In The Interest Of Catching Up...

...here are some pictures from November.

Here's what Weston thinks of me being over a month late on posting these pictures:

Man, we had to work hard for this quasi-smile!

Nana and cousin Ryan visited and the cousins had a great time! Here they are at the Museum of Natural Sciences--as it turns out, skeletons and bugs are a GREAT way to entertain the pre-school set. (And it was interesting for the adults, too, though I could've done without seeing the hissing cockroaches up close!)

The other piece of great excitement was that Luke moved from his toddler bed to a new bunk bed. He absolutely loves it--he sleeps on the bottom and his stuffed animals--and sometimes, Yellow Cat--sleep up on top.

I'll post December's pictures soon, but for now, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Five!

Weston is five months old today!

This past month has seen lots of changes. Weston has gotten pretty good at sitting up all by himself, which has afforded him a new perspective on the world. When he gets distracted, he still does a slow lean-fall, but he's getting better and better at stopping himself before that happens. He has also started rolling over. He'd done it a handful of times in the past, but it never seemed to be fully intentional--always more of an, "Oh, hey, I'm on my belly...huh...how'd that happen?" But as of today, he can roll on purpose and has been trying out his new skill with great enthusiasm...and SPEED. Gone are the days of leaving him on the couch or the bed, even for just a minute!

He's started grabbing for things--toys, cats, and people's hair. This has been a sore point for his brother, who wants to play with him, but is still unsure about sharing his toys, even the toys that he himself hasn't played with for over a year. We took a bath in the jacuzzi tub tonight and he spent a good twenty minutes trying to catch the bubbles.

He has also figured out how to scoot himself backwards when we put him on his belly. This, of course, is hugely frustrating for him because he doesn't mean to be going backwards--he means to be going forwards. And instead, whatever he's trying to move towards just keeps getting farther away. The only time he's ever managed to move forward was earlier this week, when I set a plate of cookies about five feet away from him, got up to help Luke with something, and returned to find a baby gleefully gumming a cookie. Oops.

And while we're on the subject of food, we've just about given up on that battle. I fully planned on waiting until he was 6 months old before introducing solid foods, but he had other plans, so he's been having tastes of things for the past few weeks. It's still not very much--a kidney bean here, a grape there, an occasional taste of a banana, etc. (He loves bananas, by the way. Loves. Would gladly eat them for every meal, given the opportunity.) We put it in a little mesh pouch and he gums and sucks it to within an inch of its life and usually, that little taste satisfies him and he's willing to go back to his regular diet of milk.

The other thing that he recently figured out is how to scream. Not cry-scream, but just...scream. In a very loud, high-pitched way. It is now his chosen way to express every emotion he has. Happy? *Loud shriek* Grumpy? *Loud shriek* Bored? *Loud shriek* Fascinated by the fan? *LOUD shriek* You get the idea.

To celebrate his five-month birthday, he tried out a baby swing at the playground for the first time. Oh, the joy:

Some Pictures And Some Words, Too

I know I'm way behind on pictures, so here we go. These were all taken around the end of October.

Weston tried the doorway jumper for the first time.

He wasn't too sure what to think...

Maybe it's meant to be eaten?


Ah, but here's big brother coming to help out. You can see by the sneer on his face that Weston is highly appreciative of the assistance.

Of course, Weston was done far earlier than Luke wanted, so we had to do some substitution.

We had a Star Wars theme going for Halloween because once Luke heard that there was a person named Luke Skywalker AND that he carried a light saber, he was obsessed. Plus, McMoose had been campaigning for this costume set since before I was even pregnant with Weston. (Well played, McMoose...well played.)

Darth Weston did not care for his hat...

...or for the fact that he was being photographed when what he wanted was to be taking a nice, relaxing bath.

And here's Luke Skywalker. (As a sidenote, I made that shirt and that robe. The robe, in particular, is fabulous and I don't think any of our pictures from that night do it justice.)

Worn out after a long evening of not trick-or-treating.

And why were we not trick-or-treating, you ask? Because it was rainy and miserable. So we decided to go to the mall, since stores usually hand out candy, too. Of course, EVERY OTHER PERSON within a 20 mile radius had the same plan, so by the time we got there, there were precisely TWO stores that still had candy.

In the end, we stopped by the toy store, bought him a stamp kit that we'd been meaning to buy anyway, and had the store owners put it in his trick-or-treat bucket. Oh, and we got him a cookie. And when we got home, it had stopped raining, so McMoose took him to a couple of our neighbors' houses. All in all, he ended up with way more candy than he had any desire to eat, and he's been asking to do it again ever since.

Minding Your Own Business: Fail

The other day, we were expecting some company, so we ran out to the store to pick up some snacks. We go to this particular store at least once a week and there's one cashier who is ALWAYS there.

Cashier: *Says something in Spanish*
Me: I'm sorry?
Cashier: Do you speak Spanish?
Me: No, sorry.
Cashier: Oh. I was just asking...do both your kids have the same dad?

Are. You. Kidding. Me?

(And from a purely genetic-likelihood angle, the question that would have been somewhat better justified is: Are they both your kids? I mean, if you HAVE to be wildly inappropriate, at least be scientifically accurate about it.)

I fear I'm raising quite the, for lack of a better word, smart-ass. This morning:

Luke: Dada, I want to get something that all of us can play with. ALL of us.
McMoose: Like what?
Luke: I don't know. You figure it out and let me know.

This evening, during bathtime:
Luke: I want to do a car.
McMoose: A...cartwheel? You can't do a cartwheel in the tub.
Luke: No, I want to do a CAR.
McMoose: I don't know what that means.
Luke: A car is a vehicle. A vehicle is something that drives on the road.

Pants on Fire

When I got out of the shower this morning, there was a (giant) pile of cheerios on the floor.

Me: Luke? Why are there cheerios everywhere?
Luke: Weston knocked them over.
Me:...Weston?
Luke: Uh-huh.
Me: How'd he manage that?
Luke: He walk, walk, walked over here and kicked them over. Then, he knocked the bathroom scale over with his booty. Then, he fell back down on his mat.
Me: Really?
Luke: Uh-huh. I told him to stop.

Wow. Blaming his baby brother AND making himself out to seem like an angel. This kid has talent.

Handmade With Love

Every spring and summer, the outdoors calls to me. I have no interest in staying inside, so we plan trips to the beach and the zoo, we picnic and hike, we spend afternoons at the park and the pool. And then, autumn arrives, and with it, a desire to craft.

