Yes, the only photos of my kids and I are the ones I take with my own long, shaky arms

This must be documented, and since I quit writing in Sam's baby book before he was even born, I guess this is the place to do it. Ahem. Drumroll please......... Sam is starting to talk.

**cue happy dances and squeals of joy from me**

I mentioned before (in this ugly post) that Sam had a speech delay and that it was really affecting us all and how I wish he'd just come out and say SOMETHING. ANYTHING. I mean, I knew he'd talk eventually; he is a classic case of I'll Do It When I'm Good And Ready if I ever saw one. He didn't crawl til ten months and didn't walk until fifteen months. People would tell me to "hurry up and teach that baby to move!" and I would look at them like they'd lost their minds. (Why would I want him to become mobile? So I'll never get the chance to shower or eat a hot meal ever again? Noooooo thank you!) He'll do it when he's good and ready. And he did. But the speech delay concerned me. He never babbled or cooed as a baby and the milestones he was "supposed" to be hitting were nowhere to be found. Since he had no way of communicating with us, I was beginning to wonder if there was something else going on. My mind went to dark places about what could possibly be "wrong" with him. It became harder and harder for me to just wait it out and let him reach this milestone in his own sweet time. (Trust me when I say that being on Sam's time is a lesson in patience. This is a child who takes a solid five minutes to eat a single chocolate chip...)

So after doing some "therapy" (we have since stopped because "we're sooooo busy with the new baby!" cough, cough) and realizing that there was nothing going on with him besides just not wanting to talk, I settled back into the mindset of letting him do it when he is ready. I never stopped constantly talking TO him obviously. I've been narrating my days to him for so long that I might just forget what I'm doing if I don't talk about it first. I do believe that the therapist is correct in suggesting I flood him with language. I knew that one day he would direct some words back at me. And it finally happened.

Now I've read other mommy blogs where they document their toddler's words and it looks something like this:

goo-goo: that means he wants his bottle!
bop-bop: that means "I love you Mommy!"
bee-bee: that means he wants his truck
bah-boo: that's his word for nap
And he can recite the entire alphabet backwards in French! (kidding) (sort of)

And so on.

After reading posts like these, I started wondering if I just wasn't paying enough attention to the weird jibber jabber that Sam was spouting off. How am I supposed to intuitively KNOW what words he's trying to say to me? Especially when they sound nothing like actual words? Use some CONSONANTS son; Mommy is no mind reader.

For comparison's sake, my word post would look something like this:

Sam: oqweuhnsdnveourhrwiermlwlqyalzbgjsei
Me: ???

Looking back, I think that all of the vowel-loaded "talking" was just his way of flexing his vocal cords. He never said much, but when he did, it was solely vowels and different inflections of those vowels. And like a good mom, I always responded. But since I had no friggin' clue what he was getting at, I would just enthusiastically answer, "Yeah?" or "Yeah!"

So it's no wonder that his first word is "yeah!" Crap. Mommy fail.

It is fun to talk to him when he gets on one of his "yeah" streaks though.

Is the sky blue?
Yeah!
Was dinner yummy?
Yeah!
Is Mommy the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?
Yeah!
Do you wanna go to bed early?
Yeah!
Stay small forever, ok?
Yeah!

And that's about as far as he got for a while. Some "yeah's" here and there. He would also try to copy our inflections when we said certain things. I can't really convey that through the written word here, but you can just imagine me saying little phrases in a sing-song voice and Sam would copy the inflection with vowels instead.

The other day I was feeding Molly by the front window and saw Steve pull up. And as if I was Ed McMahon saying, "Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!" I said, "Therrrrrrrre's Daddy!" And whaddaya know. Sam said, "Derrrrrrr Da-da!" AHA! Am not a total mom-failure after all! I recognize him saying something! And it MAKES SENSE. Who gives a flying fart if he was just copying me?! This is PROGRESS, people.

The other day when I was strapping him into his carseat, I was talking about chicken (we were on our way to lunch). I must have said the word "chicken" a hundred times while buckling him in. And as I was shutting his door, I heard "shicken" mumbled.
I opened the door and encouraged him to repeat it.

