Dear Foster,
Today is Leap Day. Wait. Is that the correct term? I mean, it's Wednesday, February 29th, 2012, so it's definitely not a normal day.
February 29th only comes around every 4 years and when it does, it's called a Leap Year. But, what is the actual day called? Hang on...Imma google it...
Yep, Leap Day.
Okay, now that we've established that.
I wasn't planning on writing today, but a couple things have happened that I want to make sure I write down, so here goes.
First of all, you're funny. Very funny. Laugh out loud funny.
Since my last post your Foster-isms have only gotten better.
Last night while your daddy was changing your poopy diaper you made this declaration:
"Daddy, goils (girls) don't have pemises. Dey have butts, wis hair on dem."
I immediately called my mother, your Grandma Patty (i.e., Patty Mama or Mama Patty) to tell her and she reminded me to write it down.
It's a risk, me writing that, because I don't want all 11 (eleven!) of my followers to think A) I have a hairy butt, or B) I'm in need of a trim...if you know what I mean.
But, that's what writing is, I guess, a risk.
In the meantime, I pointed out that Daddy was changing your poopy diaper because you refuse to use the potty for pooping.
You are doing very well staying dry when it comes to pee-pee, but when you need to poop, you ask for a diaper. Or, go in your underwear.
My brother, your Uncle Jonathan, did this until he was at least 4 (sorry, Bro!), so I know it's not unusual for boys to have trouble with this. The funny part is that when I ask you when you think you might go poop on the potty, you say you'll do it when you're 14.
This month you got in trouble at school for saying the word, STUPID. [Enter gasp from around the world.]
Your teacher, Miss Gretchen, pulled me aside at pick up and whispered that she had to have a talk with you because you asked her "to tie your stupid shoe."
I immediately started laughing and explained that it was my fault because that's not a bad word at our house and I frequently refer to the STUPID cats! Or, the STUPID dog!
She assured me that she did not tell you it was a BAD word, just a word that 'we' don't use at school.
Well, goody, cause we're gonna keep using it at home! Never to refer to a person, unless of course that person is stupid.
No, not really, I've tried to tone it down at home and now refer to the STUPID cats and dog as "silly".
The other thing I want to make sure I write down has to do with your baby sister, you know, the one in my belly.
That girl has caused me to put on 26 pounds already! Can you believe that? I gained 10 pounds each - this month and last month.
What? What?!
My doctor says she is not concerned, and that if I continue to gain as expected, I will be right where I was with my weight gain with you and within normal limits.
So, I guess I'm not concerned either.
Now, where'd I hide the Nutella?
xoxo,
Mama (i.e., Miss Piggy)
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Monthly Update: 36
Dear Foster,
Last week you turned three years old.
Wait. Forget last week! I haven't written you in a few months because I was hoping to write about other mommy related things when BAM! I got pregnant. And sick.
It wasn't a surprise, really, it just happened right when your daddy and I thought we'd be okay with having a second child.
Selfishly, I was hoping it would take a few months. A few months that I could indulge in you before you turned a whopping THREE YEARS OLD. Kissing the crook of your neck. Your head resting in the crook of mine. Running my fingers through your wild hair. Kissing your chubby cheeks.
Already you don't want to cuddle. Or be carried down the stairs. Or give me a hug and kiss goodbye when I drop you off at school.
Those are natural rites of passage, I know, but you are my first born. My first love (not counting your daddy, of course). My first glimpse of how deep the Father's love is for us. And I was just hoping our uninterrupted time together would last a little longer.
I love being your mommy and the time when it's just the two of us. Talking. Rocking. Reading. Walking.
A few weeks ago we found out the baby I'm carrying is a GIRL! Just like you said.
I cannot tell you how thrilled I am about that! As my dad (your Papa) said, I'm going to have a little buddy.
You used to be my buddy, then you grew up and became a "big boy" (your words, not mine). And now it's all about daddy.
I know the tide will turn, yet again, especially once Baby Girl is here, but for now I'm enjoying the freedom and spending my time dreaming about frilly dresses, pink lace, and pig tails. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
As always, your speech and language continues to be your strength and these past few months have been ripe with funny Foster-isms.
Like this one:
Foster: Daddy, is today Sunday school?
Daddy: No, today is Tuesday. Which day is SUNDAY school?
Foster: WITCH day is not Sunday school! Why you say WITCH day?
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, did God make spiders?
Mommy: Yes, I think so.
Foster: I bet he wore gloves.
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, look! This stick is beautiful!
Mommy: Yes, it is beautiful and you're beautiful too!
Foster: No, I not beautiful. Daddy is beautiful.
Mommy: Yes, Daddy is beautiful. Am I beautiful?
Foster: No.
Gee thanks, kid.
Your favorite play activity is pretending with your friends (i.e., stuffed animals). Your best friend is Bear-Bear, of course. Then Kitty-Cat (the only girl of the bunch). Then Lamb. After those three, it's a toss up. Depends on your mood, I guess.
Your daddy was out of town for a week over your birthday, but when he returned he brought you back a new friend, a penguin. You named him Happy Feet.
Tomorrow we celebrate your birthday (a week late) with local family members. This has been our tradition every year so far and will continue to be until you care otherwise. I don't think you mind, though. I mean, all of your friends are already here!
Your cake has a train on it. Very fitting because you love trains and are so proud of yourself that you can now say, TR-ain. It used to be CR-ane, and sometimes when you said it I wouldn't be sure if you were talking about a crane or a train.