I've gone through different crafting phases. Needlepoint during high school and college because it was easy to put down and return days or weeks later, as my class and work schedule allowed. Scrapbooking while I was planning my wedding because I wanted to save every piece of paper, hold onto every memory. Knitting while I was pregnant with Luke because the thought of wrapping my new baby in soft, warm blankets made the whole world seem like a cozier place.

And then, for a while, I stopped. I barely had time to think, let alone craft. But when I was pregnant with Weston, McMoose bought me a sewing machine. A wonderful, functional sewing machine. I've owned machines in the past, but I usually buy the cheap, bottom of the line ones because the good ones? They're not easy on the wallet! Of course, this is one case in which you definitely get what you pay for, so in the past, I've sewn one or two things, gotten frustrated, and returned to hand sewing. Which is nice and all, but takes forever, so I had my fair share of projects that I started and never finished.

Enter the new sewing machine. I've made aprons and art smocks and quilts and a Halloween costume and today, while we were at the bookstore, Weston spit up on a sewing book that's chock full of patterns for little boys. We had no choice, of course, but to buy it--don't you know about the you-soil-it, you-buy-it rule? My mind is swirling with all the things I want to make...and isn't it lucky that Weston is on the verge of outgrowing all his winter clothes and will need a new wardrobe soon?

Crib Experiment: Fail

Weston has always slept on me--in a sling during the day, in my lap in the evening, in my arms at night. If I need to do something while he's asleep, he sleeps in McMoose's arms instead. And I've been fine with this--in fact, I've really enjoyed it. But then, I started to feel that he is four months old, after all, and maybe it's time to introduce him to the crib.

Plus, I figured, if he would sleep in the crib for just a few hours every evening, I could sweep or sew or fold laundry or blog or WHATEVER without having to co-ordinate schedules with McMoose first. So we put the dumb crib together last night. And swaddled Weston up and put him in there. I fully expected him to be awake within minutes. Instead, he slept in there for over three hours.

And did I sweep? Did I sew? Did I blog? No. I folded a (very small) load of laundry and cried. Because that was the longest that he's ever gone without physical contact with me for the past four months. No, scratch that, for the past THIRTEEN months.

Of course, all my gloom-and-doom predictions that he was growing up too fast and he'd be completely independent and out of the house in the blink of an eye were for naught because for the rest of the night, he woke up EVERY 45 MINUTES. See, what I'd forgotten about is that when he sleeps in my lap in the evening, he wakes up every 30-45 minutes, nurses a little bit, and then falls back asleep. And when he doesn't do that, apparently, he makes up for it by wanting to eat constantly all night long.

So right now, he's asleep on my lap again and I'm relishing the sweet, snoring weight in my arms a bit more tonight.

Four!

Weston is four months old today and suddenly, he seems big. (This might have something to do with the fact that he's asleep in my lap right now, wearing 12-month pajamas. Pajamas that I distinctly remember Luke wearing while he was LEARNING TO WALK.)

This month, we've had a stream of visitors--first, my mom, then, McMoose's mom and nephew. Weston has heartily enjoyed getting to meet all the new people. He is showing himself to be a people person, as he lights up with joy every time someone talks to or plays with him. And because his reaction is so rewarding, people are constantly talking to and playing with him. He smiles and laughs at everyone and chatters and squeals when McMoose and I play with him.

He is starting to tolerate being put down on the floor for short periods of time, so I'm remembering what it's like to do things with two hands. He still prefers to be held most of the time though, including when he's asleep--apparently, non-human surfaces are just not comfy enough for his royal highness. Given how quickly his babyhood is flying past, I don't begrudge him the holding. (Well. Most of the time. Sometimes, I'd really like to sweep the floor.)

Lately, he has been watching us eat with great interest. Hm. Let me rephrase that. Lately, he has been yelling at us and flailing his arms and attempting to grab every bit of food we're eating. Last week, I had him on my hip and I was holding a plum in my hand while trying to hustle Luke out the door and the next thing I knew, there was a baby on my plum. They're supposed to still have the tongue-thrust reflex, which should keep them from eating any food yet, but I'm pretty certain that there was no tongue-thrusting going on. There was, however, a whole lot of gnawing on the plum and I'm pretty sure he actually chewed off a piece and swallowed it in the 10 seconds or so it took until I realized what he was doing. And earlier today, I had him on my lap while eating a sandwich and he very speedily grabbed the bread off the top of my sandwich and attempted to stuff it into his mouth. These next two months until he's "allowed" to have solids are going to seem very long, I fear.

As interested as he is in food and people, it surprises me that he is completely uninterested in toys. I hand him some rings to play with and the grimaces and lets go of them. I dangle a stuffed elephant above him and he ignores it completely, reaching for my face instead. I shake a rattle at him and he yells at me. (In retrospect, knowing how negatively he feels about loud noises, I should have known better than to try to introduce him to a rattle.)

You know what he IS interested in? The TV. The other day, I lay him on the floor, facing away from the TV and he rolled and twisted and turned and scooted himself around until he could see the TV. We don't watch TV very often, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered turning it on just to pacify Weston during one of his grouchy, nap-less days.

He still loves baths and is figuring out how to sit up in his baby bathtub. In fact, he's trying to figure out how to sit up on dry land, too. I kind of think that his enormous cloth diapers prevent him from doing it as well as he otherwise might.

We're all enjoying his emerging personality and judging by his responses to us, I think he's quite enjoying us, as well.

(Pictures to come shortly.)

Luke Says...

The other day, Weston started fussing in the car and Luke, in a very sweet and concerned voice, said the following: "What's wrong, Weston? What's wrong, baby? Do you think we're going to put you in the trash can? Are we going to put you in the trash truck and let it eat you? No. We aren't. We're going to feed you instead, Mama said. So STOP CRYING!" Dude. If I were Weston, I'd be crying too!

And yesterday, we were at a La Leche League meeting. For reference, the last time we attended a meeting, I promised Luke we could go to Quizno's for lunch, but then I'd forgotten to bring my wallet, so we had to go home instead. Apparently, he remembered that:

Luke: Mama. This is a "Yeyeyeye Yeague" meeting.
Me, chuckling at his pronunciation: Yes, it is.
Luke: Remember the other day? At the Yeyeyeye Yeague meeting? We were going to go to Quizno's.
Me: Yes, I remember. But I forgot my wallet, so we couldn't go. That was disappointing, wasn't it?
Luke: Yes. Did you bring your wallet today?
Me: Yes, I did.
Luke: Good job, Mama! That means we can go to Quizno's today! I'm going to have some chips there. Are you?

