Before I Know It, He'll Be 18 Right?

When I tell people that Nate is 16 months old, I often have people actually tell me that it is their favorite age. I usually politely smile and respond with some sort of vague pleasantry, but inwardly I'm thinking WHAT THE EFFING CRAP?!  Either people routinely will tell you whatever age your child is is their favorite just to be nice, or most everyone has pushed their memories of their own children as toddlers deep, deep down to some scary dark place that is completely unreachable except through electroshock therapy.

All I know is that I increasingly find myself looking at my budding toddler and wistfully recalling the good old days of babyhood. Remember when you would sleep for hours every day Nate? Remember when you couldn't walk or even crawl, and instead happily sat  playing with an actual baby toy for 45 minutes at a time? Remember how it was before you developed gross motor skills? It was awesome.

This however, is not awesome.


Tearing toilet paper into little tiny pieces does not make for a happy mom.










Do you know what is even less awesome? Doing this just a few hours later:


Yes, that's toilet water all over the floor (and down the hall). I swear I had closed the bathroom door earlier this morning. Sam must have used the potty before school, which would mean, you guessed it, that's pee water. So. Flipping. Awesome.

And who was the kid who threw a hysterical tantrum at Albertsons later this afternoon because I wouldn't buy him a stuffed animal?

And who thinks it's a challenge to try to get out of his high chair now at each meal?

And who screams and arches his back every time he gets puts in his car seat?

And who walked over and hit Sam on the top of his head with a heavy plastic toy today?

(OK, actually that was pretty funny. )

And who is my only child sleeping through the night in his own bed still?

For that reason alone, I love you. Just stay out of the toilet.

Some Days Are Better Than Others

My mom once got a Mother's Day card that said  

Good moms let you lick the beaters. 

Better moms turn the mixer off first. 

Today I felt like being one of those better moms, As opposed to yesterday when I probably would have kept the mixer on.


It's a good thing that you don't usually feel like making cookies on the bad days.

Here's to licking the beaters.

5:52 PM Addendum: Is it Murphy's Law that says whenever you blog about having a good day, the Universe will immediately right itself in a glorious blitzkrieg of chaos, whining, and meltdowns? Or is just the Law of the Witching Hour?

 

...Cookies for dinner anyone?

Olympic National Park

Mark here...this is my first guest post.
We camped at the Olympic National Park at the start of summer. It was amazing. We had fun. Below are pictures that prove it.






Our campsite was nice. The kids enjoyed playing on/in all the old growth trees.





Our rock stacking put us in contemplative moods.













Why yes, that is the biggest, gnarliest, tree root thing you will ever see. I am fairly certain this thing comes alive at night and eats other trees.



Picture Taking 101 - Rule 1: Make sure nothing in the background appears to be sticking out of the main subject's head.



Yes actually, people do kind of ruin this photo.





We drove through Forks on the way home. Donna got a kick out of all the Twilight tourists. We stopped and ate some very, very bad Mexican food. The bad Mexican food alone will be enough to re-wipe Forks off the map...until someone writes another book about the place.

Pssssst

Are you still there? 'Cause guess what?


I'm baaaack!


In case you were wondering, I spent my Summer taking really artsy pictures at weird angles of all the AMAZING things we did all Summer long. And when I wasn't being an INCREDIBLE semi-professional photographer, I was super BUSY creating PRECIOUS memories for my kids with all of the crafts/outings/singing/family-togetherness that we did. And when I wasn't building and/or documenting our UNBELIEVABLE Summer of Fun, I was probably just relaxing, or yelling at my kids/wading through endless messes/reading blogs/packing/cleaning/shopping/unpacking/repacking/yelling some more/ and probably crying. But until I get around to posting the thousands of pictures and memories, I've posted a little something for your reading pleasure. You know, in case you'd been missing your sporadic doses of cynicism. (That's for you Katy).


Enjoy.

The House That Sam Broke

I just wasted away a few minutes of my life taping up a paper lamp from Ikea. I know, that's what I get for thinking that a lamp made out of paper for $2.49 from Ikea was a good idea and/or in good taste right? But really, it fared quite well for a long time.

Until Sam came along. Lamp, meet Sam. Sam, meet lamp. Lamp, so sorry about that big gash. Sam, go to your room. Self, get out the tape.