"Chicken chicken chicken chicken chicken! Say it again Sam!"
"Yeah? Yeah? Yeah?"
"No, say what you said a minute ago! Chicken! Chicken chicken chicken! Do you want to have some chicken?"
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"
<bangs head against steering wheel>

As with most things, it's got to be HIS idea to do it. He wants to say things on HIS time, not mine. He does babble a lot more these days though, and it makes me so happy to hear, even though I have no friggin' clue what he's jabbering about.

"Dee dee gee-yo dough dough."
"Yep, we're going to the store."

"Dee dee gee-yo dough dough."
"You're right! Mommy's making dinner!"

"Dee dee gee-yo dough dough."
"Whoa, those horses are, um, hugging!"

"Dee dee gee-yo dough dough."
"I'm going to assume that's poop, not chocolate." (Can almost ALWAYS assume it's poop because I hide the chocolate reeeeeel well.)

And so my friends, that is my gushing mom moment of the day/week/month. My baby is beginning to talk. Granted he's still not really saying anything, but the effort is there and it feels like it's only a matter of time before he'll be saying some legit words and phrases without my constant coaching.

Call me crazy, but getting good deals makes for a grrrrrreat weekend around here

We don't tend to have very exciting weekends. Unlike Kate, whose weekends consist of wineries and beaches and date nights to fun places, all while dressed with impeccable style. And while this weekend STILL does not rival wineries and beaches and date nights, it was, by our low standards, exciting. (Y'all know I was wearing my yoga pants the whole time, right?)

Friday afternoon was my Christmas. I found a piano on craigslist, got the price down to where I wanted it (aka super, ridiculously cheap), and arranged to pick it up. This.... was no easy task. It's not like we could just lift it over our heads and stick it in the back of Steve's truck. So we rented a small U-Haul truck with a ramp (and a dolly- that bit of genius (or is that better classified as "common sense"?) was all me) so that we (and by "we" I obviously mean "the men") could lift it onto the dolly and roll it up into the truck. And it went quite smoothly. Until we got home and realized that all of our big, strong neighbor-men weren't home to help us unload it. I HAD FUDGE INCENTIVES AND EVERYTHING. Rats. As I was attempting to help Steve lift up one end (oh AHAHAHAHA it only weighs 9,000 lbs), our attached neighbors pulled up and asked if we were moving. With that tiny little truck. Yes, we're going to move one room at a time. (Funny side story: One of our neighbors moved everything out of his entire house with his MINIVAN. It took him WEEKS, but I'm assuming he was just taking everything to a storage unit somewhere. I thought it was comical to watch him load that thing down. He even pulled up the pavers in his backyard and loaded each individual brick in there.) So luckily our neighbor helped Steve get it inside. It needs a good tuning, but is otherwise in pretty decent shape. The folks we bought it from are Army as well, and it's been moved around quite a bit, so it's showing some wear on the wood. Not that I mind. (You've all seen my house! I like beat up, secondhand things!)

But since I got it so cheap, I'm thinking about doing this to it.

I know at least half of you (probably more) are like, "GACK! Don't paint a piano! That's so TACKY!" But please refer back to my house tour- there are approximately 9 kajillion pieces of furniture that we own now that are wooden. It's just SO MUCH WOOD. And wood is not very bright. Besides a love of solid wood furniture, I hope the other takeaway from my house tour was that I like bright colors. So this makes sense to me. And if it gets beat up post-paint-job (during a move or by an unruly child), I can either touch it up or leave it alone and call it "shabby chic." All of that to say, you're probably not gonna talk me out of this one.

Back to the story here though. Since all of the picking up and moving and dropping off and returning took us right up to 8:30pm, we came straight home and threw Sam in bed (gently, of course), fed Molly again, and ate dinner before crashing into bed ourselves. To say that I was feeling like a kid on Christmas morning the next day would be an understatement. It felt SO GOOD to play again. And I'm so thankful to Steve for giving up his Friday night to do all of that for me. Now as his repayment, I need to learn "Eye of the Tiger." Anyone know where I can find the sheet music for that?

*****

Saturday morning, Steve left EARLY (like, crack o' dawn early) to head down to Auburn. He went there to buy the truck of his dreams. (Why drive to Auburn when you could buy it here in town, you ask? A $10k price difference and a fair trade-in value, that's why.)

