things to do today: invest in a photo printer

O walmart, I believe we are at a cross-roads. I feel a decided remorse for you these days and my prior "love/hate" status with you is preeeeeetty much just hate.

I put off this errand, because of too much to do (who's not busy, right?) and ended up wanting to claw out my eyes while waiting to upload ONE (yes, that's right. One. 1!) picture in the stinkin' machine at the photo lab.
The "child" in front of me was in obvious indecision about which gang poses, sunglasses close-ups, and fake tattoo shots needed to be edited. And then spent another 5 minutes deciding how many of each said poses to print. O wait. Did I mention the shots of her in the bathroom with just her underwears on????!!!!!!(yes, I said underwears.)
And I guess now would be a good time to mention that her MOTHER was sitting alongside her - this 14 year old girl.
And just when I think I can't take it anymore... (!!!!!) she is now adding text to these kodak-award-winners. Most are tagged with "SEXAAAAY!"

Vomit.
I have nothing left to say.

apple of my eye

O (sigh.)
my baby is getting too big.
Alas, this is bitter sweet.
today we painted fingers and toes. wish i could have grabbed the camera and taken a good shot, but i will take what i can get. (camera from my phone)









She has also learned what to do when i hold the camera (yes, even the camera from my cell) in her direction and say, "say CHEEEEEESE!"













Even when we're making funny faces in the mirror and she unexpectedly pukes on me... out comes the camera phone and there she is, ready with the "CHEEEEESE!"









man, i love this kid.

"don't turn around o-oh...."

so lately this baby girl has been a lot faster than mommy is giving her credit for... (Obviously with the Lysol episode)

I thought I had just a second to turn around after getting items i needed out of the fridge...
No. Her new food love is blueberries. She managed to quietly pull them off the shelf and open the container by stepping on it. When I turned back around she was sitting and stuffing her face full of blueberries off the floor.












When I picked her up to put her in the highchair, she was very unhappy... and lost a sock in the process (it was proof of the container "stomping" and stained with blueberry juice.)














Another time I let her happily play (in her birthday suit) right before bedtime routine for two minutes in her room while I put clean crib sheets on her mattress (seriously, it was that fast)...








And at 2 minutes and 1 second, I heard grunting and found this...






Next, I was happily documenting something new - splashing in the bath tub - when she comes up with a "first" of her own...



And tonight, I got her ready for bed and left her room to get myself something to drink, i knew it was too quiet in there, but figured she was playing with her books (just like I left her) when I walked in to this...













i guess she wanted to do a little spring cleaning.

My new (unwanted) friend...

I'm lacking in my blogging skillzzz posts but will try to be better in the future.
Here's a recent happening:

Monday, March 9th
J's 9 month check up fell on this day... I thought it rather interesting that upon our departure, the nurse handed us our usual paperwork along with a bright red sticker stapled to the corner: POISON CONTROL.
huh? As if any good self-respecting mother has ever had to call that number... I scoffed to myself while I watched my husband program it in his phone.

Tuesday, March 10th
While internetting during baby's morning nap, I thought I might as well store that number in my phone before I file that paperwork. Whatever.

Wednesday, March 11th
Followed bath routine before bedtime:
1) Sit J on lap while running bath water.
Hmmm she's too fidgety now so I'll set her down for a sec... just long enough to get the temperature right and clog the drain.
I didn't make it past step 1.
I heard it before I saw it.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSKKKKKKKAAAAHHHHHHH!
huh? what the????
nice.









In one swift motion I grabbed that kid and saw that she not only sprayed her eyes, but managed to get up her nose and in her mouth. She was not screaming or crying, just a white face with red blotchy spots and two big blue eyes starring at me in shock. I practically drown her (no, wait, that comes later) while hanging her over the sink with one arm and splashing water all over her face with the other. That's when the crying took place. I must have grown an extra limb because I remember fumbling for the can of Lysol to see what else I needed to do... and then remembered that "stupid" number on my cell, looked it up and hit "dial."
As soon as I turned the water off at the sink she was so happy I wasn't doing the water torture anymore, that she is starts pulling my face in for some kisses. Over and over and over.
Well, wouldn't you know it? The nicest woman came on the phone, got my information and told me to take a 15-20 min shower with the baby, letting the water hit her on the top of the head and run down her face. That's where I'm sure Jeorgia was convinced I was trying to inflict harm on her. She was still giving me open mouth kisses in the shower.
Everything turned out perfectly fine. That sweet voiced, little woman from Poison Control even called back about an hour later to check on the situation... lovely gal that she is.
Looking back - I'm pretty sure those kisses were an attempt at an apology, with Jeorgia knowing she's not supposed to play with pink can. But hey, I'll be honest, I shouldn't have had it out. However, I'm a firm believer of teaching her the words "No" and "Don't touch" before I have to baby proof EVERYTHING. Come on, that spray is for guests, right?
So (sigh) I am thanking God that everything turned out alright. And I'm a little wiser to the placement of the Lysol can.

Thursday, March 12th
I don't think I can handle Toxic Shock Syndrome today.

So.... be careful little ears whacha hear...

So the movie EDTV isn't exactly in my top 10... top 100 either, but there is a great little scene where Matthew McConaughey could be working out or dressing or something where his flexed torso is being revealed... (I could care less about this. Really. Not a fan.) but "America" is addicted to this show "EdTv" and in the scene a man is watching his wife, drooling over the tv, and attempts to block her view with his body. She of course, can't handle this... and is motioning with her hands for him to GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE TV and DO IT NOW!!!! The husband puts his foot down and says something of the sorts, "That's it!!! Woman! I'm gonna make ya say my name tonite!"
toooo funny.

