOME DOG (probably Ethel) keeps nudging the door wide open. I'm assuming Ethel goes in there to "check on her", since she has the misguided notion that she needs to help me care for my children. How she is checking on her I don't know, since G is three feet off the ground and Ethel is approximately 8 inches tall. OR perhaps, Ethel judges my parenting choices and firmly feels that her door should be open.

Anyway, I want her to STOP IT.

Also, while getting ready for bed the other night I saw this:


Do you see it?

Here:

I want to know how he got it in there without breaking something or hurting himself.

EVERYONE STOP MESSING WITH MY STUFF! Harumph.

Baby Outfit of the Day

Denim baby jumper! (hugs self in glee)



HOWEVER, I kind of feel like she looks a little like a Fundie Baby.

What it that, you say? Well, first off, I'm probably being a little offensive with the title. Heh. I'm referencing certain religious conservatives that believe in women dressing modestly (nothing wrong with that!). I've picked up through observation that a popular move with these folks is to layer a full coverage shirt under a low cut or strappy top. Genevieve, with the summer dress over a long sleeve t-shirt, kinda looks like she'd fit right in with the Duggar clan.

Heeeeeey! All she'd have to do is change her name to Jenevieve! It's a match made in heaven.

And just because I like it:

They were looking at each other and cracking up while lounging on the floor. Yay for the first signs of a sibling relationship!

Houston, we have a roller!

I consider that phrase not entirely overdone and obnoxious because I actually live in Houston.

(sniff)

Moving on, Genevieve rolled from back to belly today! This:

was captured mere moments after the first roll (which I missed because I was in the, uh, bathroom) and directly after the second roll. Therefore, the outfit, hairdo, backdrop, of the momentous occasion have been preserved for all eternity. This, my friends, is Mommy journalism at its finest!

Things played out precisely as I expected they would. Tonight I will be playing the part of Genevieve.

(stretches neck by rolling head around shoulders, shakes out arms, clears throat)

"Uuuuuungh! Uuuuuuungh!"

(flop)

"Oh hey! Look at that! I'm on my stomach now!"

"Doo dee doo dee doo. Man, my neck is getting tired, and this four square inches of quilt is getting a little boring to stare at."

"Guys....Hey guys?"

"Hello? Dude! Come get me!"

"HELLO! Idiots...."

"DUDE! COME GET ME!"

"EFF YOU GUYS! EFF THIS HOUSE! EFF THIS STUPID TOY! EFF THIS STUPID DOG WHO WON'T QUIT LICKING MY FOOT! COME GET ME NOW!"

"MY LIFE IS OVEEEEEEER! I HATE YOU ALLLLLLL! WHY WAS I EVER BORNNNNNN! EFF YOU GUYSSSSSSSS!

(giant hand rolls baby over onto back)

"Oh! Cool."

"Unnnngh. Unnnngh."

(flop)

"Oh hey! Look at that! I'm on my stomach now."...

I have only myself to blame.

The things I try to do on my own with both of my kids in tow...sometimes I KNOW before I even start that I've developed a stupid plan for the day, but that doesn't ordinarily stop me. Heh. A compounding factor on the weekends is the frequent absence of my husband, which isn't his fault. He is gone for work about half the time. It's just the nature of his job. I would love to suspend all interesting activities until he's available to join us, but with the reality of the situation that would make me a pretty dull person. I choose to just carry on. We miss him very much, but missing him while holed up at home just makes us all cranky as well as lonely.

Today was a morning where I just shook my head at me. I wanted to go to church, then lunch, then the grocery store. Church went as well as can be expected. Genevieve was an angel, save for pooping twice, which necessitated I drag myself and Payne and her into the church bathroom. At least at church no one steals your seat in your absence! The most stressful part of the bathroom endeavor is trying to keep Payne from touching stuff or opening the door. When I found myself getting flustered I just popped him up on the changing counter; which is at a height that strands him, feet-a-dangling (evil cackle). Aside from that church wasn't so bad. We only had one moment where I was essentially wrestling him still as he pulled my hair. I neutralized the struggle by threatening not to let him watch his new movie this afternoon (yet another evil cackle). This is not to say that we weren't a lively and entertaining trio for the rest of the churchgoers. It's kind of a rule at this point that we fill that role. People cackled as Payne shoved his toys down my shirt while I had both hands occupied feeding the baby a bottle, and as he drove his toy truck up and down the stained glass, and as he kept stumbling into others and chirping "Sorr-ee!".

