...

*Cough*

*Tap-Tap-Tap*

*Cough*

Testing... 1-2-3.... Is this thing on?

Hallo stranger!

Let's pretend like we're old friends who haven't seen each other in a long, long time but can just pick up where we left off, shall we? I have a friend like that, and it's lovely. Really. And it's better not to dwell on the "Where have I been the last 8 months" and, in stead, focus on the present.

SO! Welcome to NaBloPoMo and I'm going to give it a go. Likely I will fail -- I don't have a fantastic track record of staying on top of things -- but it's the effort and good intent that count, and I have plenty of both to spare.

For today, allow me to leave you with some examples of what I have been up to of late. This applies to both the making of the following hats and the raising of the small models wearing them.

So. Now, then. How have YOU been?

Hallo.

Hello, internet people.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Oh. That. Yeah, I know I haven't been around lately.
No! It's not you! It's me! Totally me!

The last month has been a blur of new routines, soccer practices, cub scout meetings, neighborhood drama, birthday parties, and whathaveyou.
Basically I've been running around here like a chicken with a bad haircut, and using my new phone to do all of my internet communications. (If anyone knows how to set up blogger to work on the iphone, I can send cookies!)
I didn't realize how long it had been until I got the advertiser notice that it had been 2 weeks since I posted new content.
2 WEEKS. Let's just let that sink in for a moment, shall we? I honestly had no idea - NO. IDEA.
So here we are and I feel like I should offer you a cup of coffee and a danish, and we can sit and kvetch for a bit, except that I really don't have the time this morning.
Tobin is now in preschool 5 mornings a week which is.. yeah, I can't really talk about that, but he is. He's 4 now! And everything he does comes complete with action poses and sound effects and Lots! Of! Exclamation! Points! Everything he does is the MOST - EVER! (Mom! I just jumped the most highest jump ever! Off of the bathroom counter!)
Jack is kicking first grade's arse. He got straight A's on his first ever "letter grade" report card. I just sprouted 3 new gray hairs. (On my chest, most likely.) He earned his "bobcat" rank at cub scouts. He is seven kinds of awesome.
And Milo. He is 1. He is pulling up on everything in sight, and will be walking momentarily. Because everything happens at once, obviously. He naps while I work every day, which means I did something amazing in a past life to deserve a kid so accomodating. He is fully weaned, which - we're not going to talk about that. Because if we talk about the fact that my baby is really pretty much no longer actually a "baby" in technical terms, I will start thinking about how we were pretty sure this would be our last kid, and then I'll be back to where I was whenever the hell I was talking about maybe possibly trying one more time for a girl or just for another baby because BABIES! and I will now pause to take a mental breath because that might be the most disturbing run-on sentence in history and my therapist (if I could still afford one) would totally have something to say about how I go on and on and blab when I'm trying to run over a topic that I really don't want to talk about but fortunately for me my ADD gives me a good exit because -
Hey! Look! Something shiny!
To sum up, I am back... -ish. It's November, which means NaBloPoMo, and obviously I missed day 1 yesterday, so I can't technically participate, but in honor of the month I will attempt to at least get back to posting on a normal basis. Posting regularly will be much easier when I manage to get a new mag charger for my macbook. (I've gone through 2 of them now. Not excellent.) Until then, I will be light on photos and probably heavy on the sarcasm. Which, you know, lowest form of humor and all that, but I go with what I have. Welcome back! You missed me desperately, didn't you? heh.

Happy Birthday, Milo!

Training for the new job, getting the office set up, cleaning out the basement (not at all in that order) and general madness: check.

The insanity continues, but this does not stop the march of time.

Today, my Milo - my rosy, rolly-polly little bugaboo - turns 1 year old.  As always, it's bittersweet. But him? He is ALL sweetness.

Happy Birthday, Little Man.

I've had him for a year.  One unforgettable, joyful, incredibly sleep-deprived year.

