Four Months Old!

As his sister says it, he's a "four and a half month year old." Way to go Bunch!

P.S. Check out the chubby thighs!

My Boy

This boy has been blowing me away lately. Aside from the general cuteness, the blond curly hair (blond by my family's standards, at least), the singing, the laughing, the way he mispronounces things (we put on "sunscream" and go shopping at "Old Maybe"). Until a few months ago, he was the baby. Everything he did was viewed, evaluated and analyzed within the context of his older sister and when and how she did those things. Or in the case of the monumental messes he makes, the fact that she never did. Then the little guy came along and he became The Middle Child. And as much as it kills me to ever try to put a lid on his exuberance and joy, sometimes the baby really does need to take a nap.

But recently it's becoming more and more apparent that this boy is bright and smart and perceptive in his own right. He pays attention when you read to him. He listens, observes, and draws his own conclusions. Last week at lunch he had a couple of tortilla chips. He asked for "3 more to make 5." I was blown away. Math? Him? Really? Maybe he's been counting his Thomas trains while I wasn't paying attention. Then last night while we were reading a book I told him that M-O-O spells Moo (having already mastered English, I thought we could move on to Cow). He agreed wholeheartedly and added that Z-O-O spells "zoo." He kindly pointed it out to me on the page. What? How did he know? So I added that two O's together sound like "oo." Again, he agreed. "Yeah," he said, "like 'food.'" I had to pick my jaw off the floor after that one. How does he know these things? It's not like his harried mother has actually sat down and taught him. Today, when I asked him what M-O-O spells, he happily and confidently responded "Zoo!" So he's not ready for kindergarten yet. That's ok.

But, as any mom of a toddler will tell you, superior brain power really isn't the most important for our little darlings at this age. We take for granted that they'll eventually learn to read and write and add and all that school stuff. What we really get worked up about is their keeping their little tushies dry and learning to use the potty. I was starting to despair of this ever happening with my boy and was resigned to months more of disgusting diapers. With the looming deadline of the start of preschool starting at us, some of us moms were even starting to devise secret strategies of sneaking our kids in class wearing Pull-ups and putting the fear of God into them about daring to poop during school. But today, he did it. After months of bribes and cajoling and threatening and encouraging, he not only stayed dry most of the day but he POOPED IN THE POTTY!!!!!!!!!!!! Much celebrating ensued. An urgent call was placed to Daddy and Big Sister. Tomorrow the Grandmothers will be notified and, sadly, they will be forced to find something new to lose sleep over. The best part was watching how proud he was of himself, knowing that he did it when he always thought he didn't know how. Way to go, little dude.

So here he is with his M&M stained face (apparently they melt on your face, not in your mouth), rosy cheeks, chipped tooth, and big scab from a recent run-in with the pavement. He wears his joy not just in his smile but in his eyes. Always has. He's the boy I never knew I wanted, the one who, by all rights, should never have been born. He's the light of my life and the laughter of my days. And today, he's a Toileteer.

A Request. No, A Desperate Plea.

IF you have as much black hair covering your body as an average gorilla and,
IF that hair extends down your lower back and covers your butt and even extends into your nasty fluffy butt crack and,
IF you insist on wearing low rise jeans with no visible undergarment and sit outside, leaning way forward in your chair talking to your friends while innocent people, even children, are walking by, or God forbid, trying to enjoy a cold Starbucks beverage on a freakishly hot southern California day,
THEN for God's sake put on an overcoat or jacket or at least a long shirt to cover that thing up. Better yet, just wear a jumpsuit.

Meow!

Go see this movie. Watch the movie, sleep, eat popcorn, make out, whatever, I don't care. But pay attention to the credits. Under "Pipeline" (who even knows what the heck that is?), it has one single solitary name (Tannaz Sassooni? gesundheit!) , and then a whole bunch of other names. Go to my sister's blog and tell her how cool she is and how proud her family is of her.

My Dad & Their Daddy

Baba and Ray. Two great dads. One's a better grandpa than anyone ever imagined he'd be. He actually says "I love you" to them. Out loud. You've come a long way, Dad. The other is not just a great dad, but the kind of husband that helps me be a better Mom too. That's the sign of a really good Daddy. They adore him, and so do I. Happy Father's Day guys.

It's the little things

Everyone who's had a baby knows there are certain important milestones in post-partum life. I'm not talking about the baby sleeping through the night (although that's a HUGE one) or eating solid food for the first time. I'm talking about the things that slowly remind you that you were once a person before you were a baby factory (and in my case, a dairy too). These milestones include the first shower after childbirth (wow, you're the only person in your body again!). Even if you're just using nasty hospital soap, it's still a great shower. Another good one is the day you get to wear your own underwear again. Woo hoo, what a feeling. Well, yesterday, I got to take the rubber band off the button of my last hold out pre-pregnancy pants. Yep, I not only buttoned them on their own, but walked around all day without having to suck my stomach in (as if that's even possible anymore). True that there's still all the pre-pregnancy weight to tackle, but that's for another day. There'll be other milestones, like taking the stroller out of my trunk for the last time (makes me weepy just thinking about it) or leaving the house with my kids but no diaper bag, but for now we'll just concentrate on that one button that stayed closed all day.

Add to that my new turquoise flip flops that I wore all day and it was not a bad day at all.

One of life's annoying little ironies.

Why is it that my wiggliest child is also the one with the sharpest and fastest growing fingernails? And is every single blood vessel in an infant's body concentrated in the thumbnail? My poor little guy looks like a stabbing victim and I'm practically sick to my stomach at having done this to him...again. Will I never learn?

Been Creating!

If I wasn't on a couple of Design Teams with actual expectations and deadlines, I would probably never scrap. However, my good friend Jacquie at Dragonfly Designs was kind enough to choose me for her DT and then send me awesome stuff to work with. The top image is a bad scan of an altered notebook covered with Daisy D's papers and T monogram, which I added Julia's glitter glue and some ribbon to. I plan to keep this in my car to jot down thoughts, lists, to-do's, etc. The first of these will be all the things I plan to do in the Best Summer Ever . The second also uses Daisy D's papers and rub-ons (SO COOL) and has pictures of Julia at around 7 months old. Very simple (aren't all of my pages?) but you just can't screw up with these awesome papers. Thanks Jacquie!

This Is What She Does

just when I am at the end of my rope with her. We had a birthday party at Kindergarten today for all the kids with summer birthdays, including mine. Of course it's stressful for me to get there, with the boys and all. And of course, I volunteer to help plan it. She didn't ask for the brothers after all. She wasn't that into the party, but she did create this visor. Some of the kids decided not to decorate theirs. The others did all they could do spell out their names and add a couple of hearts or balloons. Mine did an entire sentence, "Julia Loves Mommy," surrounded by hearts. How can I not melt? It made the stress and the planning and all of it so worth it. I don't care how much stress there is, as long as it matters to her that I was there. And I guess it does. Makes it feel like Mother's Day all over again.


P.S. She complained about posing for this picture. I think we're starting "that age." Damn.