After church got out I wanted pancakes, so we went to IHOP. Yes, I voluntarily went to IHOP during normal "after church" hours on a Sunday. I'm an idiot. Genevieve was again a doll. She's just having a good day today, which is fortunate considering my poor planning skills. Heh. Payne entertained our fellow inhabitants of pancake purgatory with rolling about on the floor and the like for about 20 minutes. All in all, it wasn't so very horrible of a meal, it was just the end that was rough, with a syrup spattered Payne harassing the people in the booth behind him while Genevieve screamed and I did that oh so subtle "give me the damn check" move with my exposed credit card. Payne wanted to carry his own to-go box (naturally he was only interested in the sausage on my plate, instead of the pancakes, eggs, and bacon on his own), so I carefully instructed him in the art of carrying the box, complete with an in-restaurant demonstration. Of course, as soon as I turned my back to him he ran off holding the box hinge like a strap and swinging it. Thank God for the frictional properties of Styrofoam, or the brunch lovers of suburbia would have been thoroughly spattered with a soggy, sticky souvenir of their meal. Of course, this just about gave me a heart attack as I valiantly struggled to free the car seat bucket from the vice grip of a vinyl upholstered booth in order to chase after him and wrest free the offending box.

We didn't make it to the grocery store. I may just pour 35 individual creamer cups into Payne's sippy in the morning in lieu of milk. I'm not being gross, folks. I'm being resourceful.

Just so we have a picture in this post, here's Genevieve's Baby Outfit of the Day. Yeah. I love baby tights.

I missed this one.

In the car on the way to lunch, my Mom said to Payne "You have pretty eyes. Did you know that?"

His response: "Yeah. You have pretty glasses."

I changed my mind.

I decided it was ok to show this picture because he's wearing more clothes than he does when swimming. Right? Right.

(makes mental note to research local child psychologists)

HOW AWESOME is it that they make boxer briefs in a 2T? Yes, he's three, but he is lacking in the bum department.

(underscores and bolds mental note about the psychologists)

Payne is taking to potty training very well. Rachel is having daily "OMG what if he peed right this second while I'm alone with both of them and we're in the middle of Target?" type freak outs. So yeah, he's practically training me at this point.

OH! And you see his knock knees? I love them, but they're a hilarious reminder to me that we parents rarely know what the eff we're doing/talking about. When Payne was little I always sort of smirked at all of the goofy looking bow-legged babies. I thought they looked funny and Payne was much cuter with his perfectly straight little legs. Then all of the bow-legged babies got a year older and suddenly had straight legs, while Payne went knock kneed. I was intensly humbled. Ha!

I've been remiss

I've posted very few photos of Payne lately. However, he's spending 80% of his time in a t-shirt and Thomas the Train themed skivvies these days, so I'm not entirely comfortable putting him out there all Risky Business.

Yesterday evening Payne was in one of his post nap precarious emotional states. He first had a melt down about not wanting to wear pants, or maybe it was wanting to wear them? Who knows. Either way, there was a breakdown. He seemed to cheer a little when he decided he was going to pick out Genevieve's "wainbow".

Then he came out with this one:

Why hello there, Minnie.

I tried to convince him something a little smaller might be appropriate, but if my hands inched towards Genevieve's noggin to remove the offending accessory, Payne's face would screw up, his mouth would begin to contort in protest, and that dreaded tea kettle whistle that precedes a wail would start to make an appearance.

So I told myself "Rachel, it's not worth it." and left the wardrobe tragedy be. As I stepped back to accept defeat, Payne huffed in a satisified manner "Dere. Now her a guhl (girl)."