This means that he had to part with his trusty Colorado. He's had that truck since I first met him; he used to drive me to class and on dates and to the park and he hid my engagement ring from me under the back seat. So I was a little sad to see it go. (I mean, not so sad that I shed a tear or anything, but sentimental value, right? Unfortunately that does not outweigh real-world dollar value.) His old truck was still running fine but it had this "back seat" made for people with no kneecaps. So TINY. There was no way we were fitting any carseats back there. (And that, my friends, is when you know when the times are a-changin'- when you buy a vehicle based on how the carseats will fit inside. <SIGH>)
Let's have a quick photo recap of some fun times with the Colorado.

The Great Auburn Blizzard of 2008. We had just started dating. And yes, we both lived in trailer parks during college. Laugh it up.

After we got married, we upgraded to a "reel niiice" trailer park. I swear, it really was nice. All college kids, all newer trailers. It was nice. Honest. I bet everyone who lives in a trailer park tells you it's a "reel niiice" trailer park and you probably don't believe me. Just trust me though, it ranks among the classier trailer parks you've seen.

Getting ready to head home after a trip to the park. It was actually another trailer park down the road. Probably the NICEST trailer park in the history of trailer parks. We couldn't afford to live there. But we drove there like we were high-falutin' folks and let our dogs swim in their ponds and run around their fields. My classy points are headed down the toilet, aren't they? Wait, did I even have any after I mentioned the first trailer park?

While I have no photographic evidence of it, the Colorado did make the trip to VA (where we REALLY upgraded to an apartment), then to PA (to transfer all of our belongings to a different truck), then down to TN (where we lived in our first real, attached-to-the-ground-but-only-by-cinderblocks house). We thought this was our last move for a few years...

... but then we moved on-post (to a house that is TRULY attached to the ground. And two stories. We just keep upgrading it seems. WHERE WILL WE MOVE NEXT?! A damn mansion is on the horizon apparently).

This is the last picture of Steve with his truck. It's the end of the road for the Colorado (literally! pun intended!).

He got home around nine last night, so I didn't see it. I wanted to see it in broad daylight, in all of its brand new shiny glory. (Plus I had seen pictures of it and a truck is a truck is a truck in my book.) BUT. I gotta admit that it's pretty amazing. First of all, the air conditioning is awesome. That checked off the major must-have in my book. The back seat could easily fit 3 sumo wrestlers and their respective Big Gulps, while I still have leg room up front! Heaven! Sam's legs can't even reach the back of my seat! So no more seat-kicking whiplash for Mommy when we do not ride tandem next to an 18-wheeler for the duration of our errands and trips, as per his requests. (I'm fluent in grunts and jibber jabber in case you were wondering.) Steve loves that it's BIG and NEW and rides smoothly and I think trucks do something weird and primal to men. Maybe he feels like he can now slay a giant moose and haul it home and be The Ultimate Provider. I dunno.

"Jenn! You didn't get the whole truck in there. You gotta take another one."

This is acceptable. 

But it serves its purpose for our family and we are grateful to have located such an awesome deal. So as far as the excitement factor for our weekend goes, I guess it was mainly exciting in terms of getting good deals. If you're into paying full price for things, this post probably didn't do much for ya..

Sam gives you a tour of our house (photo overload)

Because I'm usually a day late and a dollar short, I decided to post this anyways, even though the main point was to link up with Sue YESTERDAY. Whatever. We will do it anyway because better late than on time, right?

I've taken pictures of every house we've lived in so far so that we can always look back and remember where we've been. Sam had the honor of hosting this house tour. So without further ado, the Ft Campbell House tour.

When you walk in the front door, you will usually be greeted by at least one, but usually a combination of the following:
a) a screamy child
b) an overly excited pug
c) the aroma of something burning (only if it's dinnertime)
d) tons of dog hair, blocks, random trash strewn about, and Sam running around in just a diaper

That dark, stinky room to the right is the downstairs bathroom. It houses the pail full of dirty cloth diapers. It is a scary little room and one should only go in there to quickly do their business.

To your left would be a closet that will look familiar to any military wife.

This front closet houses all of Steve's Army uniforms and PT gear. The garage houses the rest of his equipment and it is the reason I don't currently park in there. I also take the opportunity to throw some random stuff in there that has no other place to go (ie random boxes, Bumbo, and HL project purchase that cannot seem to ever be completed).

To your right is the odd little room off of the kitchen.

We have Molly in her element, my Walmart rug, the recycle bin (aka "toy bin" if you're Sam), uber-classy fire extinguisher (which has never been used thankyouverymuch), and laundry room (with access to the garage) to your right.