"No! CRANE!", you'd yell.
"Oh, TR-ain. Oh, okay. I see it now." This usually happened when you were in the back seat.
Then one day, you were talking about a train and just to make sure I got it, you enunciated the T-R. "Not, CR-ane, Mommy."
Noted.
You are a big boy now. Potty training (sort of). Brushing your teeth (sometimes). Brushing your hair (not very well). Pulling your pants up. Pushing them down. Putting rain boots on..."Mommy, are dees on da right feet?"
I have loved every minute of these past three years. (Notice I didn't say every second!) And I am going to miss this time, just the two of us.
I will never be able to give Baby Girl what I've given you and I hope you know just how special you are.
Love and tears,
Mama
Last week you turned three years old.
Wait. Forget last week! I haven't written you in a few months because I was hoping to write about other mommy related things when BAM! I got pregnant. And sick.
It wasn't a surprise, really, it just happened right when your daddy and I thought we'd be okay with having a second child.
Selfishly, I was hoping it would take a few months. A few months that I could indulge in you before you turned a whopping THREE YEARS OLD. Kissing the crook of your neck. Your head resting in the crook of mine. Running my fingers through your wild hair. Kissing your chubby cheeks.
Already you don't want to cuddle. Or be carried down the stairs. Or give me a hug and kiss goodbye when I drop you off at school.
Those are natural rites of passage, I know, but you are my first born. My first love (not counting your daddy, of course). My first glimpse of how deep the Father's love is for us. And I was just hoping our uninterrupted time together would last a little longer.
I love being your mommy and the time when it's just the two of us. Talking. Rocking. Reading. Walking.
A few weeks ago we found out the baby I'm carrying is a GIRL! Just like you said.
I cannot tell you how thrilled I am about that! As my dad (your Papa) said, I'm going to have a little buddy.
You used to be my buddy, then you grew up and became a "big boy" (your words, not mine). And now it's all about daddy.
I know the tide will turn, yet again, especially once Baby Girl is here, but for now I'm enjoying the freedom and spending my time dreaming about frilly dresses, pink lace, and pig tails. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
As always, your speech and language continues to be your strength and these past few months have been ripe with funny Foster-isms.
Like this one:
Foster: Daddy, is today Sunday school?
Daddy: No, today is Tuesday. Which day is SUNDAY school?
Foster: WITCH day is not Sunday school! Why you say WITCH day?
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, did God make spiders?
Mommy: Yes, I think so.
Foster: I bet he wore gloves.
Or, this one:
Foster: Mommy, look! This stick is beautiful!
Mommy: Yes, it is beautiful and you're beautiful too!
Foster: No, I not beautiful. Daddy is beautiful.
Mommy: Yes, Daddy is beautiful. Am I beautiful?
Foster: No.
Gee thanks, kid.
Your favorite play activity is pretending with your friends (i.e., stuffed animals). Your best friend is Bear-Bear, of course. Then Kitty-Cat (the only girl of the bunch). Then Lamb. After those three, it's a toss up. Depends on your mood, I guess.
Your daddy was out of town for a week over your birthday, but when he returned he brought you back a new friend, a penguin. You named him Happy Feet.
Tomorrow we celebrate your birthday (a week late) with local family members. This has been our tradition every year so far and will continue to be until you care otherwise. I don't think you mind, though. I mean, all of your friends are already here!
Your cake has a train on it. Very fitting because you love trains and are so proud of yourself that you can now say, TR-ain. It used to be CR-ane, and sometimes when you said it I wouldn't be sure if you were talking about a crane or a train.
"No! CRANE!", you'd yell.
"Oh, TR-ain. Oh, okay. I see it now." This usually happened when you were in the back seat.
Then one day, you were talking about a train and just to make sure I got it, you enunciated the T-R. "Not, CR-ane, Mommy."
Noted.
You are a big boy now. Potty training (sort of). Brushing your teeth (sometimes). Brushing your hair (not very well). Pulling your pants up. Pushing them down. Putting rain boots on..."Mommy, are dees on da right feet?"
I have loved every minute of these past three years. (Notice I didn't say every second!) And I am going to miss this time, just the two of us.
I will never be able to give Baby Girl what I've given you and I hope you know just how special you are.
Love and tears,
Mama
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Book Review: Unbound Birth by Jennifer Yarbrough
As a mother of one, pregnant with my second, I have a vested interest in making this, my second labor and delivery, better than the first.
Not that it was bad. I went into labor naturally and labored at home until my contractions were five minutes apart for at least an hour. I had a vaginal delivery with minimal tearing and a healthy baby boy. And, I was able to breastfeed for over a year.
But, during my pregnancy I spent so much time reading about pregnancy and the newborn that I neglected the part about HAVING A BABY!
My intention with the birth of my son was to labor as long as I could and then if I needed an epidural, to get one. I mean, that's what all women do, right?
Wrong.
It wasn't until after I had my first child that I really started thinking about all the aspects of his birth that I didn't love.
Like how I wasn't allowed freedom of movement. And how my OB broke my water without discussion. And how after my water was broken I asked the nurse if I should go ahead and get an epidural or wait and see. And how she replied, "Honey, it's only gonna get worse."
(My full birth story here...)
Like I said, it wasn't a bad experience, but looking back, those are the things I would change. And so, I am planning a natural birth this time around.