Well, I never.

I'm not sure if this is juvenile or if it actually ages me.

Perhaps it's both.

"NONE...SHALL...PASS! "

Heh heh.

Heh heh heh.

(snort)

(chuckle)

Awesome.

Genevieve is four months old!

These were taken today. I actually got the timing right! (fist pump)

...and yes, those are itty bitty sheep print leggings. Don't be jealous!

In the last month she has become a huge chatterbox. She babbles and sings constantly. If you ask Payne what Genevieve is saying he'll answer "Awa", which is largely accurate. Heh.

She is SO CLOSE to rolling over in both directions, but she gets her shoulder stuck under herself and can't quite get the oomph to finish the maneuver.

"Unnnngh!"

Blogger flipped this image and I don't have the inclination to take the 15 steps to fix it. Arg.

Every now and then I get the giggles thinking about the fact that the most dexterous part of a baby is their mouth. It's hilarious to watch their limbs jerk around all uncoordinated while their lips do a full variety act of crazy and intricate wiggling.

A little of this and that.

Genevieve is using the actual seat in the stroller now. Big day!

(Yes, her bib is for a boy, but the girl bibs were largely obnoxious; and she's Daddy's buddy too, damnit.)

She seems to like it. I feel a little weird with her strapped into the front of the land yaght stroller, like a floppy little baby figurehead. She just sort of dangles from the harness, but appears to be really comfy and is much more content that way. I must say it's improved my "driving", since the first thing to hit the door frame/clothes rack/pedestrian is the wee one's feet.

Payne got a dress up box for his birthday, so we're going to play a little game!

Guess that costume!



Silver gum drop? Nope, my brother in law already threw that one out and was corrected.

Robot hula dancer? Newp.

Unfortunate but employed corner flyer distributor? Uh uh.

He's a "wocket sip", of course.

Maybe you'll have better luck with this one:

A dragon you say? Well, you'd be wrong!

This, my friends, according to the manufacturers is a "Tyrannosaurus".

(Pauses)

(Tilts head)

(References Vertebrate Paleontology textbook)

Um...nice wings Mr. Rex. It's amazing no one ever noticed those (or the horns) amongst your various fossil specimens.

Fortunately Payne can't read, so he's just stuck to being a "Gwagon".

Ha!

Payne: "Where's Daddy?"

Me: " I don't know. Can you find him?"

Payne: (brings finger up to chin thoughtfully) "Hmmm. Maybe d'eres supping wong."

Another day:

(Payne blows his nose into his hands and then rubs his hands all over his face)

Me: "I have never once in my life seen another human being do that Payne."

Payne: "No guys! My do it all duh time!"

Photos of note.

Today was Payne's 3rd birthday! :


The candles were extinquished with minimal spit spray. Go Payne!

Today was also Genevieve's 1st Thanksgiving!:




She likes turkey:



The far and away winner of the "best birthday gift" contest:

The boots, not the diaper.

And finally:

How? And more importantly, why?

Perspective.

Today was educational in a way.

A good single friend of mine came into town for the weekend and I really wanted to see her. We planned to meet for lunch on Saturday, but she didn't get into town until 12:30. I was all "Twelve thirty! People eat lunch that late?!". Heh heh. I couldn't do that with the kiddos, so she came by in the afternoon instead and we chatted a bit, but the kids napped through a good bit of her visit.

On Sunday I let her know to tell me if she had any lunch plans. By 11:00 (soooo late. Ha!) I decided she must not and I took Payne to McDonald's. She called while I was at McDonald's about lunch, so I scarfed my food and drove to meet her at a gigantic local mall where I could at least visit with her during her own lunch.

I remembered halfway there that I didn't have the stroller. Hmmm. Instead, I strapped Genevieve into the Baby Bjorn (a very hip look) and trekked through the mall as Payne alternately jogged alarmingly ahead of me or lagged behind in my blind spot. We found her and I discover we're meeting a couple other people. Cool!