And he now likes to play pretend. He also likes to call all the shots:
Luke: I'm going to be a bear!
Me: Oh, my! There's a bear in here!
Luke: No, no, no. Don't say that. You say, "Ack! A scary bear!"
Me: Ok. Ack, a scary bear!
Luke: Rarrr!!! Now Weston, you run away and say, "Help! A bear is chasing me!"

And yesterday, I gave Weston a toy elephant, which Luke really, really wanted to take from him:
Me: Luke, you may not take this toy from him.
Luke: I'm not. Weston. That toy makes a sound. You want me to show you? If you hand it to me, I can show you the sound. It's very cute. Want to see? Weston. Weston? Can you hand it to me? It's a really nice sound, Weston, I'll show you. *Looks at me. Looks back at the toy. Looks at me again and sighs.* Ok, then. He doesn't want to hear the sound.

Got Milk? (No.)

Sometimes, I feel like dairy intolerance is the story of my life.

Apparently, I had a dairy allergy as a child, as a result of which I ended up drinking some vile, soy stuff until I was three.

Luke had a dairy allergy, too. When he was tiny and grouchy, I cut milk and cheese and yogurt out of my diet and it improved the grouchiness to a certain degree. And then, when he was old enough to eat table food, he reacted to yogurt and milk, but was always okay with cheese and butter, oddly enough. So we avoided yogurt and milk until after he was potty trained and now, he does fine with dairy, though he does still regularly inform me that he likes ALMOND milk, not COW milk.

Weston. Oh, Weston. He has had issues with reflux almost since birth. I knew that reflux is common in babies with dairy allergies, so I cut down on my dairy intake. I played around with giving up milk, giving up yogurt, cutting down on cheese. None of it helped, not really. So I assumed it wasn't a dairy allergy after all, that he was just refluxy.

And then, at about 2 months, his skin started getting rashy and scaly and just overly sensitive. Red flag. Another sign of a food intolerance. At this point, I knew that I really SHOULD give up dairy altogether, but oh, that's such a difficult proposition. So I discussed it with his pediatrician and decided that as long as he was gaining weight and acting happy, I wouldn't worry about it.

And then, his weight gain started slowing down. Now, mind you, the child is still huge for his age, but my biggest baby-fear is to have to re-experience the low weight gain-low milk supply awfulness that we went through with Luke, so I decided to get serious about cutting out dairy.

Except. Do you KNOW what that means? No milk, no yogurt, no cheese. Obviously. No sour cream or cream cheese. Okay. No butter or regular margarine. A bit trickier, but still doable, especially since there are vegan margarines available that don't have any milk protein in them. But. BUT. Then, you have to start reading labels, and when you do, you realize that milk products are used in EVERYTHING. Bread. Salad dressing. Every prepared food ever, except for the ones that are specifically vegan. I mean, even our regular pasta sauce had lactic acid in it, for crying out loud. Pasta. Sauce.

We enjoy eating out at restaurants, but every time we do, even when I scour the allergen menu and order (tasteless, bland) things that the restaurant claims is dairy free, it sets off Weston's reflux again. The other day, I carefully chose my meal, but then absentmindedly picked up a piece of broccoli from Luke's plate and ate it...and then realized, a second too late, that it had been seasoned with butter. Weston spit up for a full 24 hours because of that.

The thing is, in general, his reflux is getting so much better. I mean, the fact that I can even say, "He spit up for 24 hours because of some broccoli," means that in general, he's not spitting up constantly, which he was for the first three months of his life. There's improvement, I know. But oh, when that improvement means that I can't have chocolate--not even a tiny taste--or a chai latte or a piece of cake or pizza or ice cream, it's frustrating.

Worse still: what if he continues to be this sensitive to dairy as he grows? What will that mean for us, in the future? Will we have to structure our lives around avoiding dairy forever? (Oh, please, no!) So much of what I feed Luke has dairy in it--how am I going to avoid those same foods when Weston is old enough to eat them?

On the slightly plus side, what this does mean is that I can have all the soda I want. Because (a) I've had to give up every OTHER beverage that brings me joy and (b) my goal has now gone from weight loss to weight maintenance. Since such a large portion of the calories and fat in my diet came from dairy rich foods, I've lost a good eight pounds in the past two weeks. Not really recommended while breastfeeding, so here I am, sipping a glass of Pepsi and wishing it were hot chocolate instead.

Moments to Preserve

McMoose got some video of each of the boys the other day, so I thought I'd share.

This first one is of Luke. Every year, we troll the post-Halloween sales for cheap costumes to add to Luke's dress-up box, and one of the things we couldn't pass up this year was this airplane costume. Of course, Luke had to wear it out of the store. McMoose taught him how to hold the wings up and "fly," and Luke got such joy out of it. It was one of those moments that I wish I could re-live over and over...I guess a video is the next best thing! (Be warned, it's pretty dark and hard to see.)



This next one is of Weston laughing later that same evening. McMoose was on the other side of the camera, sticking his tongue out, which is apparently hilarious if you're 3 months old. He was actually laughing a lot more before we pulled the camera out, at which point, he got his trademark worried look, so it's a testament to McMoose's tongue-sticking-out abilities that Weston was laughing at all.

In Need Of Mischief

Luke has always been a really compliant toddler. When we're out in public, I rarely have to ask him to do something more than once. But lately, it looks more like anxiety than compliance.

Mind you, we have never given him cause to be anxious. We've never spanked him. We've never done the one-minute-per-year-of-age type time out. (In fact, "time out" for us tends to be, "Luke, do you need to come sit with me for a minute?") We try really, really hard not to yell or talk to him disrespectfully.

And yet, earlier today, we were at the food court at the mall and he pushed the stroller away from the table with his feet and I said, "Um..." And that was all it took for him to stop doing it, turn to me with a contrite look on his face, and say, "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to do that."

Dude. Seriously? You're two. You're supposed to be all kinds of unmanageable. (And to be fair, he does have his moments, but most of that stems from (a) resisting naps or (b) moving at the pace of molasses and being annoyed that I'm rushing him.)

I mean, his favorite activity at the toddler classes we've taken is...cleaning up at the end. I'm used to spirited, rowdy toddlers. I'm not entirely sure how to handle one who's so eager to please that if someone else looks like they might be slightly interested in a toy he has, he puts it down instantly instead of facing the (remote) possibility of a conflict.