I have already hired a doula, one that my OB recommends (a patient of hers, no less!) I'm practicing relaxation and yoga. And, I'm in the process of reading everything I can get my hands on about natural birth.
Enter Unbound Birth by Jennifer Yarbrough.
I read this book in one sitting. It was THAT good. THAT easy to read.
Unbound Birth is a book for women like me who have decided to have a natural birth in the hospital, but need some encouragement. Who want to hear real success stories, not just statistics.
It is also for women who aren't sure what they want, but are interested in learning more about a natural birth in the hospital.
There is "if I were you" advice on how to really have a natural birth in the hospital. Relaxation tips for getting through the pain of labor. Often neglected information on why the baby's position is important. And a sample birth plan. All in under 60 pages!
Jenny provides recommended reading if you want to learn more, but you just might find that this book is enough!
Unbound Birth is not preachy. It is not pretentious. And, it is not pricey!
Do yourself a favor and read Unbound Birth before you decide what kind of labor and delivery you'd like to have. I wish this book had been available before I had my first child. I'm sure I could have squeezed 58 pages into my library and I just may have had a birth I LOVE!
Like Unbound Birth on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/unboundbirth
Follow Unbound Birth on Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/Unboundbirth
Purchase Unbound Birth: http://unboundbirth.com/purchase-unbound-birth/
Purchase Unbound Birth: http://unboundbirth.com/purchase-unbound-birth/
Friday, December 23, 2011
Like Baby, Baby, Baby - Oh!
Like baby, baby, baby - oh!
Okay, I'll stop, but you know where I'm going with this, right?
I'm pregnant. So, yeah, that's where I've been the past three months. Sick.
Where have you been? And by "you" I mean my 8 followers.
I don't remember feeling this sick with Foster, but I guess maybe I just forgot. They say that women forget or else why would they keep having babies. And I say, GOOD QUESTION!
Just like with Foster, 12 weeks came and went and I still wasn't feeling any better. For me the turning point this time was more like 15 weeks. That's a long time to feel sick to your stomach and so tired you literally have to take a nap right after you brush your teeth. That is if you can even brush your teeth!
Hello, Gag Reflex!
Anyway, it's Christmas and I'm finally feeling better. Not quite like myself, but much better.
I've got news for him, though, billboards work too! (As does simply driving by a restaurant, but I digress.)
I'm now 16 weeks along and scheduled to find out this baby's sex in 2 weeks! I. CAN. NOT. WAIT.
We've been asking Foster whether he thinks the baby is a boy or a girl and he's finally understanding that question and consistently answering, "a little tiny baby girl."
Not just a baby girl, but a little tiny one.
That little tiny baby is big enough for me to feel kicking now and I take such delight in those moments. As I write this it feels like popcorn popping and it's always low on my right side.
At my last checkup I told the doctor I was pretty sure I felt the baby at 12 weeks in that same spot, so when she placed the fetal doppler there and immediately got the heartbeat, I was not surprised. Just happy to be right...12 weeks is early to feel a baby.
I'm not really showing yet. I mean, I can tell, but I can also still wear my normal clothes. Well, my jeans are unbuttoned, but still...
Today is Christmas Eve Eve and both Scott and Foster are home with strep throat. They're both on antibiotics and feeling better, but apparently very sleepy. They've been napping for over two and a half hours!
Here's hoping for a Christmas miracle - that I manage to stay healthy!
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
Okay, I'll stop, but you know where I'm going with this, right?
I'm pregnant. So, yeah, that's where I've been the past three months. Sick.
Where have you been? And by "you" I mean my 8 followers.
I don't remember feeling this sick with Foster, but I guess maybe I just forgot. They say that women forget or else why would they keep having babies. And I say, GOOD QUESTION!
Just like with Foster, 12 weeks came and went and I still wasn't feeling any better. For me the turning point this time was more like 15 weeks. That's a long time to feel sick to your stomach and so tired you literally have to take a nap right after you brush your teeth. That is if you can even brush your teeth!
Hello, Gag Reflex!
Anyway, it's Christmas and I'm finally feeling better. Not quite like myself, but much better.
Food looks and sounds good again, and even tastes good!
Scott says the only people food commercials appeal to are pregnant women because I want to eat EVERYTHING I see.
I'm now 16 weeks along and scheduled to find out this baby's sex in 2 weeks! I. CAN. NOT. WAIT.
We've been asking Foster whether he thinks the baby is a boy or a girl and he's finally understanding that question and consistently answering, "a little tiny baby girl."
Not just a baby girl, but a little tiny one.
That little tiny baby is big enough for me to feel kicking now and I take such delight in those moments. As I write this it feels like popcorn popping and it's always low on my right side.
At my last checkup I told the doctor I was pretty sure I felt the baby at 12 weeks in that same spot, so when she placed the fetal doppler there and immediately got the heartbeat, I was not surprised. Just happy to be right...12 weeks is early to feel a baby.
I'm not really showing yet. I mean, I can tell, but I can also still wear my normal clothes. Well, my jeans are unbuttoned, but still...
Today is Christmas Eve Eve and both Scott and Foster are home with strep throat. They're both on antibiotics and feeling better, but apparently very sleepy. They've been napping for over two and a half hours!
Here's hoping for a Christmas miracle - that I manage to stay healthy!
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The First of Its Kind
So, this is where this blog becomes less about my son, Foster, and more about everything else.