Other person #1 shows up and she is very nicely put together, and I come to find out a medical professional. My friend is a prosthetician (cool, right?). I, on the other hand, have baby legs dangling from my midriff.

We sit down at the restaurant and Other Person #1 asks me what my job is. I answer with "I don't work". I'm met with silence. In all reality, I guess that's sort of a "getting to know you" chit chat killer, especially when said while connecting another person to one's chest underneath a veritable tent with a dahlia print. Oops.

Other Person #2 shows up and is a very nice young professional male. The three proceed to chat about their jobs, the cool places in town to go eat, how my friend's date the night before went, etc... All I can come up with as far as conversation goes is how my baby woke up screaming the night before but calmed down after she farted.

So it was a little eye opening for me. I felt a little, I don't know, dowdy? These people were all extremely nice and my friend is great with my children, but at the moment I'm in an entirely different world than they are. I'll admit I'm jealous of their freedom. My friend went out to a nice dinner and a bar for drinks last night and I watched Blue's Clues.

For the rest of the time I was with them (sacrificing ideal small kid nap time, and sweating that I'd pay for my gamble all afternoon instead of enjoying the company) I listened and contributed where I could, as I caught endangered cups of juice and dug through my enormous bag in search of forms of amusement for an almost three year old. Then I changed two diapers and took my leave.

I feel decidedly un-cool this evening. (sigh)

Addiction.

"My Precioussss."

Homeboy loves popcorn. This isn't new knowledge. However, it wasn't until today that I found how deeply and intensely this passion for popcorn runs.

We went to the zoo with my parents today. Payne wanted a snack and I was hungry too, so I suggested to him that we get a tube o' popcorn. This suggestion was greeted with much enthusiasm and he ripped into the starchy cylinder with gusto.

Then my Mom and I tried to get some. Payne was reluctant. In fact, I'd say he was downright pissed. My Mother promised him that if we ran out of popcorn we would get some more. His iron grip on the top of the popcorn bag relaxed a touch. We were allowed to get handfuls out of the bag with merely a moderately concerned look from its guard.

Payne spent the next hour shoving disturbingly large handfuls of the stuff into his mouth. He probably ate half of the bag pictured by himself. I was relieved when it was finally gone.

Then we passed the popcorn stand again. He remembered our promise.

I re-promised (spectacular parenting here!) that we would get some as we left, and he was calmed.

Then when we went to leave we tried to find some 'corns, as he calls them, but found out they're only sold at that one stand. Payne's eyes widened in sorrow, he tucked his chin, there was a hint of a lip quiver,...and then my Dad was trotting back to the middle of the zoo as the rest of us waited outside.

When the popcorn had been presented, Payne was overjoyed. This involved some maniacal laughing. I allowed him to shove a couple handfuls into his mouth and then put the rest away for "after lunch".

After lunch, a couple more handfuls, then it was put away for "after the train ride".

During the train ride I had to wrestle the bag away from him and "lock" it closed with a hair tie. He was displeased with me and pouted. I told him he could have more after his nap.

He fell asleep in the car on the way home. As my father was lifting him from his car seat Payne awoke slightly and softly whimpered "Pop corns?".

Seriously?

I gave him a Tupperware bowl full of the stuff after his nap. He finished it all and ate a full dinner.

All in all. I'm betting he ate a whole tube o' corns by himself today. I had to put chap stick on him before bed because his lips were red and irritated from all of the salt. My kid injured himself with food.

Things I'm fairly certain my child would eat until he barfed:
- Macaroni and cheese from a box
- Popcorn

Finis.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I have a glass licker.

I'd honestly hoped that this behavior was a fluke...that had "fluked" several times. Today, at incidence number four-ish I had to admit that my kid enjoys licking glass in public places.

Let me set the stage for this little story. Chick Fil A (i.e. Mecca of stay at home moms) has an indoor play area that is completely closed in. This includes one glass wall intended to allow parents to supervise play. It's not unlike a little kid ant farm. There are booths lined up along this glass wall on the outside, and usually a bench or two lined up along it within the play area. This allows children to climb up on the benches and be eye level with those dining in the booths, with only a pane of glass between them. It's like the chimp viewing area at the zoo, with shockingly similar behavior to be observed.

