Saturday, December 31, 2011
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....
Friday, December 30, 2011
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:
Thursday, December 29, 2011
"No. Where does it hurt?"
"No Payne, what isn't a body part. What hurts?"
"Yeah. What hurts."
(Fights urge to slam own head into kitchen counter) Ok, point to where on your body it hurts."
"My fine Mommy."
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:
After a set change, she was slightly more cooperative:
Then Dan took pity on me and grabbed the camera:
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!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
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?"
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.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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.
Monday, December 19, 2011
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?
I want to know how he got it in there without breaking something or hurting himself.
EVERYONE STOP MESSING WITH MY STUFF! Harumph.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
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:
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
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)
"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."
"Hello? Dude! Come get me!"
"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 hey! Look at that! I'm on my stomach now."...
Sunday, December 11, 2011
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.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
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!
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.