First up, The Five Minute Brownie!
Source
A Facebook friend posted a link to this recipe yesterday, and yesterday I was seriously craving some chocolate! Only, I had already eaten a handful of M&M's from Foster's potty reward jar, so I decided not to make this brownie-in-a-mug and bookmarked the recipe for future reference.
Future reference = today. That's right, I. Have. No. Willpower.
As I write this, I'm eating a brownie out of my favorite mug. Wait, scratch that. I just drank the crumbs.
The recipe is below and yes, it tastes and feels just like a brownie. It is a brownie and it was totally worth it.
Best part, I don't have the rest of the pan calling my name. Making me feel guilty.
Guilty for not eating another and another and another. I mean, how wasteful would that be?
Guilty for eating another and another and another.
Worst part, I didn't have any vanilla ice cream to scoop on top. (You know, the whole no willpower thing.)
Enjoy! I'm going to take a nap.
Ingredients
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
dash of salt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons water
1/3 teaspoon vanilla
small handful of chocolate chips (optional)
Instructions
Whisk together dry ingredients in a coffee mug, standard size (11 oz.) or larger. Add oil, water, and vanilla and mix thoroughly -- making sure to scrape the bottom and sides so that it's all incorporated. If you'd like, mix in chocolate chips.
Microwave on high for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. The finished product will be soft-ish and chewy.
Cool for a minute. Eat right out of the mug :) Don't wait long, as the brownie will harden with time.
Note: This serving size is pretty generous. For kids or for adults with modest appetites, I recommend cutting all the quantities in half (and decreasing the cooking time -- in my microwave, the half-recipe takes about 45 seconds on high) for a smaller brownie in a mug.
http://www.squidoo.com/fiveminutebrownie
First up, The Five Minute Brownie!
Source
A Facebook friend posted a link to this recipe yesterday, and yesterday I was seriously craving some chocolate! Only, I had already eaten a handful of M&M's from Foster's potty reward jar, so I decided not to make this brownie-in-a-mug and bookmarked the recipe for future reference.
Future reference = today. That's right, I. Have. No. Willpower.
As I write this, I'm eating a brownie out of my favorite mug. Wait, scratch that. I just drank the crumbs.
The recipe is below and yes, it tastes and feels just like a brownie. It is a brownie and it was totally worth it.
Best part, I don't have the rest of the pan calling my name. Making me feel guilty.
Guilty for not eating another and another and another. I mean, how wasteful would that be?
Guilty for eating another and another and another.
Worst part, I didn't have any vanilla ice cream to scoop on top. (You know, the whole no willpower thing.)
Enjoy! I'm going to take a nap.
Ingredients
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
dash of salt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons water
1/3 teaspoon vanilla
small handful of chocolate chips (optional)
Instructions
Whisk together dry ingredients in a coffee mug, standard size (11 oz.) or larger. Add oil, water, and vanilla and mix thoroughly -- making sure to scrape the bottom and sides so that it's all incorporated. If you'd like, mix in chocolate chips.
Microwave on high for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. The finished product will be soft-ish and chewy.
Cool for a minute. Eat right out of the mug :) Don't wait long, as the brownie will harden with time.
Note: This serving size is pretty generous. For kids or for adults with modest appetites, I recommend cutting all the quantities in half (and decreasing the cooking time -- in my microwave, the half-recipe takes about 45 seconds on high) for a smaller brownie in a mug.
http://www.squidoo.com/fiveminutebrownie
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Monthly Update: 32
Dear Foster,
You are officially 32 months old, or 2 years and 8 months. This might be the last time I write a sentence like that about you, as keeping track of the months is just getting too hard. I mean, I have to count on my fingers every time!
Besides, I've obviously fallen off the mommy blogging wagon when it comes to keeping up with your development on a monthly basis, so I may as well use this blog for other things I want to talk about and like you, I have a lot to say.
Some things I'm planning to write about are home improvement projects and recipes. (As if. I couldn't really be a Mommy Blogger if I didn't talk about those things, right?)
Some things I will probably not write about are arts and crafts, because A - I am not artsy, and B - I am not crafty. I wish I was, though, and every now and again I get a wild hair up my you-know-what and tear the house apart trying to make something Martha Stewart would be proud of.
That said, without further ado, here is what's been going on with you...
As I write this you're at school (Mother's Day Out). You started after Labor Day and the transition has been smooth as silk.
Your new teacher's name is Gretchen and I made the mistake of telling you that her last name was Lyons, so now you refer to her as Miss Gretchen Lyons.
Over the summer you became quite the napper, sometimes sleeping almost 4 hours! Now that school has started, though, you are one tired boy. The two year olds don't go down for "rest time" until 12:30 and then I have to pick you up at 2:00. That means the most nap you'll get at school is an hour and a half.
I've handled this transition pretty well so far. Your daddy and I just put you to bed earlier on those nights and then congratulate ourselves on becoming more flexible parents.
It's not that we're rigid, we're just firm believers in a schedule.
You've always been a great kid, we think partly due to your schedule - that you've always known what comes next in your daily routine - but you're getting older (or as you like to say, I'm a big boy!) and it's time for us to move on. To give you opportunities, rather than predictability. Adventures rather than comfort.
Despite the fact that you're a big boy now, you are not potty trained.