It's been a good year, and (as you can see, Miss J!) Milo helps inspire me to rock the lipsticks.  Here you are.  Me. Lipstick. Milo.  A happily matched grouping if ever there was one.  *grin*

Hiding Under Freeways

Freeway underpasses where I live? They are probably not like freeway underpasses where you live.  I have lived a lot of places, y'all, and even in the nicer areas I found that underpasses where a place for graffiti and old urine and the occasional homeless person.

Not so in West-By-God-Virginia.

If you listen close, you'll hear the air whistling through the car tires overhead.

Unless the sound is smothered by the lullaby and hum of the river.

We spent one of the last lazy, luxuriant afternoons of the summer wading in the warm waters of the Shenandoah.

Mom? Can I just lay in the water, Mom? Can we stay here forever, Mom?

NO. CAMERA. NO. Good day, Madam.

I SAID GOOD DAY!

And they didn't fight.  Two tiny adventurers admonishing each other 

not to take off their shoes.

Sitting happily on the sidelines, he didn't miss a trick.

It helps to come stocked with crackers and sippy cups.

Me & My Posse.  My little Neopolitan Trio. 

(And yes, Milo's hair is still coming in red.)

Like I said.  My freeway underpass? Pretty much kicks your freeway underpass's ass.

Woman's Head Explodes. Story at 11.

The past couple of weeks have been some of the most... stressful? Insane? Homicidal? I run out of acceptable adjectives, and yet still I do not find the mark.  Trip had surgery, and it went well. His recovery could be going better, but we should know more about the odd pains he's having after his surgical follow-up on Wednesday.  I'll post a recap of the fun another time.

On the plus side, there is the arrival of my newest niece - Miss Bridget Elise.  Admit it - you want to dunk her in chocolate and nibble on those cheeks. 

Also on the plus side, I DID promise you David Beckham photos and, no, that was not simply a shameless sweeps-week tactic to keep you on the edge of your seat until I made it back here.  Honest. See?

You are so welcome.

So there was that.  And, actually, it wasn't the hilight of the night. Well, anyway, it wasn't the ONLY hilight of the night.  Here are a few more:

Instead of shelling out the $30 for the official kids' Team T-Shirt, we made our own DC United shirts.  Black T shirt from mega-store: $4, plus fabric paint. 

The above pretty much sums up their typical reactions to the camera. Jack is all jazz hands all the time, Toby is more "meh. blergh. NO CAMERA!"

My photogenic Honey. 

Still not amused by the camera, Mom.

Again with the wearing of my Tired Eyes. 

It was a long night, but well worth it and THANKS be to DC United for playing LA so I could drool over Donovan and Beckham.  Also for tying at 0 to 0 so that I didn't have to feel torn between the home team and the hot team.  Yes, I am that shallow when it comes to my sporting events.

Phobia #4328965342: Babysitters

I've been a mother now for just over 6 years. I know, right?! Stop that insanity. Only it's true, so it's not technically insane in the dictionary sense, but insane in the sense that I should not be allowed to be totally responsible for small humans.  

I was a damn fine babysitter, though, back in my day.

Funny enough, though, in all the time we've been parents, Big Daddy T and I have never really been ones to hire babysitters.  We've borrowed the odd services of family and swapped kid-watching duties with other parent friends. (You know: You take our kids Friday, we'll take yours Saturday, etc.)

It's not that I don't believe there are good babysitters, or that I'm afraid I'll come home to find the babysitter has slipped all the kids a rufee or bedded my husband or anything.  It's more that I'm terrified to leave anyone else the responsibility of these small humans because I don't trust that they will care about them as much as I do.

I recognize that this is patently ridiculous, as nobody else will EVER care about my kids as much as I do.  It's part of the mommy Job Description.  

So finally, when my neighbor/BFF, Sarah, suggested her babysitter might be worthy to be responsible for the temporary care of my 3 small, loud people, we decided to give it a go.

It was like tasting Ambrosia, y'all.