We've been uncharacteristically reclusive this week because the kids have been sick. Normally, that would just mean that we'd be doing solo, outdoorsy things so as not to expose anyone else to our illness, but right now, it's just slightly too chilly in the mornings, especially with both of them not feeling well.

Of course, we can't be entirely housebound because the first question Luke asks me each morning is, "Where are we going today?" and when I tell him that we're staying home, his little face gets so sad. So instead, we've been taking lots of walks around the neighborhood. Yesterday morning, we went to watch the construction trucks that are building...something...behind our neighborhood. Yesterday afternoon, we wandered aimlessly in search of a squirrel. And this morning, we decided to walk to the grocery store to buy some bananas and honey. (Can I just say how much I LOVE the fact that we're within walking distance to a grocery store?)

But apparently, I've completely forgotten the fine art of getting two kids ready and out of the house in any timely fashion because here was our morning:

5:15 am - 8:45 am: Pat a coughing, snorting baby so that he'd stay asleep.

8:45 am: fall back asleep.

9:02 am: McMoose shepherds Luke into the bedroom so he can start working.

9:03 am: Luke says, "Where are we going today?" And because I had been thinking about that very issue from 5:15 am to 8:45 am, I reply, "We're going to walk to Food Lion to buy bananas and honey." To see his excitement, you'd think I had told him we were going to Disney World.

9:05-9:30 am: Get myself and Weston dressed and ready. Tell Luke to pick out some clothes and get dressed.

9:30 am: Fold a load of laundry while Luke chatters about how we're going to FOOD LION to buy BANANAS and HONEY and OH BOY, FOOD LION! (Meanwhile, he's still in his pajamas. Normally, I would have gotten him dressed after asking the first time, but I had decided we were going to have a relaxed, leisurely morning. Ha!)

9:50 am: Tell Luke that he needs to go potty and GET DRESSED before we can go.

10 am: Verbally help Luke put his clothes on because when I offered physical assistance, he informed me that he was going to do it all by himself.

10:05 am: Decide that I should feed Weston before we go because Luke was still trying to figure out how exactly to get his underwear on.

10:15 am: Look for my wallet in the diaper bag. It's not in there. Look in the car. Not there. Look every place I can think of. Not there. Run upstairs to ask McMoose if he knows where it is. He doesn't. Run back downstairs and look in one of the same places where I JUST LOOKED and there it is. Of course.

10:20: Leave the house. Walk down the street. Chat with Luke about the man mowing his lawn.

10:25: We get to a gravelly part of the path and Luke says, "Ouchie! I need my shoes!" I look down and sure enough, we had forgotten the child's shoes. And he walked ALL THE WAY DOWN THE STREET before saying anything about it.

It's a wonder we ever manage to get out of this house.

Attention Must Be Paid!

Luke is napping and Weston is not--which is a combination that never, ever happens--so I thought I'd sit here on the floor and write a blog post. So I put Weston on the floor beside me and for the last ten minutes, I've been sitting here with my computer. And not writing a word. Why, you ask? Because Weston now laughs.

And it's addicting, that laugh. I mean, it's HARD to make this kid laugh. I have a few tricks up my sleeve and I've been rotating through them, instead of writing. And every time I stop paying attention to him, this scene repeats itself:

Weston: Waah.
Me: What's the matter?
Weston: *Grin*
Me: Aww, look at your smile! Are you smiling?
Weston: *Coo*
Me: *Kiss his fat cheeks*
Weston: *Grabs my hair and waves it around*
Me: Ouch! Hey, you! Let go!
Weston: *Grin*
Me: I'm gonna eat you up! *Pretend to eat his face*
Weston: *Starts biting my chin/nose/whatever else is within his range*

I remember now how much I love three-month-olds. I also remember that from the time Luke was three months until he was over a year old, I never got ANYTHING done because every time I'd start something, I'd get distracted by the cute baby. Something tells me that history is about to repeat itself.

DIY Halloween

About two months ago, McMoose and I had the following conversation:

Me: I think I'd like to make the kids' Halloween costumes this year.
McMoose: Homemade Halloween costumes are always so awful. They look so amateur.
Me: Super, thanks for the vote of confidence. Fine, then, YOU find them some costumes to wear.

About three weeks ago, McMoose and I had the following conversation:
McMoose: I found Weston a great baby Darth Vader costume.
Me: What about Luke's Luke Skywalker costume?
McMoose: All the ones I looked at sucked. They're thin and cheap looking and they won't keep him warm.
Me: Huh.
McMoose: You should just make him one.
Me: I thought you said homemade costumes never looked right.
McMoose: Yeah...but it's just a shirt and some pants...you can make that. I have confidence in your abilities.

And thus began the biggest fail of my sewing experience. Did you know that it's NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE to find sewing patterns for a Luke Skywalker costume? So I thought, well, how hard can a shirt and a pair of pants possibly be? I went online and found some tutorials on making pants and robes--tutorials that said things like, "Measure the child's legs. Then measure out 3 extra inches of fabric." Except that I don't work like that. That's WAY too much room for error for me. No, I need patterns that I can trace over so I know EXACTLY where to cut and there is NO WAY to mess it up.

My first attempt yielded pants that wouldn't pull up past his knees and a shirt that was very oddly puckered. And I was totally going to say, "Oh, well, he won't remember and it'll be dark anyway, so it's fine." Until we were at the fabric store and realized that yes, there might not be any Skywalker costume patterns, but there are PLENTY of karate costume patterns. Thanks to McCall's, Luke now has a much cooler looking Luke Skywalker costume. And...because the costume patterns were one sale, I bought two other booklets, which means that I now have patterns to make 10 different costumes. Guess how I intend to spend my free time and spare money over the next year.

(P.S. Next time, I'm starting on the costumes 2 months ahead of time so I don't have to stay up until 2 am working on the darn things.)

Luke-isms of Late

This morning, Luke looked at himself in a bathroom mirror and said, "I'm shaggy. We should probably get me a haircut today." (And that's exactly what we did because yes, he was shaggy.)

Yesterday, in the car...
Luke: When Weston gets big, he'll eat all the spiderwebs.
Me: Huh?
Luke: And the bad spiders, too.
Me: Wait, did you say he'd eat them?
Luke: Yes. But he's too small right now. He needs teeth first.