That's where you just came from, but now you can see the chair where all the magic happens. And by magic, I do mean milk. Armed with many books and dump trucks, I can keep Sam occupied for a good 30 minutes while I sit down. And for those of you questioning my voyeuristic habits, that pink thing on the chair is a Hooter Hider. I'm not into showing the neighbors EVERYthing, despite doing that next to the window.

This angle shows you a view of our laundry room and Sam getting ready to nose through the recycle bin.

The view I have from my milkmaid chair. We are picking up a piano (craigslist!) tomorrow, so soon I will be staring at a piano instead of electrical cords and random toys.

As we wander on through, you will come into my kitchen.

A few things to note starting at the top and working our way clockwise:

High noon: The scale is still in the kitchen, just shoved under the drawers next to the oven. I scoot it out each morning and weigh myself. I also write on the dry erase whether there has been any weight loss. The scale-in-the-kitchen trick is kind of working.

2: Defunct dishwasher. Now serves as a nifty storage unit for all my oversized pans.

2:15: Maybe you can see the stems poking up in the dishdrain? Happy hour totally happened last night.

6: Our tour guide patiently waits for me to finish explaining this seemingly self-explanatory space.

9: Microwave serves as a catch-all for things that I can't bear to part with just yet. It does not get cleaned regularly, but only when people are coming over.

10: Super-messy fridge. I hang our weekly meal plans on the side, along with training calendars, phone numbers I'm sure to forget, and Sam's first-ever crayon doodling.

Off of the kitchen is the dining room/living room combo. Look to your left and you have the living room portion of the space. Dirty highchair, messy desk, another Walmart rug, and canvas bin full of diaper-changing essentials (because I ain't hauling everybody upstairs just to use the changing table every time someone sharts).

Lovely pillows are courtesy of my super-talented best friend, Brittany (as in, she MADE them).

Tissues are stored at super-human heights because Sam has the tendency to decorate the floors with them.

Now we'll come at the living room from the front-door angle so we can see the dining room.

Here you can see out the back doors onto the patio, where I have yet to kill all of the flowers. (Well, you could see it if we didn't live two miles from the side of the sun. It is not always so white outside.)

On to the dining room.

Here we have a variety of wedding photos, my sideboard full of Polish pottery, and my pride and joy- the dining room table. Oh, there's Sam too. Love you honey!

Let's go up the steepest, creakiest stairs in existence. (Gates are located at the top and bottom, don't be so quick to call CPS.)

First bedroom on the left is Molly's. Well, it was actually Sam's old room, but since it's gender-neutral, it got handed down and Sam "upgraded" to a new room. It is the only room that's somewhat decorated, yet no one goes in there. Odd.

No curtains, Sam's old clothes that I'm too lazy to sort and put away, and that's a closet on the right.

From the closet's point of view..

That was Steve's baby dresser. Also, aren't we CREATIVE painting canvas solid colors? We are just not artistic people.

Next bedroom is Sam's. This room is really sad in that I haven't put a dang thing on his walls. Besides the stalker camera, of course. Gotta keep tabs on what he's up to in there.

He pushes that old diaper box around like it's his grocery cart. The child DOES have toys, he just prefers trash. This is a classic example of that. You can see by the state of the upstairs that I focus zero percent of my cleaning efforts up here. We're downstairs for 94% of the day, therefore, I strive to keep that tidy. But I really don't care what it looks like upstairs. (Just close your eyes and SLEEP. It is what bedrooms were designed for. No need to look at the mess.)

A view from the beanbag chair.

Sam does possess cuter sheets than these standard white ones. I swear I'm not going for the prison cell look here, but it was in the wash.

After Sam's room is a full bathroom and some linen closets. Then we have this gigantor closet that I originally thought was the fifth bedroom.

Continuing straight ahead you have the guest bedroom. It is also bland in design. Don't want anyone getting too cozy here.

And how could you when you wake up to the Closet O' Crap?

Last and definitely least is the "master bedroom." I put that in quotes because I don't think true master bedrooms contain as many toys as ours does. Notice our classy light fixtures throughout.

Another view from the closet.

