Mommy's Day Out

I LOVE being a mommy, and I have LOVED every minute of getting to spend the summer with G.  BUT.....she does make it much more difficult to shop.  Walking around a mall and spending hours trying on clothes doesn't have nearly the same appeal.
A friend suggested we leave our little ones in Daddy daycare and go to the outlet mall three hours away in Colorado.  We loaded up with her oldest daughter early in the morning for a girls' day out.    It was really nice to shop, chat, and relax.  My friend is really good at making good conversation so the three hour trip didn't seem very long at all.  We did both worry about how our little ones were faring with the daddies.
My friend calls to see how it was going at her house.  Her husband informs her that he has taken the kids to the activities center, the library, the museum, and was having a water balloon fight.
I call my husband worried that G is giving him fits.  He informs me that she had already taken two hour and a half long naps (for me she takes a couple of 20 minute naps and one longer nap).   He'd also had no poopy diapers (the day before I'd gotten three, and I've already gotten one this morning).  Other than that they'd played, sang, worked on standing, and were having a great day.  He also called excitedly to ask if it was normal for her to be sitting in her crib after being laid down for a nap.   No!!!! Not normal!!!!  She had sat up all by herself for the first time for him, and he thinks he heard her say da.  I may have to go shop more often!

A Case of the Mommies

I'm lucky enough to have had a couple of months of being home with my daughter over summer break.  For most of the break, it's been just us all day, every day.  It's been incredibly wonderful to get to see all the changes and spend so much quality time together, but my daughter has caught a case of the mommies.  She really wants me to snuggle her, feed her, play with her, and not pass her off to all the open arms of friends and family (unless I'm nearby so she can see or hear me).  Secretly (or not so secretly anymore), I love having her want me around so much.  I love being the one who can comfort her and make her feel safe.
With school getting ready to start, I've taken her to the babysitter's house a couple of times.  This has resulted in fits of wailing, scrunched up faces, and super pouty bottom lips.  She can screw her face into the saddest looking little face you've ever seen.  It breaks my heart to leave her like that.  I know she'll get over it and probably have more fun with the babysitter than at home, but to start with, it's going to be hard!

Coming to See the Baby

You definitely know where you rank after having a baby!  It's been pretty funny to watch both of our families as G has come into our lives, and it's pretty funny to watch all the relatives and friends try to act like they want to see us when they really want to see the baby.  Please don't think I'm upset by this baby phenomenon because I'm not, just amused.  I'm very glad we have such loving, supportive families and friends.  I want our daughter to have as much love and support as she can get so if you've been coming by to see "us" (the baby), please don't stop!
People call to come out to see us, but as soon as they get here they scoop up G.  We barely get a hello as they beat a path to get her.  My parents came out a few times before their first grandchild entered the world, and now they find as many excuses as they can to come see "us".  Brian's parents used to be fine seeing me for a meal once in a while.  Now they call to make sure "I" can come over for a meal about once a week.
I now laugh when someone calls and asks if they can come out to see "us".  The truth has been unveiled!
 

Parenting Strategy

My husband is the youngest (by quite a bit) of four children so we've gotten to observe several sets of good parenting strategies.  Recently his oldest sister, who is sixteen years older, was out to visit with her twin seventeen-year-old boys; their family ranches in Missouri.  These are two of the best teenagers you'll ever find.  They know how to hold a conversation with adults, look you in the eye, be respectful, responsible, get along with peers, and work HARD.  You've never seen two boys who know more about engines (they've been taking things apart since they were eighteen months).
Their dad was raised on a dairy and gets up before the sun comes up, and he believes in gettin' up and gettin' to work.  He lets the boys "sleep in" until seven, and then they're up hauling square bales, working cows, plowing fields, and fixing equipment.  They have chores before and after school.  When their dad had to pay a speeding ticket for one of them, the boy worked it off with extra work.  The boys have time for fun, but they have responsibilities that they must take care of first, and there's not so much free time that they're coming up with trouble.  When asked what their father's parenting strategy is, the unanimous answer is "have you ever seen the show Hell's Kitchen?".

Nephewisms

My nephew, Trent, is a born and bred ranch boy.  He's always up to something and his slow down button is broken (or nonexistant).  If he can be up and doing something, he's up and doing it ninety miles an hour.  If there's a fresh cow patty (the juicer and greener the better), he's stomping and dancing in it.  Everything he does is done with gusto.  He loves life and is a joy to watch discover the freedom of ranch life.
He occasionally comes up with sayings or does bizarre things that we've dubbed nephewisms.  Here are a few:
After standing around the corner and seeing him stick a pop tart up his shirt into his armpit, "Why are you sticking a pop tart up your shirt?"
His reply to was to grin and bound off.  You never know what he's up to....

Me: "What's your hungary level?"
Him: "Marven!"
Apparently I've asked a few times too many if he's a starven' marven.

After cooking a stuffed shells for supper, I was incredibly irritated with him for not even trying a bite.  He ate everything else on the plate but wouldn't touch the shell.  He was finally told he had to try two bites.  He started crocodile tears and repeating over and over, "it's gonna taste like soap".   Soap?!?! Seriously, where does this kid come up with stuff.  To my knowledge he's never even tasted soap to know what it tastes like (and why would I serve something that tasted like soap).