This morning, in the car...
Luke: Do you mind?!
Me: Me?
Luke: DO? YOU? MIND?!
Me: No, I don't mind.
Luke: No! I'm asking Weston if he minds. Do you mind, Weston?! *Alters voice slightly* Yes, I do mind! *Goes back to regular voice* Yes, he does mind. Mama? Weston says he minds.

Also in the car this morning...
Me: Hey, look, I see a police car.
Luke: Yes. There was a police car. *Thinks for a moment* A police car is a VEHICLE!

At the hairdresser's...
Hairdresser: Are you all ready for Halloween?
Luke: No. It's still autumn.
Hairdresser: It's what?
Luke: Not Halloween. It's AUTUMN.

And a few minutes later...
Hairdresser: Do you see the pig right there? What color is that pig?
Luke: It's white AND pink. That means it's multi-colored.

He got a little rubber ducky at the hairdresser's and for whatever reason, the duck has on a monocle.
Me: That duck has a monocle!
Luke: What's monocle?
Me: A monocle is kind of like eyeglasses, but it just goes over one eye instead of two.
Luke, after considering this for a minute: Actually, I think Monocle is the name of the duck.

Our Month In Pictures

As promised, here are some pictures from the past month.

McMoose and Weston waiting for lunch at a restaurant

This is his "See my big muscles?" pose:

Not exactly what I meant when I asked Luke to smile.

That's more like it! These pictures were taken when we were getting ready to go to an annual international festival here.

Luke and McMoose at the zoo. We've always tried to go to the zoo in the summer, when it was ridiculously hot. Turns out October is the perfect time for it. Luke is still talking about the fact that the queen bee was not visible in the hive they have for display and speculating as to where she might have been. I never thought I'd have this many conversations about a stinkin' bee.

See the way our double stroller is set up? It's kind of fun because whenever people walk past us, they do a double take because from the front, it looks just like a single stroller, until they see the arms and legs sticking out from the bottom seat.

He always looks a little bit worried in pictures, like maybe he's worried the flash will steal his soul.

I could (and routinely attempt to) eat those yummy cheeks.

We were trying to get him to smile at the camera, but apparently, McMoose is just too distracting.

Three!

Weston turned three months old yesterday, which means we're officially out of the "fourth trimester." I think he knows that he's the second born and that he needs to speak up for himself because he is getting the hang of that particular skill already. This kid has the oddest preferences ever. He likes being held in arms better than...well, anything else, really. But he can tell the difference between when I'm actually holding him and when he's in a baby carrier, even if his body is in the exact same position and he makes it clear that he wants BOTH my hands to be devoted to him. One of the reasons baby carriers are great is that you can hold the baby AND do something else--sweep the floor, clean a counter, get the two-year-old's lunch ready, etc. But Weston has decided that this won't do and so when he's in the carrier, he prefers to hold onto one of my hands and have me pat his back with the other. Totally defeats the purpose.

He has a serious pout and cry when he's mad about something. The funny thing is that when he's hungry or sleepy or needs a diaper change, he has a sweet, quiet little cry, but if you offend him somehow, he will emit a horrifying, high-pitched noise. Luke loves it because he can go make mean faces at his baby brother and make him shriek. (This does not bode well for the future, I feel.)

He's very fond of routines. And by "fond of routines," what I mean is "requires everything to be exactly so and if it isn't he will TELL you about it." I had gotten into the habit of putting him in his pajamas and then rocking him to sleep in the living room while watching something on TV. Now, he doesn't actually watch the screen, but I guess he'd gotten used to the noise because one night, a couple of weeks ago, the TV was being ornery, so I turned it back off. Apparently, that was the WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN because never before had I heard that kind of screaming come from this baby. In the end, I had to play music videos on YouTube to get him to calm down enough to fall asleep. (I haven't repeated the mistake since. I now know to have a back-up DVD in the player, just in case the TV is wonky while I'm rocking him to sleep.)

He's turning out to be a little bit of a daredevil. This afternoon, he was hanging out in the swing while I was getting lunch ready and all of a sudden, he lurched to one side and almost tipped the whole swing over because of the momentum of his head. He thought it was hilarious, I thought it was...not. And during his bath tonight, he figured out how to dislodge himself from the little seat in his bathtub and went sliding down the tub. McMoose, who was right beside the tub, caught him and set him back up, at which point Weston grinned, giggled, and tried to do it again. DUDE. Why is my non-mobile baby already giving me heart attacks?

He still loves to be held most of the time and we are happily obliging. Really, how can you refuse someone so cuddly and smushy and sweet? (More pictures of the cuddly, smushy, sweetness coming soon.)

Long Overdue

The benefit to being married to a pack rat is that even when we have no idea where the camera cord is, given enough time, we will come across another random cord that will fit both the computer and the camera. Here are some pictures from August and September.

A reclining Weston:


Baths are so exhausting. *Yawn*

When Weston was about 5 weeks old, he decided that the swing wasn't such a bad place after all. As such, it has gotten way more use this time around. (And by "way more use," I mean that sometimes, when his mood is right, he'll sit in it for 15 minutes while we eat dinner. Dude, it's still better than nothing.)

Gotta love baby fingers!

I'm feeling a little bit nostalgic about the sleeper he's wearing because I tried putting it on him tonight and I couldn't even get his feet into it.

Baby hand and toddler hand:

I believe that look says, "Enough with the pictures, MOTHER."

Cheeky baby.

Our first day in the new house. Weston was less than impressed by my attempts at a Self-and-Baby portrait.

McMoose and I can't decide what color his eyes are. He says brown, I say...I don't know...maybe hazel?

Why can't I get these boys to smile at the same time?

Our first (and so far, only) family picture. That's our swing. In our yard. At our house. YES, I'm still excited.

I spent a lot of time sitting around with a camera and a sleeping baby during our first weekend at the house. Can you tell?

Luke spent that weekend playing in the dirt.

This picture was taken on my birthday. Weston celebrated by sitting and looking worried.

First on-camera smile!

No Good Mother

On Tuesday morning, we were out at a playground. It was a beautiful fall morning and Luke and I were enjoying the outdoors while Weston napped happily in the sling. All in all, the perfect morning. Enter Random Woman.

Woman: Hey!
Me: *Turn to see who's yelling*
Woman: You no good mother! Baby needs hat. Come on, lady!