So I taped up the lamp and put it back on the side table, next to the frame that no longer stands up by itself, thanks to Sam.

Just before fixing the lamp, I picked up Sam's toy rocket that we've had for one week and is already broken in two places.

I put the rocket on the counter next to the pile of Tupperware lids that don't have matching containers anymore, because they are probably out in the yard being used as snail houses.

Before that I was wiping off our table that now has nail polish, permanent marker, paint, and (Sam's) bite marks on it.

On the table was an assortment of broken crayons and dried out markers with no caps that I stashed away in a cupboard with a door that won't close because somebody (guess who?) was swinging on it.

I won't even tell you about the state of the games, toys, and miscellaneous items inside of said cupboard. Well, OK, I will: 2 board games missing pieces that render them pretty much useless, a ripped parachute, about 8 containers of dried out, mixed up play dough, and a stained Aqua doodle. And that's just off the top of my head.

In the same room as the cupboard is the TV/DVD player that we will someday have to remove from the Armoire with a chain saw (our fault), which we have to use the plug to turn off and on, and no longer plays DVDs (both of which are Sam's fault). Not that we have any DVDs that Sam hasn't scratched or bitten or drawn on anyway.

The tale of destruction continues throughout the house.

Here's the moulding that he took a bite of a few days ago.

And our piano that Sam broke over a year ago? Broken even a little bit more now.

This is the most recent pile of casualties from his room: 5 books ripped apart.


And here's something fun: a box of baby wipes that he got to with a pair of scissors, AND ONLY STABBED THE PICTURE OF THE BABY, REPEATEDLY. (What he was doing unsupervised with a pair of sharp scissors is a very good question and is currently under investigation. I'm sure there is some body/thing to blame besides me. Probably corporate media, but that's a blog post for another day.)

Disturbing? YES.


I'll stop there, but trust me, I could go on. And on.

Some people can show you their collection of highly prized curios, or rare objects from their travels around the world. If you come over to our house we'll show you our taped up Ikea lamp and our mutilated baby box. It's an art form in and of itself.

Good Times at Target

In case you were wondering, Summer vacation has been a huge success so far. And by huge success I mean that no members of our family have made the evening news for strangling any other members of our family.

Expectations: exceeded.

We've even gone out in public together, such as yet another memorable trip to Target yesterday morning. Target is like heroin for moms. After every trip I swear I'm going to cut back, or maybe even quit cold turkey. But I just keep going back to it, over and over. With the kids even. That's how powerful it is.

In the middle of this week's fix, in the girl's department, Mia made this comment: "Mom look at this belt! Oh wait, it's Hannah Montana. I'm definitely not in to her."

I have seriously never been so proud.

And that's when Sam came around the corner with a bra on his head.

Yes, so proud.

Then there was a little conversation we had this evening when Sam was having a hard time understanding why he has to wait until he's an adult to buy a real boat with his own money. "But that will take too much longer," he said. "I need to get a boat tonight... Is Target still open?"

He's like a crack-baby. I'm telling you, I've got to cut back. For the kid's sake.

And speaking of cutting back, I'm going to be taking a little blog break for a while. Come now, no tears. I've posted something like 3 times in the last 2 months-- let's not pretend we didn't all see this coming. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it and we'll all go back to being best blogging buddies. I promise.

The Monster at the End of this Week

It's called Summer Vacation.

Did you love The Monster at the End of this Book when you were little too? Lovable, fury, old Grover could only imagine the horrors waiting for him at the end of the book and did everything in his power to keep from getting there.

Well, every time I think about The Last Day of School (consequently followed by the First Day of Summer), I end up in tears. There's very little I wouldn't do right now to keep Friday morning from ever happening.

Never mind that in the book, the moral is that Grover had nothing to be afraid of but himself. This isn't Sesame Street. These are my kids we're talking about. At home with me for the rest of the summer.

All day. Every day.

For 75 days.



Oh have mercy.




*Oh, and my apologies for the graphic description of Sam and a towel in my last post. With a recently potty-trained 3 year old boy, we're being exposed to a whole new world as parents. Seriously, who needs a dog? If you came over, he'd probably hump your leg.

**OK, I'm probably going to have to delete that before he gets old enough to read it huh?