We're not worried about this or irritated by it. I think we're more perplexed because before the age of two, you were all about sitting on that potty! It was once we started rewarding you for pee-pee and poo-poo on the potty that your interest waned, and now when I ask if you'd like to use the potty, you simply say, "no".
Well, I guess I can't argue with that. (Or the fact that your definition of a big boy is one who can reach da sink!)
One way that you are acting like a big boy is by reading. Okay, not really reading, but memorizing books. You often say, "me read it", and all I have to do is say the first word of the sentence and you can finish the page.
You have also begun to sing songs. In tune and everything. Two of your favorites are, I've Been Working on the Railroad and God Our Father. It's really sweet when you sing along with us in the car, or as I'm listening to Adele in the kitchen. I'll have no idea that you're even listening when all of a sudden I hear your little voice, Rumor has it. Rumor has it. Rumor has it...
One thing I didn't expect so early was being corrected by you.
Whether it's being told, Actually, it's a grasshopper, Mama. Or, arguing with you about the correct past tense of "bite".
You: Dat bug bited me.
Me: Oh, that bug bit you?
You: No, it BITED me.
Me: Right. It BIT you.
You: NO! It BITED me!
Me: Oh, okay...
I find myself losing a lot of arguments with you, simply because you do not back down! It's usually me that has to be right, but with you, I'm much more gracious.
This summer you came down with an unexplained fever that landed us in the emergency room. We had no intention of ending up there, but your fever was too high to be examined at the minute clinic, which we had only gone to because it was after hours.
It was only once we were waiting and waiting and waiting in the ER that I considered calling the doctor on call. Duh.
His response? "Fever means nothing. How's your child acting? If he's acting okay with a fever reducer, then he's fine."
Come again? You mean I've been a parent for over two years and had no idea that I don't need to worry if my child has a fever over 104? Well, alrighty then.
Your daddy and I were a little put out by the run around we'd been given from the minute clinic and the wait time at the ER, so we left.
That's right, Mr. and Mrs. Rigid Schedule left the ER while you, our beloved baby boy, had a fever of 104.2! We were so proud of ourselves for making such an irresponsible decision that we celebrated at Chick-fil-A on our way home.
Luckily, your fever was gone the next morning.
At some point this summer you morphed into Captain Destruction and more than once you've gotten a spank for throwing things that aren't supposed to be thrown.
Like that time we were in a restaurant and you found a pebble on the ground and proceeded to throw it at a man. (Yes, you read that right.)
Only, the pebble landed in the man's shirt pocket, so your daddy and I weren't sure whether to spank you or high five!
In an effort to have fun and burn energy, I've been trying to teach you how to dance. Usually while I'm cooking dinner and you're starting to get tired and fussy. That's when I'm rocking out to my ipod. But, honey child, you. can. not. shake. your. booty.
Now I'm not saying I'm a great dancer or anything, but I can shake my money maker and I thought it would be so cute if you could too. Fail.
In the meantime, you're a smart boy and upon seeing the crescent moon one night, you asked, Somebody cwimed a wadder to cut da moon?
How sweet is that?
You're also quite the jokester and often you'll make up some crazy story and when I prod you for more information, you simply reply, I was just joking.
Ah, I see. (It's cute now, but pretty soon it'll be called LYING.)
Just in time for this post was your first role in a wedding. The Ring Bearer.
Our next door neighbors and dear friends, Aaron & Ashley, asked you and me to be in their wedding. What an honor, and you did so well. Your daddy and I were so proud.
That is until the officiant said, "Let us pray" and you cried out, "No! I wanna pway!"
I don't think anyone heard your outcry because your daddy immediately scooped you up and took you for a walk. Poor guy missed the ceremony.
It was a great night, though. We kept you out waaaaaaay past your bedtime and you enjoyed every minute of the eating, drinking and dancing. So did we.
We love you, Foster Monroe, and we are so proud of the big boy you're becoming. A big, smart, sweet, funny and handsome lad. Even if you can't dance.
xoxo,
Mama
You are officially 32 months old, or 2 years and 8 months. This might be the last time I write a sentence like that about you, as keeping track of the months is just getting too hard. I mean, I have to count on my fingers every time!
Besides, I've obviously fallen off the mommy blogging wagon when it comes to keeping up with your development on a monthly basis, so I may as well use this blog for other things I want to talk about and like you, I have a lot to say.
Some things I'm planning to write about are home improvement projects and recipes. (As if. I couldn't really be a Mommy Blogger if I didn't talk about those things, right?)
Some things I will probably not write about are arts and crafts, because A - I am not artsy, and B - I am not crafty. I wish I was, though, and every now and again I get a wild hair up my you-know-what and tear the house apart trying to make something Martha Stewart would be proud of.
That said, without further ado, here is what's been going on with you...
As I write this you're at school (Mother's Day Out). You started after Labor Day and the transition has been smooth as silk.
Your new teacher's name is Gretchen and I made the mistake of telling you that her last name was Lyons, so now you refer to her as Miss Gretchen Lyons.
Over the summer you became quite the napper, sometimes sleeping almost 4 hours! Now that school has started, though, you are one tired boy. The two year olds don't go down for "rest time" until 12:30 and then I have to pick you up at 2:00. That means the most nap you'll get at school is an hour and a half.
I've handled this transition pretty well so far. Your daddy and I just put you to bed earlier on those nights and then congratulate ourselves on becoming more flexible parents.
