Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Date weekend

Eric and I had the luxury of spending a date weekend enjoying the nuptials of his good friend from growing up, which meant loads of his totally mature high school guy friends descended upon Atlanta and elected to sit around talking about the latest issue of the Economist.

Or, maybe a bunch of his friends played a ruckus game of bocce intensified by an open bar on the night before the wedding.

Same diff.

Either way, I always have a great time with his high school friends, and even better time with their wives. The night before the wedding we all hung out at an outside bar downtown for cocktails and cockeyed grainy iPhone kissing pictures.

I'm ashamed to say my chin upstages his beard. Yikes!
Class act, I tell you. Yeah, they don't let us out often.
The wedding itself was stunning, enhanced by the magnificent Atlanta Botanical Gardens and their current Imaginary Worlds exhibit (plants larger than life). I would have pictures, except I was too busy falling in love with the Hindu officiant (?) and wondering how we could convert. 

We went to the wedding with Eric's best childhood friend (J) and his wife (A) who flew in from Chi-town. They stayed at our house for the weekend, and in addition to a luxurious stay on a trundle bed, we also gave them loads of free birth control (generic brand: Miles and Felix). Gus is still a total ovary stimulator. I give it 9 more months before I look into toddler boarding school.

What is nice is that A leads the Nordstrom's hand bag department (bee tee dubs, do NOT say the "p" word; hand bag it is), and she was a great barometer of "what I should dress like if I didn't have kids and an empty wallet." Not only did she look like a million bucks with perfectly in style clothing, hand bags and shoes, but she also got her husband into some cool kicks for the wedding, which totally upstaged my black wedges from 2003. (DSW, what what?) 
Now, if my chin and J's shoes were next to one another, jury is out on who would get the most attention.
I make up for my fashion shortcomings with stupid faces ruining photos. 

FYI, above our heads is an enormous serpent made out of succulent plants and other greenery. Insane in the membrane.
Better yet, I made up for all of my fashion shortcomings this weekend with a mouth adorned with a cold sore, which let's be honest, is right up there with a rose gold Michael Kors watch in terms of being fashionably forward.
Yeah, my 3 yo refused to kiss me for fear of getting my boo boo. Don't blame him. These suckers are awful and contagious! I blame stress. And the fact that I went to pull out my anti viral prescription in the closet and my refill expired in 2012. Oops.
Happy Couples! And yes, my dress was a $5.95 number from Goodwill.
J and A were troopers staying in our shoe box with a house full of loud boys. J even got to give Gus a bottle in exchange for a beard combing.

The weekend was fun, and somehow we also managed to fit in a birthday party, fall festival, cross country meet, 6 month check up, flu shot, and parenting class. So, yeah, we are exhausted.

(updated from original writing of the post) But nothing helps with that exhaustion like a feverish 3 year old expelling particulate and liquid matter from his mouth and bottom. 

Next up: my best friend from growing up visiting this weekend! I sense less bocce, and more meat. (Paleo joke.)

Ah poo

Okay, so I have regularly scheduled posts, but today we are going rogue.

It's real-time posting, people.

And I'm pumping, eating lunch, and sending texts to and from my husband about Felix while the rhythmic "ah poo" being chanted to me by Medela is almost sending me into a trance.

So, apparently the best time for your washing machine to break is when your son has mucus poo and pukes at school.


This is going to be a LONG week my friends...

Does Amazon prime sell Nature's Miracle in a vat?

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Tappin' the tats

Y'all...I thought I would default to a lascivious zinger of a post title to distract you from the egregious grammar error of a previous post.

Sidebar, I love that after a decade of living in the south that I can say y'all and claim street cred. But don't think I am going to go all sweet tea and smocking on you. I err on the side of madras, and like my blogging friend Pam--have deemed this abode a no smocking zone.

Would you believe blogging at 11pm on a Sunday while pumping and eating ice cream simultaneously (cream in...cream out) gives me permission to mix up their and there? It's totally grammar law.

And if Gus didn't keep me up with wanting to have girl talk at night, the shame and horror I felt when I read the error on my feed would have kept me up, anyway.