Ok, seriously? I know lots of people like to offer unsolicited advice to moms who are out with babies...hoo boy, do I know it. But is it really necessary to heckle them too? Of course, I glared at her and she walked off huffily and that was the end of that interaction, at least for her, but it continued to bother me for a few reasons:

1. In any other situation, offering unsolicited advice is taboo, but because I have a baby, it's acceptable? Heck, no.
2. I might have been a mom who feels that hats are overrated, in which case, randomly yelling across the playground at me is probably not going to change my mind.
3. Alternately, I might be a mom who feels that hats are VITALLY IMPORTANT and who is already beating myself up because I forgot my baby's vitally important hat. In which case, you've just made my bad day even worse. Thanks.

In reality, I feel that hats are somewhat useful when it's cold (which it wasn't) or really sunny (which it was, but we spent most of our time in the shade, so it wasn't a big deal.) Furthermore, vitamin D is important, especially since Weston is breastfed and not currently getting a vitamin supplement. So. Modest amounts of sunlight are good for the kid. He has a head full of hair and his skin tone is such that a few minutes in the weak, morning sun on a fall morning aren't going to cause him to get a sunburn. And more to the point, because I am his mother, because I spend EVERY DAY with him, because I know all of this about him, I weighed the pros and cons of a hat and decided that it was unnecessary. And yet, Random Woman felt that not only did she know better than me what was best for my child, but that because my choices differed from hers, it instantly made me a bad mom.

Of course, if all I have to do to earn a "Good Mother" sticker is put a hat on my kids, I'm set. I mean, according to that logic, I can feed them a steady diet of fast food, park them in front of the TV all day and night, and beat them senseless, but hey, none of that will matter so long as I remember a hat, right?

Customer Service: Fail

Apparently, the cold weather is bringing out the weirdos and as usual, they always feel the need to engage me in conversation. I strained my back on Tuesday and we've been housebound since, but I was feeling a bit better this morning, so I decided that we had to get out of the house. Usually, we go on a nature walk on Thursdays, but I was in no way up to that today, so instead, we went to a music class at a toy store. (By the way: before I had kids? I would never have guessed that toy stores and book stores held story times and music classes and the like. It's like a whole subculture.)

Now, I really wanted to like this toy store. It's locally owned, I love the toys they carry, they have a playroom for the kids to try out the toys--I mean, it's pretty awesome. Except for the owners. Twice now, I've gone in there and both times, they've ignored my existence until I struck up a conversation with them. (Meanwhile, they're perfectly friendly and talkative with most of the other patrons.) Dude. You run a business. Furthermore, you run a business selling TOYS during a recession and you were complaining just today that it wasn't going as well as you might like. So...maybe...be civil to ALL your customers?

Anyway, after I asked the lady about some of the toys on their shelves (and got terse, mono-syllabic answers in reply), she watched Luke play with the train table for a minute and then came out with this:

Lady: How old is the baby?
Me: Almost three months.
Lady: Oh. And have you been watching this other little boy for long?
Me: Uh...the other little boy is my older son.
Lady: Oh! I just...well...he looks nothing like you or the baby. I just figured you were the nanny.

Up until that point, I had totally been considering buying Luke's Christmas presents from there, but guess what? Now, we'll be ordering from Amazon.

Drive Time

I started a fitness class last week because (a) I still have 25 pounds to lose, post-Weston and (b) I suck at going to the gym unless I have a commitment like a class. (Could I just take a moment here? 25 pounds?! What on earth?! I need it to go away. Now.)

It's twice a week and the first day, I was all mopey because I didn't like the thought of leaving Weston. Not so much because I didn't want to, you know, LEAVE Weston, but because I'm afraid of baby bottles. Yes, afraid.

See, Luke LOVED bottles. So much so that when he got a bottle every once in a while, he would refuse to nurse for an unhealthy amount of time, in the hopes that he'd get another one. In fact, I remember one particularly harrowing experience which started as a nursing strike because he got a bottle and ended as a full-out hunger strike, where he was refusing solids, bottles, nursing, everything. Instead, he rolled under the coffee table and lay there and moaned FOR HOURS. (I don't know why he needed to be under the coffee table. Or why he needed to refuse to eat. Or why he needed to moan. But then, there was a lot about baby-Luke that I didn't understand.) In the end, we pretty much stopped giving him bottles at all because the occasional convenience just wasn't worth all the drama.

So I was worried that Weston might follow in his brother's footsteps. I worried that he might love bottles so much that I'd either have to wean him or never leave him again. As it turns out, I didn't have much to worry about because the kid is not at all pleased with the idea of deriving nutrition from a piece of silicone. He took a sum total of an ounce, let most of that run out of his mouth, and was more than happy to see me when I got home so he could eat. And since then, I've gone to the class two more times and McMoose hasn't even had to heat up a bottle because Weston just eats before I leave and after I get back.

Which means that twice a week, I get to drive in my car BY MYSELF, pick my own radio stations, and not have to point out every truck we pass. And really? The alone-in-the-car time is way more valuable than the time I actually spend in class.

Tempest

2.5

2.5 months. Our days are marked by big grins, big fusses, strings of drool, and strings of spit-up. Lots of snuggles and a little bit of playtime on the floor. Reaching and kicking and wiggling and snoring.

2.5 years. (Almost). Our days are marked by word plays and playgrounds, high energy and big hugs. Sweet I love yous and whiny fits. Running and jumping and climbing and requests to do it all by himself.

2.5 is a pretty nice place to be.

Trifecta

We had a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good day yesterday. Weston refused to nap all morning, so he was a grumpy, screaming mess. Luke was acting spectacularly like a two-year-old, ignoring everything I said and moving at the speed of an especially slow glacier. And I was tired and stressed and impatient. All in all, not a good combination.

Today, on the other hand, has been fabulous. We met some friends for some playtime, where Luke went off and built a whole city out of legos while Weston napped like an angel. We went out to a Thai place for lunch, where Luke ate all his food and kept himself busy at the table (without even a high chair or crayons!), and Weston sat quietly on my lap while I ate. And now, they're both asleep. And of course, today, I'm feeling well-rested and happy and I have patience to spare.

So why is it that when one of us has a bad day, we ALL have a bad day? It would be so much easier if we could schedule it such that only one of us is acting nutty on any given day. I'm pretty sure the answer is that when I'm grouchy, they both pick up on it and it feeds their craziness, which is the worst. system. ever. It's amazing the species has survived this long because I'm pretty sure that if I were a mama tiger who was having a rough day and my tiger babies started biting my tail and clawing my ears? I'd probably just eat them.