It's not that we're rigid, we're just firm believers in a schedule.
You've always been a great kid, we think partly due to your schedule - that you've always known what comes next in your daily routine - but you're getting older (or as you like to say, I'm a big boy!) and it's time for us to move on. To give you opportunities, rather than predictability. Adventures rather than comfort.
Despite the fact that you're a big boy now, you are not potty trained.
We're not worried about this or irritated by it. I think we're more perplexed because before the age of two, you were all about sitting on that potty! It was once we started rewarding you for pee-pee and poo-poo on the potty that your interest waned, and now when I ask if you'd like to use the potty, you simply say, "no".
Well, I guess I can't argue with that. (Or the fact that your definition of a big boy is one who can reach da sink!)
One way that you are acting like a big boy is by reading. Okay, not really reading, but memorizing books. You often say, "me read it", and all I have to do is say the first word of the sentence and you can finish the page.
You have also begun to sing songs. In tune and everything. Two of your favorites are, I've Been Working on the Railroad and God Our Father. It's really sweet when you sing along with us in the car, or as I'm listening to Adele in the kitchen. I'll have no idea that you're even listening when all of a sudden I hear your little voice, Rumor has it. Rumor has it. Rumor has it...
One thing I didn't expect so early was being corrected by you.
Whether it's being told, Actually, it's a grasshopper, Mama. Or, arguing with you about the correct past tense of "bite".
You: Dat bug bited me.
Me: Oh, that bug bit you?
You: No, it BITED me.
Me: Right. It BIT you.
You: NO! It BITED me!
Me: Oh, okay...
I find myself losing a lot of arguments with you, simply because you do not back down! It's usually me that has to be right, but with you, I'm much more gracious.
This summer you came down with an unexplained fever that landed us in the emergency room. We had no intention of ending up there, but your fever was too high to be examined at the minute clinic, which we had only gone to because it was after hours.
It was only once we were waiting and waiting and waiting in the ER that I considered calling the doctor on call. Duh.
His response? "Fever means nothing. How's your child acting? If he's acting okay with a fever reducer, then he's fine."
Come again? You mean I've been a parent for over two years and had no idea that I don't need to worry if my child has a fever over 104? Well, alrighty then.
Your daddy and I were a little put out by the run around we'd been given from the minute clinic and the wait time at the ER, so we left.
That's right, Mr. and Mrs. Rigid Schedule left the ER while you, our beloved baby boy, had a fever of 104.2! We were so proud of ourselves for making such an irresponsible decision that we celebrated at Chick-fil-A on our way home.
Luckily, your fever was gone the next morning.
At some point this summer you morphed into Captain Destruction and more than once you've gotten a spank for throwing things that aren't supposed to be thrown.
Like that time we were in a restaurant and you found a pebble on the ground and proceeded to throw it at a man. (Yes, you read that right.)
Only, the pebble landed in the man's shirt pocket, so your daddy and I weren't sure whether to spank you or high five!
In an effort to have fun and burn energy, I've been trying to teach you how to dance. Usually while I'm cooking dinner and you're starting to get tired and fussy. That's when I'm rocking out to my ipod. But, honey child, you. can. not. shake. your. booty.
Now I'm not saying I'm a great dancer or anything, but I can shake my money maker and I thought it would be so cute if you could too. Fail.
In the meantime, you're a smart boy and upon seeing the crescent moon one night, you asked, Somebody cwimed a wadder to cut da moon?
How sweet is that?
You're also quite the jokester and often you'll make up some crazy story and when I prod you for more information, you simply reply, I was just joking.
Ah, I see. (It's cute now, but pretty soon it'll be called LYING.)
Just in time for this post was your first role in a wedding. The Ring Bearer.
Our next door neighbors and dear friends, Aaron & Ashley, asked you and me to be in their wedding. What an honor, and you did so well. Your daddy and I were so proud.
That is until the officiant said, "Let us pray" and you cried out, "No! I wanna pway!"
I don't think anyone heard your outcry because your daddy immediately scooped you up and took you for a walk. Poor guy missed the ceremony.
It was a great night, though. We kept you out waaaaaaay past your bedtime and you enjoyed every minute of the eating, drinking and dancing. So did we.
We love you, Foster Monroe, and we are so proud of the big boy you're becoming. A big, smart, sweet, funny and handsome lad. Even if you can't dance.
xoxo,
Mama
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monthly Update: 29
Dear Foster,
Today you are 29 months old.
I know. I know. I skipped a month or two (or three), but really, who's counting?
April came and went in a flash. You got your first blister and your first skinned knee. Blah, blah, blah.
We celebrated Easter and gave you your first Easter basket. We hadn't given you one in years past because you were sorta clueless, but this year we went all out.
I struggled as a parent to find the balance between teaching you the true meaning of Easter and enjoying your excitement over the basket and all the festivities. This is something I'm sure all Christian parents deal with at each Christian holy day.
Turns out, you got it. During your bath that night I asked you what Easter means and you said, "Jesus is alive."
It really is that simple, isn't it?
At the end of April I went to the beach for a girls weekend, leaving you and your daddy to hold down the fort.
You guys had a great time together! What, with all the playing outside, going to the zoo, shopping at "Pluck-Its" (Publix), eating at "Chik-a-Lay", and fixing stuff with "skroof-divers" (screw drivers).
But, when I returned home, you welcomed me with "I missed you, Mommy!" and "I luff you!"