And all that staying up at night has really started taking its toll, and this morning I totally had a tweetable moment.

And I haven't opened my Twitter app in almost 2 weeks because I am afraid of feeling the obligation to scroll back and catch up on every Tweet I missed--I'm weird like that--so I have resigned to the fact I may no longer giggle over some hilarious Honest Toddler tweet, or stalk the bromance between Zach Braff and Donald Faison.

And I realize that Twitter and I are still so new in our relationship that I don't think I am ready to be vulnerable with him. I mean...with Twitter I can actually see who is following me. With the blog I can pretend no one is following me. #perceptionisreality

And I can rely on the limitless charaters I am allowed to bore the masses before I even get to the point of my post.

AND...okay, on to it.

Scene: 6:45am this morning and I am nursing Gus and hypothetically texting (I mean, if I was one of those bad moms who uses her phone while nursing, which I am not...clearly).

I get ready to burp him, which happens almost instantaneously after he nurses. Brother can let one rip! But strangely, he is totally not burping. I keep tapping and hitting harder and harder (and hypothetically looking at my phone) until I realize...

...Gus is totally lying down on the bed next to me and I am burping my breast.

Now that the Congress's tantrums are being managed and they are back in session, I think I might work toward legislating a "don't text and nurse" law.

Dear dirty diapers...I miss you!

Just a little over 6 months, and we started eating solids. 

Good-bye sour mustard smelling diapers.

Miss ya.

Yeah, you heard me. I'm lamenting the transition of poop in my baby.

Along with the granny netted underwear, lochia, and baby roll cheese factories, they don't tell you that you will hit a point around 4-6 months when your baby is introduced to solid foods and his diapers start smelling like...ess atch eye tee. 

I'm going to say it. Breastmilk poopy diapers don't bother me at all. In fact, there is something about the smell that is kind of sweet and makes me think of my babies. Don't go enter me into the My Strange Addiction series or anything, but I really don't mind breastmilk poop.

But breastmilk poop with chunks of roasted acorn squash?

I'll pass.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Pumpkins: 2013

I know, I know...where do I come up with these clever post titles?

It's a gift.

So, on a gorgeous fall morning, we drove with all kids to our favorite pumpkin patch: Kinsey Family Farm. Honestly, it wasn't very fall like and by the end, we were all sweaty and aching for some cold water, but I just couldn't bring myself to dress the boys in short sleeves and shorts when getting pumpkins.

It's like...illegal or something.

And we have one house rule: fashion before function. (riiight.)

We got a few pumpkins, took a tractor ride, and indulged in the requisite hot pretzel for the car ride home.  

My favorite photographer doesn't seem to be doing mini fall sessions, so I was hoping to get a cute picture of all 3 boys for holiday cards. You know, perfectly arranged near pumpkins with an image that reeks of sugar and spice and everything nice.

Yeah, not so much. What's funny is that I struggle so much with smiling in pictures because I always feel like they come off as fake. And low and behold, I think I passed that gene on to my children. My favorite photos? The ones of their backs. Or when they aren't smiling. 

I mean, am I still allowed to be their mother saying that?

Tuesday, October 15, 2013


My Insta-Gus has been sharing some of the spotlight with his brothers, and although this blog stays pretty quiet these days, I've been blowing up IG with images of our life. I both love and hate how easily it is to get relatively good photos on a phone.

For the 1/2 of you not hanging with me on IG, here is the latest, with snarky commentary (obvi).
Practicing for the day that glasses becomes a reality. Myopia is in his future.

OINK OINK! Piggy paint and mani pedi night for me and the boys. (And hand/foot massages with my favorite Ava Anderson diaper cream. Yeah, that's right. I slather that stuff all over the body. I dare say I like it more than CA baby.)

I mean...I'm hate to gloat, but this kid has epic lashes.



Gus and I hang around with his cheeks before soccer practice.

Miles sings us church hymnals on the ground during soccer.

Felix has the drinking juice boxes down after soccer.

Gus test drives his new Stokke high chair.

They say third babies grow up fast...but this facial hair came a lot sooner than I expected!

