Genevieve is six months old.

"You don't say!"

She is coming right along with her baby skills; sitting up, rolling around, eating baby food, and even mayyyybe starting to sleep through the night. Now that I've admitted that she'll probably find it appropriate to punish me around 3 a.m. tomorrow morning. She has started enjoying playing on her stomach, and will even try to pull her legs up underneath herself in a sort of pre-pre-crawl way. I find this fascinating because Payne never tried to figure out how to crawl.

If it isn't already obvious, Dan took these photos for me today.


I'm developing a baby hair clip addiction...



She's a doll.

A doll that farts loudly in church.

Another exercise...

Payne at six months old:

(He wasn't bald. We buzzed his hair.)

Genevieve at (nearly) six months old:


Survey says:
A) Phone cameras have come a loooong way in three years.
B) Yep, she is bigger than he was.
c) They look almost nothing alike.
D) In recent history, my wardrobe seems to have suffered. Heh.

Ah, parenting...

I'm standing in Genevieve's room, laying awkwardly over the rail of her crib and patting her back at a precarious angle from behind, so she doesn't see my face. Knowing I was there would piss her off. I suppose dismembered limbs are plenty soothing, as long as they pat her nicely.

I hear an ominous "click" and look over to Payne's doorway. I see him peek around the door frame, poke a miniature blue light saber at me, and go "pshoo!". He is wearing cowboy boots, blue boxer briefs, and a t-shirt.

I finish patting Genevieve, hit the deck, and crawl on my hands and knees across her room (she can't see me, remember?) in order to go deal with my non napping space age ranch hand.

(sigh)

Is it just me...

or does the hair sort of look like dog ears?

And if the hair looks like ears, don't they look kind of laid back?

And if a dog's ears are laid back, it's angry...

And angry dog eared baby is clearly going in for the kill.

Heh heh heh!

Oh, it was just me?

Ok.

(kicks at dirt in sulky manner and walks slowly home)

Ta-daaaa!

I managed to get Genevieve's hair in pig tails without ripping it all out.

I think I literally broke a sweat in the process.

They're both so cute in such completely different ways. Deep thoughts...




Payne wanted in on the action, so I snapped a photo of him and it turned out awesome:

(notice the marked lack of t.v. reflection glow on his face)

which is interesting considering I looked at him directly afterwards and realized he'd stripped completely from the waist down...

Also, we're starting to get more true personality out of the girlie. She has developed a favorite toy.

It's not her purse shaped rattle, or her pink hairbrush, or her plush baby doll.

It's her brother's dump truck.

Yer damn skippy.


She pulls on the bed until it flops back, then lets go and squeals and flails her chubby arms and laughs as it flops forward again.

Kids are just...exhilarating, at times.

I'm so very lucky.

A fun little exercise.

Payne at around two months old:




Payne at three years and two months old:



The only real similarity is my consistent and blatant disregard for the safety rules associated with the Bumbo seat. Oops.

Just a few photos.

Hell froze over.

Pigs flew.

Christian Bale said something nice.


Payne actually snuggled on the couch with me.

Genevieve has started sitting up in the last couple of days:

She was between a diaper change and her bath, and yes, she peed on the floor. Heh.

I love them:

This has to be hitting a peak...

I cannot possibly need to pack any more crap in order to be away from my home for more than an hour.

I think right now we're in a sort of perfect storm of equipment necessity, given the developmental situations of both of my kids and the time of year. It can't get much worse, or my back is going to give out.

I pack:

-Diapers for Payne
-Underwear for Payne
-A change of clothes for Payne
-A jacket for Payne
-Payne's sippy cup
-Payne's provisions in the form of snacks
-Payne's potty seat (yes, I CARRY AROUND a collapsible potty seat. Gross)
-Bug spray wipe things in case we encounter mosquitoes
-At least two bibs
-A burp cloth
-Formula dispenser
-A bottle and insulated case
-At least two, ideally five, diapers for the baby
-Two changes of clothes for Genevieve
-Baby food
-Spoon
-A small blanket to lay out on the floor in public, or tuck behind her in a high chair, or use in lieu of a coat
-Baby wipes. LOTS of baby wipes.
-My wallet
-My cell phone
-My keys
-A few matchbox cars
-A baby toy
-A zip lock bag

Now, I know some of this stuff isn't completely necessary, but my bag packed full of supplies for many potential difficult situations has become a sort of security item for me. Some of my other Mom friends get by quite well with packing very little and just being creative when difficulties arise. I can't do that. I freeze under pressure. Heh. My enormous bag makes me feel safe that I can handle whatever comes up.

In fact, I take a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction in completing the packing of my bag. I huff a little sigh of self congratulation when the task is complete. I like is so much, that I get sort of irritated when I have to use it. Once I have to use a spare outfit or something, then my bag is no longer complete. I am no longer optimally prepared, dang it! This is probably my biggest waste of energy, considering the bag is usually half gutted at the end of any outing. I'm aware this makes me completely insane. Even my friends in similar life situations get a slightly concerned look on their faces when I explain my diaper bag psychosis.