We went out. Alone.  Try #1 we took the baby with us to the movies, with disastrous results, but after that?  Try #2 we went to dinner at the new Wings Place in town, and then a live music show at a local bistro.  It was heaven. All 3 kids were in good hands, and we hadn't a care in the world.

This afternoon we celebrated our 7th anniversary a day early.  We left Courtney The Awesome with our 3 monkeys and headed out to see The Time Traveler's Wife.  Only, I suck and may have mentioned a time or two that my ADD prevents me from - you know -functioning like normal humans, so we MAY have ended up at the WRONG theater and been unable to see our movie.  Okay, so there's no may about it, we did just that, but then we ended up wandering around town and grabbing sangria and chips with guacamole at a hole-in-the-wall mexican place. Then we headed to a 250-year-old bar with a patio surrounded by old-growth trees, where we sat in a wooden swing hanging from one of the branches and sipped cold beers and talked about Life. And The Universe. And Everything.

Facing this fear has been entirely positive, and now I am left only with the regret that Courtney is headed back to college this week.  Which means I am now sans babysitter once again.  

This is what I imagine it was like for Val Kilmer's character in "At First Sight" when he got vision for the first time, but then lost it again.  And if you think I'm being melodramatic YOU DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN.

So facing this particular hurdle in my seemingly endless series of fears? It's been good.  Now who wants to come be my au pair? (I hope you're not adverse to My People doing a background check and taking a urine sample. You're totally okay with that, right?)

What can I say?  I'm a little protective.  It's a virtue. (Shut up, it totally is.)

Some Moments Are Just Perfection.

Things I Did Instead Of Going To BlogHer This Year.

Kidlet #1, the indubitable Jack, celebrated his 6th birthday this week.  

There were plastic Groucho glasses and stick-on mustaches (these are "villain costumes" in case you were wondering how, exactly, all this fit into the Batman theme.)  Don't try to argue with a 6-year-old determined to have mustaches at his birthday party. (Then again, why would you want to? I mean, honestly.)

These are the most delicious cupcakes I have ever made.  

They also happen to be the most delicious cupcakes I have ever tasted. They have made me more determined than ever to find a way to open my bakery, even if it takes me 20 years to get there.

I had a cake job this week for a guy's 27th birthday. He is into comics, so it seemed appropriate to do the first appearance of Superman...

So it wasn't all doom and gloom as I missed the fabulous festivities (and apparently some serious bad juju from some overly-schwag-obsessed bloggers. Seriously? Someone ELBOWED her baby. To get schwag. Ruminate on that a moment, won't you?)  Plus, BlogHer '10 has been announced, and it's going to be in NYC.  East Coast, Hollah!  And yes, I will be there.  With cupcakes!

Growing Up, Not Old: A story in pictures.

First, allow me to introduce my very lovely friend Camilla.

Camilla - Internets. Internets - Camilla.

In addition to being incredibly gorgeous, Camilla is also incredibly tall.  Oh, and incredibly Swedish, too.  I know, right? She must have been an angel in a former life to be so blessed, which I totally believe because she is definitely angelic now.  

Camilla celebrated her 30th birthday just after mine, so I insisted on dragging her out sweeping her away for an evening of Grown Up Lady Drinks and time away from our offspring.  

This was my favorite beverage of the night.

Hello, Burnt Orange Martini.  Delicious AND an excellent source of Vitamin C.

And these are the sassy heels I wore, because I am wearing High Heels Now.

They are mustard yellow suede. No, seriously.  Am I not branching out, people?!

And this is my Sassy Face that I wore to match my sassy heels:

Okay, so that's less sassy and more sweet.  Have it your way, HERE is my sassy face:

I wish I could blame my complexion on the flash, but I really am just. that. white.

So we dined on some nachos and had some drinks and then there was dessert.

We were going to take a picture of it for you, but we eated it first.  

But trust me - it was lovely. And delicious.

Spending a carefree evening in the company of a friend? 

Even more lovely. And delicious.