My beloved son enjoys climbing up on a bench, making eye contact with those seated at the opposing booth, and repeatedly licking the glass. He will continue to lick until I notice and he is dragged off of the bench, leaving a drool trail in his wake. Payne is a charmer, let me tell you. I wish I had a photo, but I haven't taken the time to preserve this joyous little moment for obvious reasons.

Now, the really entertaining part in all of this is the vast range of reactions he receives. When a pair of stay at home mothers in the middle of an animated conversation were the recipients of this little visual treat, they glanced over, barely smirked, and continued as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I fell in love with them just a little bit for this. On the opposite end of the spectrum was the woman who gasped and promptly adopted a look of such disgust that I was sure she was about to vomit into her fry carton. Today we simply received hysterical laughter, for which I was grateful.

Let's add "If you lick the glass again, we're going home." to the list of things I never though I'd utter aloud, right alongside "We do not blow our nose at people".

I'm assuming cocktails are frowned upon at 2 p.m.?

Oh Lord.

We need to get this child some cowboy boots.

After he clicked out of my bedroom like this, I went and put a knob cover on our closet door. Not because I'm concerned about his appreciation of a good heel, but because I'm beyond sick of putting six scattered pairs of my shoes back in their rightful place every evening!

Poor Second Children.

First time parents are both neurotic and incredibly smug. If one is going to spend countless hours freaking out about being in charge of keeping a completely helpless little blob of person alive, one at least requires the pay off of a decided sense of superiority among fellow parents.

"Oh, I don't let my 15 month old watch T.V. He doesn't even know what Sesame Street is!" (Parent who spent 45 minutes earlier in the day installing coffee table corner bumpers, and who may or may not have caregiving induced IBS, puffs out chest in pride.)

When the second child comes along (and this is as far as my personal life experience has taken me) things become far more focused on survival. A good day ends with both children in bed, still breathing. That's it. "Both kids have a pulse eh? I'm breaking out the bubbly!".

Therefore, the poor second child doesn't experience the same level of developmentally appropriate insulation in the early days. When Payne was a baby, he didn't know what a cartoon was.

Now:


Yeah...

And the hilarious part is that I get frustrated that it doesn't distract her like it distracts her brother. With a three month old Payne I was all "Here! Look at this rattle I'm shaking instead of watching the news!" and now with Genevieve it's more like "WHY WON'T ELMO MAKE YOU STOP CRYING!?".

This attitude goes for toys as well. Payne had almost no noisy toys, and we didn't put batteries in anything that lit up etc... Now we've stuffed them into every single baby toy we can. Everything lights up or makes noises, and she loves it. If a backflipping light up duckie that screams "Camptown Races" in falsetto buys me an extra five minutes while cooking dinner, I'll buy AAs in bulk...and wear ear muffs.

Children are humbling, that much I have learned!

T-Rex arms and another chapter in The Life and Times of Piggi(es).

Babies are not dissimilar to dachshunds.

I don't mean that in the kibble eating, incessant barking sort of way, but more in the "hilariously disproportionate" sense. I've never had a stronger urge to laugh at an inappropriate time than when viewing an x-ray of Stella after a back injury. I have similar (although less offensive) urges to laugh when babies stretch, extending their arms over their head.

Exhibit A:


What's so funny about this, you say? Well, take your own arm, extend it, and bring it up to rest against the side of your head. Note the position of your hand. Now, look where Genevieve's hand is resting, with a fully extended arm.

Heh heh heh heh heh! WHY did I not think to dress her as a T-Rex for Halloween?

In other news, meet the twins:


Piggi and Piggy? Hell, I don't know. They're both "Kiggy" to Payne.

Piggy has had a stunt double for quite awhile (acquired with considerable effort and expense after Piggy was discontinued) but the gig was up fairly early in the charade, and now Payne keeps both of them in his room.