I do manage to push the annoyance at the plundering of my stash aside, and enjoy letting my kids have a little fun though. I promise!

Photographic evidence:


Please overlook the apparent strangulation of our favorite snuggly swine, and focus on the fact that Payne OFFERED Piggy to Genevieve! He is so sweet to her.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better...

(sniffle)

Babies can be a little creepy too.

Remember my occasional example of Payne weirding me out a little bit? Well, Genevieve has managed to pull this off as well, as not even six months old. She must be advanced...

It's 4a.m., and I'm up giving her a bottle (no, she still doesn't sleep through the night and all efforts to influence her to do so are promptly and SOUNDLY punished). As I burp her she is relaxed like a little rag doll on my shoulder and I assume she's back asleep. Then, I feel her tiny cold hand run up my upper arm and start furiously grabbing/scratching at it. Feeling this in the dark, without seeing it especially, sort of makes one imagine there is a very large insect scrambling around on one's body. (shiver)

So yes, that was a little creepy.

And then she moved on to amusing. I avoid eye contact with her in the middle of the night, because "they" say it will help babies understand that night time is for sleeping, not playing. So I'm staring off into the distance as she flops her head around on my shoulder and chatters to herself (not a good sign that she'll be going back to sleep) and then she starts leaning her body away from me and tilting her head waaaaaay back to try and make eye contact with me. I would see this little set of eyeballs slowly come into my line of vision, sort of saying "Oh Hiiiiiii!", and then she would flop back, regroup, and try again. It sort of had the visual effect of someone jumping up and down to look in a window, their eyes making brief appearances over the edge of the sill. Let me tell you, it was incredibly hard not to chuckle or look at her. Damn charming babies....


Then she laid awake in her bed whining/talking to herself for another half hour. Not so charming at 4:30a.m. Ha.

In other news, Payne wants everyone to know that Pachyderms deserve proper safety equipment too:

Sure, it looks like a toddler seat, but actually this is a horse trailer sized carseat which has been installed in an aircraft carrier. Yep.

New Low

I own this.



I own something that actually says " The snot sucker" on the label.

I suck snot out of my child. SUCK snot.

Backing up, I heard about these when Payne was an older baby, and laughed (while gagging). Who would own one of these? That's so disgusting!

My sister sent me a link to them right before I had Genevieve. She thought they were a great idea. I told her there was no freaking way I was going to put something in my mouth that was attached to my kid's nose and actually inhale.

Then Genevieve got sick and the squeezy bulb thing was making her nose raw. Guess who promptly ran to Whole Foods (I find it hilarious that Whole Foods is the only grocery store that carries them) and paid EIGHTEEN DOLLARS for this evil little piece of plastic? Me, of course.

And guys, using it is awesome and horrifying and immensely satisfying, all at once.

However, you have my full permission to shoot me if you ever see me whip this puppy out in public. That would have to be my personal maternal rock bottom.

This morning,

I had four squatters in my bathroom while I was trying to blow dry my hair. Four.

I love how Payne is utilizing the scales here...

So I was in my underwear and Payne was following me around as I got ready. At one point I turned my back to him and he poked me with his index finger, saying "Oar butt is guishy". I'll let you come to the obvious conclusion here.

This continued "(poke) guishy (poke) guishy (poke) GUISHY!".

Maybe I don't have to worry about him ever getting married and leaving me after all. His skills with the ladies could stand to improve.

Genevieve's Happy Place.

She is totally and completely in love with the Jumperoo, as opposed to the equally strangely monikered Exersaucer, which Payne was obsessed with. Childless folks, just look it up. Heh.

This just goes to show that kids are all so different (read: we're subject to their every impulse and whim and attempts at parental influence are fruitless, which is fairly cruel considering every baby's marked lack of empathy). Payne used to get into the Jumperoo and bounce like a crazy man until he barfed, and then want out. You think I'm being hyperbolic, but I really safety pinned burp cloths over the lovely plastic-y upholstery on the thing. Genevieve will stay in there for an hour if we let her. It's highly entertaining to be a spectator during the action, because she hops from leg to leg in it in a way that is oddly reminiscent of step dancing (you know, the invisible straight jacket Irish jig thing). Sometimes it gets even better because her arms get stuck down in the seat, and she jigs away like a little leprechaun.

Oh, and that Toucan...he is on borrowed time. She reaches for him with both little clawed mitts and a look of concentration on her face that is a close cousin to blood lust. I'm going to walk into the family room one day to a baby completely covered in poly fill, holding an empty little felt carcass. (shudder)

In The Weeds.

During my very short and wildly unsuccessful stint as a waitress at The Olive Garden (the salad dressing is poured out of a giant bag! I hope they don't sue me now), I learned the food service term "In the weeds". As most of you probably already know, this means that one is overwhelmed with the amount of work they have to do and is running behind.

As a parent, I'm internally shouting "I'm in the weeds!" multiple times on a daily basis.