"COWABUNGA!!!!!"  This is his favorite thing to yell midair above anyone he can beat out of bed in the morning.  My husband is a very good sport about Trent's enthusiasm for this morning attack.  In fact, he'll even return to bed to pretend to be asleep (although curled up to protect vital organs and sensitive areas) so Trent can get in his morning thrill.

If you ever need a good laugh, let me know, and I'll get you the latest nephewism!

1 out of 8 equals 25%????

My husband's a brilliant man.  He teaches upper level science courses and can figure farm figures in his head quick as lightening, but diaper math throws him for a serious loop.  Shortly after our daughter was born, I heard from one of my co-workers that Brian had told her at an inservice that Gracelyn was doing great (she was), she was sleeping all night (she wasn't; he just didn't get up or even hear her), and he was doing 25% of the diaper changes.
I started cracking up!  At that time, we were doing 10-12 diaper changes a day; one with each bottle.  He was changing ONE of those.  I quickly explained that he was obviously very mistaken about the number of diapers our little darling was producing each day.
I tried setting him straight the next morning by asking him to go do his "25%".  Being facetious did not help him realize the error of his ways.  All he did was laugh, and now the phrase has caught on so now when he changes his diaper of the day he informs me he's off to change his 25%.  On the rare occasion he changes two, he's up to 50% despite there being eight diapers (give or take) each day now.  I haven't had to be gone yet to see what would happen to the percentages if he had to change all the diapers in a day.   Could be interesting to find out though!

Get the Riot Gear! Attack Cat!

About a year ago, my sister adopted a kitten who was too little for the animal shelter to take in and named him Foster as he started off just being a foster kitty.  She bottle fed him multiple times a day and took the utmost care of this cute yellow manx kitten.   Every other bottle fed animal I've ever run into has been the sweetest most loving animal, but not Foster.  He's EVIL!!! I've never seen a cat like him.   Most animals love me, and those who don't just avoid me.  Not Foster....he mauls me every chance he gets.
The first time I was introduced to Foster, he followed me into the bathroom....a bit nerve racking having a cat stare you down while you do your business, but that wasn't the problem.  What happened next was....I wet my hands, got them soapy and then that cat jumped up on the counter between me and the sink and every time I would try to stick my hands under the water to get them rinsed he would hiss and bite me...hard.  As soon as I jumped back, he'd start purring and arching his back in that way cats do when they want petted so I'd try again.  This process went on until my sister finally came to see what all the screaming was about and grabbed Foster so I could get the soap off my hands.  I later walked by him and he leapt up, attached himself to my leg, and proceeded to bite and claw at me until I pried his possessed little body off.  Needless to say he was locked in my sister's bedroom the remainder of my stay.
I've tried several more times to make friends with this tailless demon, but to no avail.  Yesterday was a prime example of our love/hate (mostly hate) relationship.  Kelli grabbed Foster when I walked in so he wouldn't get the baby.  As she walked by, he hissed and took a swipe.  Then, he came to the front door, looked in the glass and started hissing at me.  Keep in mind I've done nothing to deserve this; I would understand his attacks it I'd tried bathing him, brushing tangled knots out, practiced my punting skills, or some other mean thing.
 I later had to run out to the car for something; I opened the door, stepped out far enough I couldn't get back in quickly, and out of nowhere, Foster howls, launches himself in the air, and latches onto my sandal clad foot.  I shrieked, dashed gimpy off her porch, and shook him off, Kelli was laughing so hard she couldn't catch her breath, and I'm sure the neighbors were considering calling the cops.  I seriously need to come decked out in riot gear to face Foster.
I do want to add that I'm not the only person Foster hates.  He recently treed one of her friends on her bed when she went in to change clothes.  He makes her very persistent-to-be-friends landlord's hands look like hamburger.

Squealin' Tires and Bumpin' Heads

You know those roads in third world countries....? My father-in-law has one of his very own leading down the steep hill to his house.  This "driveway"has ruts and washouts that will swallow a small child, bumps that will send your head rocketing into the ceiling.  You need four wheel drive to get out of it in the mud and snow, and even then, you have to back alllllllllll the way down to the bottom and get a running start to even have a shot of getting up.  It usually take me three or four tries.
My father-in-law is a wonderful man, but like any rancher, he's stubborn.  His way of fixing the driveway is to throw out cement blocks to keep the dirt from eroding (thus the head banging bumps).  It does stop the the dirt in that spot, but water flows downhill around the cement creating washouts unlike any a driveway has ever seen before.
Before heading up or down it, I stop to double check that our daughter is strapped in her car seat correctly; the Jehovahs witnesses who go door-to-door stop at the top and walk down; the highway patrolman who came to check tags on two new vehicles had to squeal his tires to get out of one of the ruts.
Last night as I whacked Brian's head on the vehicle roof, I mentioned that his dad needed to work on the ol' driveway.  His response, "he just did."