Yes my friends, that is a mini fridge next to my night stand. I needed somewhere to store the milk at night that didn't require multiple trips up and down the creaky stairs. It's tacky, but it works. Also, mad props to Steve for restoring that mirror. I found it at a flea market for $10 and it was painted a skanky green with a handpainted vine around the edges. The sweet man sanded down the entire thing and then stained it for me. I don't know why it looks so dark in this picture. It's the same color as our dressers.
And then my lovely friend Brittany also made the curtain for us as well! We have this weird hotel-bathroom-setup where the sink is hanging out in the bedroom and then the tiniest bathroom ever had a door attached. Well, due to space issues and the fact that you might just suffocate on steam while showering, we removed the tiny door and put up Brittany's curtain instead.

And tiny bathroom.

Guess who's learned how to flush toilets?

Here is a halfway picture of our backyard. At least the patio portion. We like hanging out here in the evening with the little lightbulbs lit up. Oh and a glass or three of wine. It makes staring at the side of your neighbor's house that much more enjoyable.

So there you have it. Our home. I hope it's not glaringly obvious that everything we own is from a yard sale or craigslist. Because that would just be embarrassing.

You know I love you when I risk getting an infection/virus/ebola for you

So the day before Mothers Day, I went to the post office. I am always very on top of holidays and think gifts and cards out well in advance. I am never late in getting someone a gift on time. And I weigh exactly as much as my ID says I do. This paragraph cannot possibly be loaded with any more sarcasm so let me start a new one.

I was at the post office on Saturday trying to find boxes to fit my mother-in-law's and mother's gifts. This post office is.... less than desirable, as most post offices tend to be. I think, as much cash as I spend keeping that bankrupt institution afloat, they should be rolling out the red carpet every time I pull up. Open my car door, offer to carry my packages (or a kid or two), usher me up to the front of line, past all of the idiots (who, despite having sent packages overseas 15 zillion times before, cannot remember WHICH form they need to fill out), and then offer me the pretty stamps, not the god-awful Garfield stamps that are last month's rejects, and zip-bang-boom, I'm done. This trip should take no more than five minutes. Ah, my post office fantasy.

BUT I DIGRESS. I go to this post office and find the boxes. Mind you, they are all scattered in bigger boxes all over the floor. I guess I'm supposed to know post office code (FBR 4-210 means "medium flat rate box" DUH JENN) instead of ripping open every box in the place, but unfortunately, I am a mo-ron. After doing my good Samaritan deed of opening all the boxes, I start stuffing my boxes. I am so smart to bring my own Sharpie with me! And return address labels! And tissue paper! I ROCK at mailing packages!! Oh, except I forgot packing tape. Hm. There's some lying here on this germ-infested counter. But no scissors... How do I get the tape off of this spool? I try cutting it with my keys. No bueno. I attempt to rip it apart with my bare hands. Am not very strong. Crap, I just wasted a lot of tape. A guy walks in and starts getting his package ready. I try to anticipate how he's going to handle this tape situation. I expect him to look at me and say, "Where are the scissors?!" And I'd be all, "I KNOW, RIGHT?" But instead, this resourceful young barbarian used HIS BARE TEETH to cut through the tape. Gack. No mouthguard, no mouthwash, and from what I could see, he did not bleach the tape before he bit into it. Now maybe I'm what you'd call a germaphobe (but probably not since I abide by the 15-minute rule at home), but that's straight up nasty. God only knows how many people have touched (and bit off) that tape, let alone that dirty old counter, and you're going to just invite that mess into your MOUTH?!
For a brief moment, I contemplated asking this man if he would bite me off some tape too. I only need two long pieces! But dammit he was too quick and rushed off to get in line. Also, I think that might have been a wee bit embarrassing for me. "Um, sir? Could you gnaw off a couple pieces of this tape for me? I'll hold it. Just bite.... right there. Thanks!"

So. I did the unthinkable. I bit it myself. It was gross and I might have swallowed some (because I'm an amateur tape-biter and all), but I got the job done. Was feeling very pioneer woman and proud of myself for being so resourceful. Then I realized that I left my mom's card out of her box. CRAP. This was after I had scribbled "MAMA" on the front of it. Whatever. I stuck a (pretty) stamp on it and sent it on its way.

Despite the hassle of the post office, I was very happy to send the gifts to my mother-in-law and mom. They both deserve far more than my late packages. My mother-in-law has given life to my best friend! I love her! Muah! Thank you for raising such a great man!

And my mama, well, she's the best. I love her to death and am so thankful to have such a wonderful role model. Now if she could just visit a little more often... I'm hoping that if I sit close enough to her, some of her patience will rub right off on me...