Well one time I may have been a little lippy and sassy with my loving husband and he pulled the reigns in by exclaiming, "WOMAN! I'm gonna make ya say my name tonite!!!"
Did I mention we were with MY PARENTS!!!?!?!?????
toooo funny.

Several months later I was retelling the story to my Aunt and family - we had a good laugh.
BUT.... little did I know of little ears picking up only bits and pieces of the story.
When my 10 year-old cousin was being teased by my husband later in the evening... her quick comeback was, "I'm gonna make ya say my name tonite..."
We all started giggling and I've never seen my husband get uncomfortable around a group - but it happened...
Basically my little cousin picked up on the "catch phrase" and just associated it with getting lots of laughter.... a great follow up if someone is being a "know-it-all-smarty-pants"
Right?!???
Glad I wasn't involved in the "why that's not appropriate to say" explanation.

neuroses

I am not ashamed to admit it. I think it goes back to my days of singledom - buying something for my place - without a care of whether someone else will like it (keep it clean, keep it picked up, etc, etc, etc.) or not.
With that said....
I have a cute rectangular wicker basket that sits atop the toilet in the guest bathroom. In said basket are several crisp white hand towels and washcloths. All neat and tidy, tucked away.
I call them my "Don't-Touch-Towels." They are there for aesthetics. That's right - no purpose whatsoever other than to look pretty.
I also have a towel tray that holds a hand towel (der) directly next to the sink - this I expect guests to use. NOT the "Don't-Touch-Towels!"
I don't understand how these are the first grabbed at by guests after washing up.
I have even had someone use one of the "Don't-Touch-Towels" when apparently I had run out of toilet paper!!!! That's right, it was completely soaked (but rung out) and folded in half, hanging over the sink. The culprit even informed me that it was "okay" because they just went "#1"
Wha? Huh?!?!
Am I alone out here????
You better "drip dry" sister!
"Don't-Touch-Towels" are just that - "Don't-Touch-Towels!!!"
(ok. I'm done.)

Tourette's syndrome... and a feather stroke

oh boy.
where to begin?
Probably by first stating that I looove my husband. He is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I am extremely grateful to have him and am so blessed with him in my life.

And back to the title of this blog:
so... i fear that J may one day suddenly develop signs of Tourette's syndrome - not any physical tics - just the vocal ones; what most people often associate with Tourette's - the exclamation of obscene words.

"Why?" you ask.
Because she may spring up some suppressed infantile memory of her mother and the beginning weeks of breast feeding...
I could have put any sailor to shame with the language that rolled off my tongue.

I would ask friends and family... "Just when exactly should the pain go away?"
Every answer was different but the longest period of time I got was - four weeks.
So, I waited... and those four weeks crept by. And then six weeks... and still the pain... or as I like to refer to it as the perfect torture.

More specifically... I would tell people that learning to breastfeeding would be the perfect wartime torture. (I suspect the government may already be using this tactic... if not, they should be, it would make a captive reveal any secret.)

Imagine having your arms tied at your sides and being blindfold. You have no shirt on and you are sitting in a chair. A large starved rat is then placed at your nipple. This rat gnaws and nibbles while you are in inconsolable pain. Tears are streaming down your face and sweat beads are rolling down your brow. And no curse word in the world - ones you've heard or ones you are cleverly making up - will do the trick to make those tiny little teeth subside their "eating" of your flesh! Now that you are about to pass out and just may have done so, the rat is removed... but then placed on your other nipple! After about 20-30 minutes of enduring this torture you are untied, allowed to go back to a normal breathing rhythm and life resumes as you know it - just long enough to let your tender, cracked, red, possibly bleeding nipples heal.... And then they find you and you do it all over again.

But in real life, the torture continues... every 2 hours to be exact. For weeks.

My sister was a godsend during this learning experience. She was quite the master of diversions - a mug of ice cold water with a straw, gently soothing my "birds nest" hair and softly hushing "shhh's" in my ear; telling me to breathe. The best thing was the feather stroke. This is a light touch done with the fingertips... skimming up and down my arms, neck, shoulders and back. It will give you goosebumps and a slight chill - which is heaven when you feel your body temperature rising to a degree of pain that you are certain could make your head pop right off.

Once my sister and her family returned to their home, my loving husband adoringly took her place and continued to console me during these times of "torture." However, B had no where near "mastered" the feather stroke. My husband was deathly afraid of me during this phase - from the corner of my eye I could see his face... white, shocked, scared (his jaw slightly dropped and eyes open wide.) I'm sure he thought he was witnessing an exorcism.

It would be time to feed the baby again... and B would mimic what he saw my sister repeatedly do - yet slightly different. His very large , very heavy, very hot hands would touch every square inch of my arms, neck, shoulders, etc. His fingers curled like a cat about to pounce. And I would close my eyes, attempt to drink that cold water (while still making sailors blush with my foul mouth) and I would violently thrust my shoulder back at him in attack.
"FEATHER STROKE!" I would whine.
"THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING," he would protest.
"No. No. No. NO. You are using all your body weight. It's supposed to be light. LIKE A FEATHER! And you're not supposed to touch every square inch of skin!"
Very confused he asks, "Can't I just use a feather then?!?!"

... huh? wa? huh?!?! what?!?!?
I wanted to scream, "YES HONEY! YES! USE A FEATHER! GO ON OUT AND FIND A FEATHER AND THEN COME BACK AND USE IT! SURE! THAT WILL BE MUUUUCH EASIER."

lol. Poor, poor man.
He was so patient.

sigh.

Praise God that after about nine, maybe ten weeks, the feedings got easier and easier (pain free!) and my language cleaned up.

Now I pray Jeorgia was toooooo consumed with all that warm milk to have payed any attention to mommy's potty mouth... it certainly didn't prevent her from stuffing her face.

A quote from one of my favorite movies:
"A Christmas Story"
Ralphie: In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.