I luff you too, Foster. You have no idea.
In May we celebrated my 33rd birthday, then vacation, then your last day of school (Mother's Day Out), and finally, your daddy's 34th birthday. (He's getting old, eh?)
Vacation was awesome this year! Not just because we were at the beach, but because you loved everything about it - the surf, the sand, the pool, your own room, your own bathroom, and boiled peanuts. You are my child after all.
Perhaps my favorite part of those harried months, though, was our lazy mornings in mine and your daddy's bed.
Lazy may not be the most appropriate adjective, seeing as how our mornings start somewhere between 5:30 and 6:30, but being able to snuggle in bed - all three of us - and snooze off and on while you watch cartoons, has felt indulgent. We linger there as long as possible until you decide you've had enough and are ready for breakfast.
"Wake up Mommy! Wake up Daddy! Put your robe on. Put your slippers on. I want a fruit cup, peeeeez!"
Those mornings make up for the rest of the day when all I hear is, "No! I no want to obey!"
I had no idea that two year olds knew how to talk back. In fact, I was starting to panic and trying to figure out where we had gone wrong in our parenting when I got an email from a weekly parenting newsletter that I subscribe to, and guess what the topic was for this particular week?
TWO YEAR OLDS WHO TALK BACK!
Thank goodness! I'm not crazy. You're not crazy. I'm not a bad parent and you're not a bad kid. We're normal and every little thing gonna be all right.
In between your episodes of not wanting to obey and talking back, is a lot of cuteness, for realz.
One day at your grandparents' house, as we were all sitting down to lunch, we asked if you wanted to say the blessing. This is something you like to do because you get to thank God for whatever you want. Thunder, hamburgers, blankets, etc...
So, you began, "Dear God, sank (thank) you...
And then there was a moment of silence.
Grandpa finally said, "For?" And you replied, "five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."
Bahahahaha!
At night, as we're putting you to bed, you give me the to-do list: "Put a blanket on me and say me a prayer."
Sure thing.
Then you tell me: "Take my milk downstairs and put it in the fridge."
Of course. Anything else I can do for you?
Geez!
Last month we joined the YMCA, or as you call it, the YNCK.
At one point in your development you knew the letter A, but you have since forgotten and we've stopped correcting you.
We figure we only have a little while longer to enjoy your baby talk, so from now on, you may say whatever you want, however you want.
Already, "truck" has evolved from GOO-WA to KOO-WA to KOO-WAK and now to FRUCK. What the fruck?
(You know I couldn't pass that one up!)
Lately you and I have had a lot of errands to run during the day, and since you're starting to ask questions, I've had to explain what "running errands" means.
Yeah - not easy, and I must not have done a very good job because one day after your nap, when we were scheduled to "run some errands", you said to me, "I no want to walk errands."
Well, if it's any consolation Foster, I don't want to walk errands either. I'd rather drive.
Or would I? I mean, the whole time we're in the car you'redriving me crazy asking questions.
"What's dis song bout? What's love means? What's dat, Mommy? What's dat for? What you doin, Mommy? Why we stop? Where's Daddy? Why he at work?"
Foster, you're only two. You aren't supposed to start asking "wh" questions until you're three or four!
The worst is when you see someone different and incessantly ask questions about him or her.
Like last weekend at the YNCK, you saw a paraplegic woman in a wheelchair and immediately started asking a question for every answer I gave you, "What's she got, Mommy? Why she got a wheelchair? Why her legs don't work? What her legs broke for?"
AAAGGGHHH!
This week your Uncle Rob, Aunt Pam and cousins from Taiwan are visiting. You've had a ball playing with Caleb, Anna & Rebekah. They're leaving tomorrow and I'm so sad for you. I know you're going to miss them.
Anna & Rebekah are three and you speak just as well as they do. I like to take credit for your speech and language skills, but I know that I had very little to do with it.
You are your own person, and we've been teaching you about God and how He made you and put you in my belly. Thankfully you don't ask questions about that yet.
We've always pointed out the hospital where you were born, and now you talk about it every time we pass because it's the same hospital where a doctor "cut Grandma's neck open." (Your words, not mine.)
As I write about the hospital, I am reminded of little children, your age, who are there because they are sick. There are two specific children I have been praying for these past few weeks, Scout & Sadie.
Scout's family are local folks. They are Christians and I feel a connection to them, even though I don't know them.
Sadie is a distant relative of yours...her mom is your Grandma's first cousin once removed. I'm not sure what that makes you, but her family are also Christians, so we are all related in Christ.
These girls are fighting for their lives. Both need healing, Scout's heart and Sadie's brain. Reading about their daily struggles brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I simply do not have words to express my gratitude to Our Father for your health.
xoxo,
Mama
May the LORD bless you and protect you.
May the LORD smile on you and be gracious to you.
May the LORD show you his favor and give you his peace.
~Numbers 6:24-26 (NLT)
Today you are 29 months old.
I know. I know. I skipped a month or two (or three), but really, who's counting?
April came and went in a flash. You got your first blister and your first skinned knee. Blah, blah, blah.
We celebrated Easter and gave you your first Easter basket. We hadn't given you one in years past because you were sorta clueless, but this year we went all out.
I struggled as a parent to find the balance between teaching you the true meaning of Easter and enjoying your excitement over the basket and all the festivities. This is something I'm sure all Christian parents deal with at each Christian holy day.