Military Spouse Appreciation Day Blog Hop

Who knows what today is??? And don't say Friday. We all know when Fridays come around. It's Military Spouse Appreciation Day! Promoting this myself feels all kinds of "APPRECIATE ME" but that's not what I'm getting at here (although having my wine glass refilled without having to get up would be pretty sweet AND appreciated- someone alert Steve to this.). This Blog Hop (still not quite sure what that even is) is intended to help you link up with other military spouses and make some new friends. I've loved getting to know the milspouses I've met through this blog and I look forward to actually knowing someone before we arrive at our next duty station. Alrighty, I'm supposed to introduce myself here. Hold onto yer hats folks!

My name is Jennifer. I'm married to Steve. He's the one in the Army (although sometimes I swear they should send me a paycheck too).

We have two adorable children- Sam (19mo)

and Molly (1mo).

Odie is our resident pug and can entertain Sam better than any dump truck ever could (no easy task). She puts up with a lot, and in return, sometimes receives scraps of Sam's gluten-free meals.

We are currently stationed at Ft Campbell and are all kinds of ready to find out where we'll be stationed next. (Somewhere COLD. PLEASE.) I started this here blog to keep family and friends updated on our growing kiddos since we don't live all that close to them, but it has kinda morphed into something else. Not sure what exactly, but I can write and vent and poke fun and all of these great gals are like, "Amen!" "My kid tried to eat poop TOO!" and "Where is the WINE?! The Army! Gah!" So I enjoy this little spot on the internet. I hear we're supposed to keep this "brief" but if you've ever read here before, y'all know that brevity is not my strong suit. I'm trying to rein it in today though. It helps that someone is yelling at me from his crib upstairs, the washer just dinged, my coffee is four hours old, and Molly just pooped up to her belly button.

Thanks for stopping by! Sorry I didn't have time to put on makeup and real pants for ya! (Note to any new readers: I never put on makeup and wear real pants. *Au naturale* and yoga pants all the way! Huzzah!)

Thanks to Household 6 Diva and Riding The Roller Coaster for hosting!

Better late than really late and what doesn't kill you just maims you really bad or something like that

We finally did our May footprint craft. I was hoping to have Steve home when we did it (to prevent tying Sam to his highchair and/or chemical sedation), but he has this thing called work and blah blah blah he has to be there for so many hours a day and his command doesn't care that it's well past the first week of May and my April footprint craft is still hanging in the foyer, taunting me with my lateness every time I walk past. So! I put on my big girl panties and did it ALL BY MYSELF. I bribed Sam with Cinnamon Chex (it's probably the most sugar-laden food he's ever eaten) and he behaved himself quite nicely. He still scooted his foot around like an epileptic when I tried smushing it against the canvas, but whatever, I'm getting used to these projects looking like crap. Molly received another bath after the activity and we just have THE most exciting days around here, huh?

I noticed this morning that my project is grammatically incorrect. April's craft said, "April showers" and May's was supposed to say "bring May flowers." Well, instead it reads (together), "April showers brings May flowers." GAH. A major part of me wants to find some whiteout and make it right, but the other part of me (the lazy part that usually wins these arguments) is not ready to drag the troops all the way to Walmart just for the sake of this silly craft.

Speaking of art, we have been receiving some FUN stuff in the mail lately. Sue sent me this one-of-a-kind handmade card and envelope and I think it's just the neatest thing! And it came from Japan! Made my day for sure. (The front of the envelope is way cool, but our addresses are on it, and I don't want anyone going to Japan and flooding Sue with demands for your own custom cards. Also, I hear multiple people commenting on Molly's kissable, pinch-able, in-yo-face cheeks and my house just isn't presentable enough for company right now.)

We also received a package from the hilarious Sarah a few weeks back. She gave the kiddos two cute outfits and YES, I'm totally blogging about it.

Poor Molly is destined to never have her picture taken with an actual camera, bless her heart.

I had been waiting for Molly to grow a little so she could fit into her onesie, and then when I put it on her a few days ago, the thing just BARELY snapped. (Also note: she wore a 6mo outfit to my doctor's appointment yesterday. Chunky. Monkey.) Moments after this picture was snapped, vomit. A few hours later, more vomit and some poop. I am like a ninja in stain-fighting these days. (A white-belt, of course.)