The evening was a complete success, complete with a walk from the restaurant back to Camilla's house and a designated driver for me.  Camilla's husband, Russ, volunteered for that duty.  Russ is from Maine and says things like "Leave yeh cah pahked at the bah and I'll give you a lift home."  This is made even more awesome by the fact that when, in a few months, Camilla and Russ take their baby daughter and move to Sweden, Russ will presumably need to learn to speak some swedish.  I imagine this will be comparable to the sounds I heard while taking a French class in Texas.  If you don't find either of these situations hilarious, you really just don't get my sense of humor and probably need to watch more Monty Python.

Also, I'm trying not to weep over the fact that Camilla is moving back to Sweden.  Did you know that Sweden pays you to have kids? And that they have awesome programs to support parents who stay home with their kids? I am now weighing the chances I could convince Big Daddy to move to Sweden.  

Any-who, this fantastic evening was a lovely panacea to the wounds on my Mom-Weary heart.  Not that I was weary of motherhood - don't go reading it that way.  It's more that I was suddenly forced to face facts about my children growing up much faster than I am prepared to process.  See, just the evening before I was faced with THIS:

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS?!

So I'm okay with ME getting older. But that?  That is just... just... I mean, yesterday he looked like THIS:

Hello, Baby who is NOT Milo

But Holy Hannah Montana, do you LOOK like Milo!

And now I am faced with THIS:

And .. just... Wow.  

I might need another martini.

File Under "Parenting Lessons Learned"

"Where is your library book?" I asked impatiently.  If we didn't walk out the door in the next 2 minutes we would definitely miss the school bus.  

"I don't know! Ask Dad! He knows!"

"Dad is on his way to work already, and why would he have any idea where your book is?"

"He had it in his hand this morning. NO! Last night! He had it last night!"

"Get downstairs and get your shoes. I'll call dad."

...

"HURRY!"

And that is how I watched, in slow-motion, as my 5-year-old went tumbling down the stairs, ass-over-tea-kettle.  I flew down the stairs, calculated the likelihood that anything had been broken in the fall and - deeming it safe - scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the sofa.

I surveyed the fat lip and the stream of plump teardrops running over his rosy cheeks as he sobbed into my shirt.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Are you okay? That was scary, wasn't it? Does anything hurt?"

He continued to sniffle into the fabric of my pajamas while I stroked his hair.  Finally, with a deep sigh, he asked in a tiny, trembling voice.. "Mama? Are my teeth loose?"

I carefully checked each one, then reassured him that, no, his teeth were fine. Oh, and that little bit of blood? No, that was just from his lip where his tooth had caught it as his face hit the floor. (*shudder*)  His teeth were fine.

This brought on a fresh wave of sobs, which brought me fresh panic as I rechecked his body for some injury I had missed.  Was there a torn rotator? Maybe a cracked rib I had jostled as I hugged him?

"What is it, buddy?  Does something hurt? What's the matter??"

A hiccup.  Then, as he lifted his big, wet, brown, doe-eyes to mine, through trembling lips he whimpered...

"I really want a loose tooth!"

...

So, yeah. He's fine. The library book was summarily located and he and his brother were each deposited at their respective schools.

Me, on the other hand?  I think I need a vacation.

Spending Time Staring...

...at the cuteness.

He can put his feet in his mouth now.  And I am swooning over this. Because I can.

A Marvelous Work and A Wonder.

The above title comes from an LDS book of which my mother is rather fond.  I'm not talking about the book, though.  I'm just stealing the title.  I think it applies.  You could also call this post "Look what my amazing boobs did! Why am I not losing more weight?!" but I thought that might be an overshare...

One and Two and Three.

First there was just one.  He was one, he was only, and he was ours.  He was perfection, and we spoiled him with abandon.

Then there were two.  There was one and there was two, separate but equal in the eyes of the house.  Everything was a division -- Mom and Dad, Big and Little.  One-to-one defense, if you will. A constant attempt to be fair, and spoil them equally.