What I'm Doing

Reasons this blog hasn't been updated recently:
-Weston likes being held with TWO hands.
-When Weston is entertaining himself, Luke likes to be held with two hands.
-When Luke and Weston are both entertaining himself, I'm stripping wallpaper.
-When Luke and Weston are both entertaining themselves and I'm taking a break from stripping wallpaper, I'm sewing hats with a friend.
-Or doing the laundry, which I'm fairly sure is self-generating because there is NO WAY we go through that many clothes.
-Or unpacking boxes.
-Or trying to figure out how I'm going to make Luke a Luke Skywalker costume because once he found out that Luke Skywalker carries a light saber, OF COURSE that's what he wants to be for Halloween.
-Or trying to find train stencils for the playroom wall.
-Or sleeping.
-Or working on some paperwork I need to get done and fast.

(In reality, 98% of the time, I'm either holding a kid or sleeping because Weston wakes up, oh, five or six times a night, which means that if I spend 8 hours in bed, I might get a total of five broken hours. How long does this phase last?)

Room For Improvement

Dear Waitstaff at the restaurant we went to tonight:

Your food was great. The ambiance was nice. And the staff was certainly...enthusiastic. However, we do have a few suggestions for improvement:

(1) When referring to an infant, you should say something along the lines of "Your baby is adorable!" If you attempt to refer to the child by gender, you have a 50% chance of being wrong. For the most part, they're pretty androgynous during infancy and if you refer to a boy as a "she," the parents will probably be grouchy about it. You rely on tips. You shouldn't annoy people.
(2) You should really come up with some kind of system that lets your waitstaff know who is supposed to be serving which tables. The first three times we were asked for our order by different waiters, it was funny. After that? Not so much.
(3) By the same measure, it's also not so humorous when we're sitting there with empty glasses and none of the five waiters who previously came to check on us has brought us a refill.
(4) Bring the kid's food with the first course. Have you ever tried eating a bowl of soup at the same table as a jealous 2-year-old with no food in front of him?
(5) Do not try to take people's plates when they're in the bathroom. Especially when said plates are still FULL OF FOOD.
(6) When asked for a dessert menu, bring a dessert menu. AND THEN TAKE OUR DESSERT ORDER instead of disappearing for 10 minutes.
(7) When asked for the check, BRING THE CHECK. Again, do not disappear for 10 minutes until we have to complain to the manager. And then, when the manager tells you we're looking for our check, DO NOT come back to the table and ask if we'd like our check now. If we didn't want the darn check, WE WOULDN'T HAVE ASKED FOR IT TWICE.

Of Cats and Lizards

Lately, Luke's imagination has been taking off in leaps and bounds and I've been enjoying watching it develop. Yesterday, I was sitting down and nursing Weston when this conversation happened:

Luke: I see a lizard!
Me (not yet concerned because Yellow Cat likes playing with stretchy lizards): You do?
Luke: Yes, I do see a lizard. It's black!
Me (getting slightly concerned because we don't have a black toy lizard): Are you sure it's black?
Luke: Yes! There's a black lizard right there.
Me (a little bit more concerned, but knowing that if it's a toy, he'll happily touch it): Oh, could you bring it to me so I can see?
Luke, looking at me like I've lost my mind: It's a lizard. We do NOT touch lizards. We look with our eyes.
Me (very concerned now): Seriously? There's an actual lizard over there?
Luke: Yes, there actually is a black lizard.

So I get up and go over there, only to find Black Cat washing her paws and looking very annoyed at all the attention.

Well Visit

We had Weston's 2-month-appointment yesterday and it went pretty well. Buddha Baby is now 13 lbs, 13 oz, which puts him in the 90th percentile for weight and 24 inches long, which is in the 84th percentile. And he didn't even cry for his shots. (He did make a very sad, pouty face, though.)

One of the things I like about our pediatrician is that her two kids are 4-5 months older than each of my two kids, so our visits feel like a conversation among peers, rather than a doctor-patient relationship. Plus, she doesn't try to lecture me about things like co-sleeping or vaccinating on a (slightly) alternate schedule, so we get along just fine.

Speaking of vaccinating, our schedule is close to the recommended one, but instead of getting 4 shots every 2 months, we do 2 shots once a month. Which is apparently the hardest thing to schedule ever because the receptionist likes to make sure they are EXACTLY 31 days apart. I understand that two sets of shots have to be spaced a month apart, but? These are shots that are routinely given AT THE SAME TIME. So why, by virtue of our choice to split them up, do they have to be given 31 days apart instead of, say, 29?

The Big Questions

There's a moth stuck between my living room window and the outer screen. If I leave it in there, it will die. The only way to get it OUT of there is to open my window. In which case, it will be inside the living room. I don't WANT a moth in my living room. But neither do I want a dead moth stuck between the window and the screen. All of this, of course, begs the question: how on earth did the stupid moth GET between the window and the screen in the first place?

I planted some green beans and some squash plants because my friend had them and offered them to me. Do I know anything about green bean or squash plants? Of course not. Have I ever, in the history of my life, been able to keep a plant alive? Again, no. So why did I agree to be responsible for these plants?

Before I had Weston, I had all kinds of good ideas for matching, sibling Halloween costumes. I wish I'd written them down because now, I have none. What on earth are these children going to be?

Luke's current obsession is putting things into his nose. Or his ears. I know kids do this. I know it's common. But for goodness sake, WHY?

I tried mopping our floor with stuff that was advertised as hardwood cleaner and ended up with a gross, filmy floor. So then, I tried other stuff, which left it looking a little better, but still not great. You know what finally worked? Two drops of soap in a bucket of hot water. I'm not even joking. Why hasn't anyone marketed THAT as hardwood cleaner?

Two!

Weston turned two months yesterday and I'm starting to remember how much I love two-month-olds. The random crying doesn't happen anymore--when he's fussing, it's almost always because he's tired now. Before he was born, I thought, "Oh, when the baby cries, I'll just nurse him and whether he's hungry or sleepy, that should take care of it because babies LOVE to nurse to sleep." As usual, the Universe decided to thwart my plans by giving me the one baby on the planet who does not, in fact, like to nurse to sleep. Instead, he prefers to be rocked with a pacifier. I mean, do you KNOW how much time and effort I spent making sure Luke took a pacifier because I didn't want him to be too reliant on nursing for comfort? And now that I'm over that particular brand of insanity, when I'm perfectly willing to nurse my baby to comfort him, I get the baby who wants a pacifier. Are you kidding me?!