Again, lashes. Gus hung with me in the Ergo while I hauled wood chips for almost 4 hours by myself one Saturday morning. And "by myself", I mean along with a fighting 5 and 3 yo.

When Mommy and Daddy say you cannot wear a costume to school, you improvise. He wore this the ENTIRE day.

White after labor day? Puh-lease. As long as it's with madras. 
Fingers, toes...practicing for the real food.
It's as close as we are getting to sitting up these days.

Hungry hungry hippo. First taste of food.

Mom and Felix's Halloween craft fail.

Brother picture fail.

Gus. Win.

Finally, Selfie with my big boys. Sometimes...you just need a little silly.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Hernia Hero

Remember back in the olden days when I mentioned Felix having surgery? So, yeah...that's what has kept me from blogging.

Total lie. It's truly the fact that I run a circus nowadays. A bona fide circus with side shows and bearded ladies--thanks hormones--and 3 year old's with freakish growths in their nether regions. Three ring circus, baby, three ring.

Side shows aside, Felix's surgery was weighing heavily on my mind and just getting him to the OR proved to be a many week long process:
  • First he got a fever the day of his first surgery date.
  • Then September was stacked with Jewish holidays and our surgeon's schedule had to be adjusted. (By adjusted, I mean he didn't do as many. I giggled because one of my friends thought perhaps the Jewish holidays brought a lot of circumcision surgeries, and that is why we couldn't get on the schedule. There has to be a great joke that goes along with this that starts: a jewish surgeon walked into a bar...)
  • And then...no joke...said surgeon broke his finger. Like, not a toe, or a leg, or his nose...but the very thing he relies on to perform surgery. Note to self--do not make a joke with your child's surgeon about breaking a finger. He won't laugh. Surgeons don't laugh, apparently.
So surgery kept getting delayed. And Felix's hernia and hydrocele kept getting bigger. Finally, it was snippity do da day, and we were able to pull out his custom cape made by Neverland Nook. (She was so thoughtful and made a matching mask! She also made Miles's cape for his Halloween Costume last year.)

THIS, my friends, is how to walk into a pediatric surgery center:

And THIS is how you take a picture of the picture I just posted:

I'll skip the details, but surgery went well. (Okay, I am not going to skip the part when he came back after they were done and was all "oh, it was a lot bigger than we expected. More vascular and I had to leave in a part of it because I didn't want to mess around with his testicle...yadda yadda." And I was all "NO KIDDING IT'S BIGGER! We've been waiting weeks while he's been dancing and jumping fluid into his scrotum." Note--that last bit was my internal monologue. After the broken finger sling joke crashed, I figured I should keep my mouth shut.)

Everyone was amazing (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta woop woop), and Felix made a name for himself wearing that cape and mask all the way into the OR, where I took it off and wore that sucker out like a proud Mama would.
waiting patiently in pre-op
I will say that the moment I dreaded, was just as heartbreaking as I expected. Even though we told him the anesthesia mask was a Buzz Lightyear mask, putting your child down on a table and watching him go under is never easy. He didn't fuss, didn't resist, but just peacefully (with eyes I am convinced I heard screaming "MOMMY I'M SCARED"), rested his head on the table and let them put him to sleep. I cried back in the post-op area. Yeah, even super hero moms cry.

He woke up grumpy, and pissed about two things:

  1. He obviously saw the Buzz Lightyear anesthesia mask but kept asking..."so where is the COSTUME?"
  2. He got a caudal block (like and epidural) and woke up to having non functional legs and kept moaning, "I don't like this! I can't move my legs!"
Luckily, he was mobile enough to put on a new spiderman costume he got from a friend, and spent the day eating gummy worms, watching the same Cars DVD on repeat, and generally acting like nothing ever happened.

That night, Eric drove to NC for a very important cross country meet, so I handled the middle of the night shenanigans all by myself. Of course, every blessed hour a child was up. Between Miles's bad dreams, Felix peeing in his bed and panicking, and Gus wanting to play on the mammary jungle, I was a ragged, impatient mess the next morning.

Until Felix asked for one thing and one thing only...to hold his baby brother.

Okay, and then he asked to wear a costume...but at least he has his priorities straight.