Sam's shirt fit him perfectly and he absolutely did not smear his own poop on it later in the day. (Yes he did.)

Here he is re-enacting the scene of the crime.

And showing me his favorite trick to take my mind off of the poopy laundry: the magic baby belly.

It worked. But good LAWD, just look at that skin- y'all know I'm gonna go through the sunscreen like water this summer.

Random stuff because there's never time anymore to write a fully cohesive post

Not that that's an excuse, because my posts have never been all that cohesive anyway. We'll go at this bullet-style so if my brain farts or a child wakes up and interrupts me, at least it won't be in the middle of a paragraph.

• I just sat on the couch for quite a while feeding Molly and thought that I smelled urine and feces. Surely it's only a figment of my imagination though because there are newly-stuffed, clean diapers folded next to me. Until I notice the two diapers I changed right after lunch. Fully loaded.
• I thought I was doing great, making a solo commissary run with the two kids today before the lunch rush hit. That is, until I got home and noticed that I had soaked through my shirt due to Molly's crying. (FAIL)
• I finally bought the fabric and cut out all of my squares (rectangles, octagons, whatever- it got crazy there at the end and I just wanted to be done) for my cloth wipes. Now I must sew around the edges so it doesn't fray into oblivion (warns the fabric lady). For someone who knows NOTHING about sewing, I am a little petrified at how much of my "free time" (AHAHAHAHA) that this will take up.

• The fabric lady also insinuated that I was pregnant with my first child. (Why else would I be looney enough to do cloth wipes?) She *almost* got punched in the face. But she was holding scissors, so I thought it safer to just smile, CORRECT HER, and walk away.
• I always feel like I'm drowning. Whether it's in dishes, laundry, diapers, or dump trucks. I swear, the amount of dump trucks we've accumulated around here could staff a highway crew repaving I-95.

• Molly woke up at 6am today. Since Steve wouldn't be home to help with the morning routine, I thought it best to get her downstairs and settled before Sam woke up. Normally I would attempt to go back to sleep with her in hopes that Sam would sleep til 8 or 830. (He never does.) But I was proactive today! And Sam slept til 9. Obviously.
• I went to the post-wide yard sale on Saturday morning. Alone. It was heavenly, despite the initial downpour. I found some books for Sam, dump trucks (of course) for outside, and some Christmas decorations. Because like I said before, I am proactive. I also spent $3 on this magic. Look who's gonna be doing chores for me as soon as he can plug in the real vacuum himself?

• I finally got Molly's birth announcements addressed and mailed. This took forty-six times longer than it usually does and it really stressed me out.
• Also, the only postcard stamps the post office sells are these ugly Hawaiian Tshirt stamps that say "Aloha." As the post office employee was selling them to me, he said, "Wow these sure are ugly." I KNOW. And I have to put them on my daughter's adorable BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENTS. Can I get a discount based on how unattractive they are?
• Miss Chumba Wumba is almost out of size 3mo clothes!?! And I'm fairly certain that I'm serving up the same milkshakes to her that I did to Sam, yet, he never had a roll to speak of (and not just because of the gluten content). She must have inherited her "Hang Onto All The Fat" gene from me.

• While sitting in the car the other day waiting for Steve to come retrieve his lunch, I checked email on my phone. While I normally just delete the emails from Babycenter about toddler milestones (they really just piss me off since my 19mo is "supposed" to be tying his shoes and speaking French by now), I opened it up and read it. "Dangerous Foods for Toddlers." Interesting. I'll read it. "Do not give toddlers pretzels as they are a choking hazard. Do not give toddlers raisins as they are small enough to get lodged in their throats and create a choking hazard. Do not give toddlers snacks while in the car, because if they start choking, you will not be able to assist your child since you're driving." Well crap. My kid's sitting pretty back there with his super-spillproof cup, munching on raisins and pretzels. Quick. Someone call CPS.
• We got a deep freezer. I'd open-mouth kiss it if that sort of thing (you know, making out with appliances) wasn't frowned upon.
• Why is it physically impossible for two children to nap at the same time? And on a related note, when do they begin to understand the phrase "Just wait ONE MORE MINUTE"??

Alas, Molly has pooped up her back (again) and Sam is up from his nap, beckoning me upstairs to retrieve his (most likely) stinky butt from the crib, so I guess that's my cue to skedaddle.