For example, getting out of the house. I can prep to get out of the house all day long and never actually get there. At some point I just have to give up on prepping and leave unprepared.

About 30 minutes before I want to leave, I get the baby dressed, she poops on herself, I get her dressed again, she spits up, I get her dressed for a third time. I get Payne dressed (he is always last to put on pants because of the potty training thing). Oh wait, he wants to go potty. He needs help pulling down his pants, then pulling up his pants, then washing his hands, then he plays with the light switch while I try not to yell. Then we put on shoes, after a lengthy search for the other sock that matches the gray one with the two stripes at the top. Then we have to find his cup full of milk, as to avoid another harrowing cleanup like that one time that a milk filled sippy rolled under a chair and stayed there for, oh, a few months before the pressure inside built up enough to spray the contents out onto the floor.....

Where was I? Oh right. About 15 minutes AFTER I wanted to originally leave, I realize the garbage reeks and take it out. Then I wash my hands for the 300th time in three hours. Then I put Genevieve into her car seat. She screams. Then I find out Payne has taken his shoes and socks back off. We put them back on, as I internally count to 100. Then I gather up the requisite outer garments for three people. Grab the diaper bag. Oh crap, I haven't fed the dogs yet. Drop baby, bag, and coats to feed the dogs. Payne closes the laundry room door. I open it back up and explain for the 5000th time that we need to leave it open so the dogs can eat. Genevieve is crying. I wrestle the enormous baby bucket out of the door, over the garbage cans and into the car. In the meant time Payne has run out into the front yard, to grab the hose...again. I call him to the car five times. I go retrieve him via vice grip on upper arm. I watch him slowly enter the car, stopping to turn the cabin light off...again, or pick up a toy or try to open the center console...again. I lose patience and flop him into the seat and buckle him in the manner of a cowboy during the calf roping portion of a rodeo. I realize I forgot my phone...or something, so I run back in wondering if someone will walk by my driveway and judge my mothering skills because the kids are alone in the car. I run back, hop in the car, adjust everything because odds are Dan was last driving it, and I PULL OUT OF THE DRIVEWAY. Oh My Lord. We made it!

I usually get about half of the way out of our neighborhood before I realize I really REALLY have to pee, I have no spare outfit for Genevieve, and Payne's milk is still shoved into his giant plastic piggy bank toy. Oh well, I can wait four hours or so, babies are cute naked, and I know from experience that I have about 48 hours to remember about the milk before the sippy is unsalvagable.

And...we go to TARGET! I remember when going to Target was a chore. Now, it's a victory, my friends! We got OUT of the house! We are among the living! We are observing civilization!

At least when I'm in the weeds at home my customers don't have the knowledge or understanding to ask to speak to management. And even if they did, management is still ME. Ha ha! Unfortunately, this also means I'm only paid in fatty baby leg photos...



Squee! Disembodied cuteness!

Another confession...

Sometimes I confuse my children with my pets.

Ok. Maybe I do this a lot.

In the last three and a half years, I haven't managed to stop myself from frequently saying "vet" when I mean "pediatrician".

Last night, I was feeding Evie some avocado and she had her head turned away, so I tapped on her high chair tray and started to do my "Girls come here!" whistle. Then I realized my child has neither fur nor shockingly bad breath.

Sorry kiddos. Please stop me if I ever try to hand you a sandwich bag full of kibble.

Lessons I have learned.

Today we went to library story time. I learned:



Once again, that umbrella strollers are a blessing from above. Yay for baby cages!

I also learned that Payne isn't a whole lot calmer when his partner in crime (J.P.) is absent.

As we were leaving I had to change Genevieve's diaper and re-learned that grown women will change a baby and leave human excrement on the changing table. Who ARE these people? How does this thought process work? Also, I'm assuming they're like me and have changed thirty thousand diapers in the last year. How hard can it possibly be to keep the poo largely contained? AND they are cleaning up their kid with PRE MOISTENED WIPES, how exactly do they thing these wouldn't be up to the task of wiping a smooth plastic surface clean as well. Blaaaaarg!

Sorry, rogue poop makes me angry.

Then we went to Chick Fil A and I learned that my son bears an attitude toward law enforcement mirroring that of most drug dealers.

Payne: (as I was putting his shoes back on after another unfortunate glass wall licking display) "Mama, dose bad mans!"

Me: (looks over to see a table of State Troopers) "No. They're the opposite of bad men. They're policemen. Good men!"

Payne: "Yeah. Dose good mans. Dey shoot everybody."

Me:(nervous giggle) "Oh no! They don't shoot everybody. They're good!" (runs Payne out of restaurant)

Then we went to Target and I was reminded that human beings will actually walk into a store and steal individual baby hair bows out of a package of eight, or pocket a single pair of toddler size underwear out of a three pack. Really? You just HAD to score the football print boxer briefs for your kid, but were unwilling/undeterred by the threat of potential prosecution to pay $4 for the whole package?

I am now crabby. Ha.