Turns out, you got it. During your bath that night I asked you what Easter means and you said, "Jesus is alive."
It really is that simple, isn't it?
At the end of April I went to the beach for a girls weekend, leaving you and your daddy to hold down the fort.
You guys had a great time together! What, with all the playing outside, going to the zoo, shopping at "Pluck-Its" (Publix), eating at "Chik-a-Lay", and fixing stuff with "skroof-divers" (screw drivers).
But, when I returned home, you welcomed me with "I missed you, Mommy!" and "I luff you!"
I luff you too, Foster. You have no idea.
In May we celebrated my 33rd birthday, then vacation, then your last day of school (Mother's Day Out), and finally, your daddy's 34th birthday. (He's getting old, eh?)
Vacation was awesome this year! Not just because we were at the beach, but because you loved everything about it - the surf, the sand, the pool, your own room, your own bathroom, and boiled peanuts. You are my child after all.
Perhaps my favorite part of those harried months, though, was our lazy mornings in mine and your daddy's bed.
Lazy may not be the most appropriate adjective, seeing as how our mornings start somewhere between 5:30 and 6:30, but being able to snuggle in bed - all three of us - and snooze off and on while you watch cartoons, has felt indulgent. We linger there as long as possible until you decide you've had enough and are ready for breakfast.
"Wake up Mommy! Wake up Daddy! Put your robe on. Put your slippers on. I want a fruit cup, peeeeez!"
Those mornings make up for the rest of the day when all I hear is, "No! I no want to obey!"
I had no idea that two year olds knew how to talk back. In fact, I was starting to panic and trying to figure out where we had gone wrong in our parenting when I got an email from a weekly parenting newsletter that I subscribe to, and guess what the topic was for this particular week?
TWO YEAR OLDS WHO TALK BACK!
Thank goodness! I'm not crazy. You're not crazy. I'm not a bad parent and you're not a bad kid. We're normal and every little thing gonna be all right.
In between your episodes of not wanting to obey and talking back, is a lot of cuteness, for realz.
One day at your grandparents' house, as we were all sitting down to lunch, we asked if you wanted to say the blessing. This is something you like to do because you get to thank God for whatever you want. Thunder, hamburgers, blankets, etc...
So, you began, "Dear God, sank (thank) you...
And then there was a moment of silence.
Grandpa finally said, "For?" And you replied, "five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."
Bahahahaha!
At night, as we're putting you to bed, you give me the to-do list: "Put a blanket on me and say me a prayer."
Sure thing.
Then you tell me: "Take my milk downstairs and put it in the fridge."
Of course. Anything else I can do for you?
Geez!
Last month we joined the YMCA, or as you call it, the YNCK.
At one point in your development you knew the letter A, but you have since forgotten and we've stopped correcting you.
We figure we only have a little while longer to enjoy your baby talk, so from now on, you may say whatever you want, however you want.
Already, "truck" has evolved from GOO-WA to KOO-WA to KOO-WAK and now to FRUCK. What the fruck?
(You know I couldn't pass that one up!)
Lately you and I have had a lot of errands to run during the day, and since you're starting to ask questions, I've had to explain what "running errands" means.
Yeah - not easy, and I must not have done a very good job because one day after your nap, when we were scheduled to "run some errands", you said to me, "I no want to walk errands."
Well, if it's any consolation Foster, I don't want to walk errands either. I'd rather drive.
Or would I? I mean, the whole time we're in the car you're
"What's dis song bout? What's love means? What's dat, Mommy? What's dat for? What you doin, Mommy? Why we stop? Where's Daddy? Why he at work?"
Foster, you're only two. You aren't supposed to start asking "wh" questions until you're three or four!
The worst is when you see someone different and incessantly ask questions about him or her.
Like last weekend at the YNCK, you saw a paraplegic woman in a wheelchair and immediately started asking a question for every answer I gave you, "What's she got, Mommy? Why she got a wheelchair? Why her legs don't work? What her legs broke for?"
AAAGGGHHH!
This week your Uncle Rob, Aunt Pam and cousins from Taiwan are visiting. You've had a ball playing with Caleb, Anna & Rebekah. They're leaving tomorrow and I'm so sad for you. I know you're going to miss them.
Anna & Rebekah are three and you speak just as well as they do. I like to take credit for your speech and language skills, but I know that I had very little to do with it.
You are your own person, and we've been teaching you about God and how He made you and put you in my belly. Thankfully you don't ask questions about that yet.
We've always pointed out the hospital where you were born, and now you talk about it every time we pass because it's the same hospital where a doctor "cut Grandma's neck open." (Your words, not mine.)
As I write about the hospital, I am reminded of little children, your age, who are there because they are sick. There are two specific children I have been praying for these past few weeks, Scout & Sadie.
Scout's family are local folks. They are Christians and I feel a connection to them, even though I don't know them.
Sadie is a distant relative of yours...her mom is your Grandma's first cousin once removed. I'm not sure what that makes you, but her family are also Christians, so we are all related in Christ.
These girls are fighting for their lives. Both need healing, Scout's heart and Sadie's brain. Reading about their daily struggles brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I simply do not have words to express my gratitude to Our Father for your health.
xoxo,
Mama
May the LORD bless you and protect you.
May the LORD smile on you and be gracious to you.
May the LORD show you his favor and give you his peace.
~Numbers 6:24-26 (NLT)
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