The twins were wearing matching onesies, thanks to a generous donation from Genevieve, but Payne decided they were dirty and needed a bath. Desperate to avoid water logged swine, I created a Pig tub out of an overturned plastic stool, which I placed in the bathroom while Payne himself was getting a scrub.

Payne's hair was washed, the pigs hair had to be washed. Payne's back was scrubbed, the twins backs were to be scrubbed. In similar fashion their "teeth" were brushed and I was very specifically instructed to "get deir butt" while drying with Payne's snake themed hoodie towel.

After their bath some "Kajamas" had to be procured (again, a shout out to Baby Sister is in order), and bottles provided. During their feeding I took one and Payne took the other. Team work is imperative when caring for multiples, especially in the early days.

After some snuggles:

"The Girls" were tucked in under a rocket ship themed comforter, and got a head start on some shut eye before being joined by their most devoted caretaker.

I want to tell Payne that co sleeping might lead to some behavior issues in the future, but I'm really trying not to overstep my bounds here. (sigh)

Public humiliation edition 7,653:

We were having an exciting time in Samsclub this afternoon. I was consulting my list when Payne grabbed it from me, glanced at it in a purposefull fashion and said "Dr. Pooper".

I asked "You mean Dr. Pepper?" (which wasn't on the list)

Payne: "NO! Dr. Pooper!"

Me: "Dr. PEPPER."

Payne: (gleefully throughout the rest of the trip) "DR. POOPER DR. POOPER DR. POOPER!"

Around the house.

Guess who helped select the toys for the bumbo chair?


It's so SQUISHY!


He can get in and out of it himself. Heh heh.

Bed Head

I suppose every moment of every day involves bed head when you're an infant.

I do think my kid sort of takes the cake on the concept though:

What do you think we've got there? Like an inch of scalp to tips clearance?

Haaaaa ha ha!:

I should retire "Beaker" and start calling her "Sonic".

Payne helped me put this old toy together. He will use any excuse to get the "skoowiber" out of the junk drawer that he is expressly prohibited from sifting through. After Evie was in the rotating bouncer/hammock thingie he went around the perimeter of it and pretended to tighten all of the visible screws.

The victor brandishes his trophy:

Contrary to the present optical illusion, the baby does indeed possess a torso.

Accessories.

What could be better than naked FattyFattersonMcFattypants legs terminated by itty bitty stripey socks?:


FattyFattersonMcFattypants legs covered in tights with horizontal stripes; that's what:

(Payne calls these "Gen-vive's wainbows".)

And what could be better than both?

Warning: Continuing to peruse could result in cute induced spontaneous head combustion...

A BABY IN A SWEATER BEANIE WITH POM POM EARS; THAT'S WHAT:

Baby Gap had my number as usual. Damn.

The Pumpkin Patch

We decided to revisit a pumpkin patch in town that we'd discovered the year before with our friends.

We decided to go at noon the day before Halloween.


Payne and J.P. on the very exciting wagon ride...nearly comatose.

Skipping naps might not have been my best decision ever.

Once we got out to the Pumpkin field another error in judgement was revealed. So far I thought we'd gotten away with a late visit. The crowds were bearable, which was surprising. However, the pumpkins were...aging.

They do not age gracefully. They age fragrantly.

"Hey Ma. What am I supposed to do in a field full of rotting pumpkins?"


"I shall kick them!"


"Oh look J.P. ! Garbage! Let's play with it!"


"Now we shall roll pumpkins with vigour!"


What wasn't caught on film, was Payne stepping in a pumpkin puddle and covering his sneaker in pumpkin goop. Goop which made my car smell like decaying gourd the whole 45 minute ride home.

I picture J.P. celebrating here:

"Hurrah! We get to go home!"

Sooooo it wasn't an ideal trip, but we did find a good pumpkin and I think the boys had fun between bouts of exhaustion induced hysteria.

This is what Dan turned our pumpkin into:

Because he's just that awesome.