Now there are three.  Where there was once a competition between one and two, now I sit here on the sofa next to our tiny three.  One and two climb the stairs, engrossed in animated discussion, off on an adventure that will doubtless end in one bedroom completely destroyed.  But there are bad guys to be vanquished and heroes to be made.

Three is tiny and helpless.  Three has his mother.  One and two seem to understand this.  They have each other.  And they break my heart with the sweetness of it.

All Jacked Up!

Rounding out our week-long-ish rotation of "Photos of my Offspring!" it is now the turn of the eldest.  The Jack.  The impish/angsty teenage man in the body of a sturdy 5-year-old.  Do not mess with him, he will charm your heart... and THEN break it by telling you "Mom? Can you go take a shower? Like, right now? Because you smell REALLY bad."  Even if you just showered and, really, it's your breath that stinks because how were you supposed to know the kid would want to kiss you before 8am?  And who brushes their teeth BEFORE their coffee, anyway???

You have been warned.

Ignore the possessed demon baby. I was too lazy to fix red-eye.

One of the many "action" poses in his repetoire.

Action pose meets Thanksgiving headband.

At his Kindergarten Thanksgiving feast. He is obviously too cool for his Mama.

The Faces Of Tobin

Still Standing. (or Laying Down, as the case may be)

I know you thought I had abandoned you.  I keep doing these periodic check-ins and then disappearing again.  And I know you forgive me, what with life being totally taken over by the Infant Overlord and his co-Dictators, the Demanders of Snacks.

I'm still here.  WE'RE still here.  I'm still getting over this cold/virus/what-have-you, which includes coughing up things I have only ever seen in my nightmares until now.

Today marks 6 weeks since Milo joined our little posse.  I can't imagine life without him... all glorious, 12 pounds of him.  No, that's not a typo.  He came into the world at 9 pounds 14 ounces, left the hospital 10 ounces lighter, and by his two week check-up had gone up to 10 pounds 7 ounces.  At his one month he was up to 12 pounds 5 ounces.  His pediatrician chuckled and said "So the breast feeding is going well, then..."  Um, yes.  Also, I am thinking of attaching a storefront to my chest and selling it off as soft serve ice cream.  (You're welcome, PETA.)

Also at his one month check-up, the doctor noticed a heart murmur.  

So today is going to be spent having my lady parts inspected by my cheerfully silly OB (whose jokes remind me of my Uncle George) and a visit to a cardiologist who will inspect my tiny wonder and declare him perfect.  We're not discussing any other possible outcome, because my head might explode all over the clean kitchen and then someone would have to scrape brain matter off of the light fixtures.

Which is my offhand way of saying I am doing my very best not to Freak. Out.  Because murmurs are incredibly common in babies and children, and most of the time they are entirely benign.  And still, knowing this, if I think too much about it I start to break out in a cold sweat and my own heart skips a few beats, as though it is trying to send them straight to Milo's heart - just in case it's not as strong as it should be.

The thing is, though, you see... MY heart is not as strong as it should be when it comes to my boys.  Add in the lack of sleep, the lack of clothes that will fit this tired, stretched out body, and the uncertainty of everything right now and... well... there just has not been a lot of me left over to pour out into this chronicle we call "blog".

So forgive me if I continue to be a little sporadic in the posting.  Rest assured I am coping quite well with the post-partum part of all of this.  In fact, I'm getting ready to lay down a new vinyl plank floor in our living room, and the carpet installers will be here this week to replace the old carpets with lovely new carpets.  New carpets which have never been used as a litter box by cats, dog, or small humans. (Seriously. Toby's idea of potty training this week was to give the playroom carpet a fecal frosting.  It was lovely.  I'm taking the cost of the therapy, which I'll need in order to recover from the horrors, out of his college fund.)

But just so you know that we're still here... and perhaps so you can understand when I spend the few minutes I find in the day that could probably be used for writing to instead gaze at his wonder... I present, once again, Milo.