He still doesn't like to sleep anywhere other than on my person, but that works out just fine for us because it means that I can still put him in a sling and go about my day, instead of being stuck at home when he's napping. He particularly enjoys napping in the great outdoors--parks, hiking trails, the backyard.

He started smiling about three weeks ago and since then, McMoose, Luke, and I have been making fools of ourselves trying to get him to smile. McMoose can make him smile almost instantly and he'll smile at Luke, as long as Luke doesn't get too close. (This might have something to do with the fact that when Luke DOES get too close, he tends to try to pick Weston up by his head or poke his ears or hug him with entirely too much enthusiasm and it's pretty hard to smile when you're being manhandled by someone who's almost three times your size.) When he sees me, on the other hand, his first thought is, "Holy cow, it's been FOREVER since I ate. I might even be starving. Must have food...WAAAAAAHHH!" So all of his mama-smiles are strictly reserved for AFTER he eats.

He enjoys his swing and seems to believe that the little stuffed animals hanging above it are his friends. He smiles at them. He talks to them. He tries oh-so-hard to reach them. Unfortunately, his limbs don't quite do what he wants them to yet, so while he's busily trying to get his arm to reach up and grab the stuffed animals, it comes and smacks him on the head instead.

He likes it when I put him in the carrier and sweep or mop the floors. He doesn't like it when I try to put away the laundry, possibly because I keep bumping hangers into his head. He's still not a fan of riding in the car--especially in the evening. I don't know why, but he's much more willing to sit in the carseat in the morning than he is later in the day. His favorite time of day is bath time and there comes a time every evening when he starts grumbling at me and the only way to fix him is to give him a bath. (Actually, he calms down as soon as he hears us turn the faucet on. What can I say? The kid knows what he wants.)

He gets called all kinds of nicknames, but he's starting to look at us when we say his name. We have his two-month doctor visit next week, so I don't know what his official weight is right now, but here's what I do know: the pants he's wearing right now? Have dirt stains on the knees. Why, you ask? Because Luke was wearing them WHEN HE WAS CRAWLING. And just as a point of reference, Luke started crawling when he was seven months old, which means that Weston is wearing the clothes Luke wore as a seven-month-old at the ripe old age of NINE WEEKS. I'm pretty sure that if he could talk, he'd ask for a steak.

I do have pictures for the month, but what I don't have is any idea where the camera cord might be packed, so pictures will be up at some point in the (hopefully) not too distant future.

Calm as a Cucumber

Smell is the sense that's most closely related to memory and emotion.

When Luke was about five months old, I stopped sleeping. For a couple of months, I slept in fits and snatches when I just couldn't stay awake any more. I was convinced that if I fell asleep, if I let my eyes stay closed long enough, my world would spin to an end while I wasn't looking. Every morning, I stood at the window watching McMoose drive off to work and fought waves of nausea because I was convinced he'd be in an accident and it would be the last time we saw him. I sat and held Luke while he napped because I thought that if I put him down, he'd stop breathing and I wouldn't know until it was too late to help him. I don't remember if the anxiety came first or the insomnia, but they fed into each other until I felt like the universe was constantly on the brink of disaster.

Recently, I've been trying to remember why I was that anxious. By that time, Luke was happy, he was eating well and gaining weight well, he was sleeping well. Objectively speaking, there was no real reason for it. And if it could happen out of the blue like that the first time, it could happen again, right? So I've been trying to remember what it felt like. And the thing is, I couldn't remember. It was like trying to remember what labor contractions felt like--when you're not there, you just can't recapture the feeling.

Except that smell is the sense that's most closely linked to memory and emotion. I used to drink this herbal tea constantly when Luke was a baby, but I hadn't had any since. Last night, I was rummaging through our half-unpacked pantry to find some tea bags and since I found a box of those herbal tea bags that I had left over, I decided to just use that. And the instant I brewed that cup of tea, my stomach knotted up and I felt like I was taking a trip back to two years ago.

As much as I didn't appreciate that particular, unexpected walk down memory lane, it was re-assuring to remember exactly how awful that anxiety felt because now, I know that all the little stresses I feel during the day? They aren't that. When I'm frustrated that Luke is moving at a snail's pace or annoyed because I'm sitting in traffic while Weston is SCREAMING from his car seat, it isn't that. And thank goodness for that.

House of Comedy (And Illness)

Luke was eight months old the first time he got sick. And I was very grateful, because I could not, for the life of me, figure out how we all would have survived that illness had he been any younger. He nursed constantly, he refused to sleep, and he acted generally insane.

As it turns out, acting insane is just how he handles sickness, as he has continued that particular habit with every illness over the past two years. Right now, for example, he has a little cold. A very little cold. He sneezed a few times, coughed a few times, and his nose seems to have developed and On/Off switch because it starts running at random times. And since I didn't want to spread this around to other, unsuspecting children, I kept him home from open gym today. As a result of which Luke's morning looked like this:
-Ate a plate of grapes. Fed me some grapes. Tried to feed McMoose some grapes. Threatened to feed Weston some grapes. I take his threats seriously because a few days ago, I had to extract a cracker out of my not-quite-2-month-old-baby's mouth.
-Asked what we were doing today. Yelled at me when I told him we were staying home.
-Ate a granola bar.
-Ate a bowl of oatmeal with raisins.
-Demanded a second bowl of oatmeal, only to pick out all the raisins and refuse to eat the rest. When I asked him why he didn't just ask for plain raisins, he informed me that he likes "wet" raisins better than dry ones. Seriously?
-Ran in crazy, hyper circles around the house and made me chase him. Screamed at the top of his lungs. Non-stop.
-Ate a cheese stick.

I mean, when I'm sick, I like to cuddle under a blanket and sleep a lot, but apparently, fighting your nap and running in crazy circles is a far better option.

Of course, Luke's sickness is also Weston's sickness and he has his own brand of crazy. By which I mean that he thinks sneezing is hysterical. He grins when he sneezes. He grins when Luke sneezes. In fact, even if he's in the middle of crying, he'll stop and grin when he hears a sneeze. And like his brother, he apparently also needs less sleep when he's sick, as evidenced by the fact that he--and therefore, I--woke up a full 2 hours earlier than normal. Awesome.

Perfectly Reasonable

Luke, while we were in the car: I want to spin, spin, spin.
Me: You can spin, spin, spin as soon as we get home.
Luke: Why?
Me: Because you're in the car seat and spinning is kind of difficult when you're buckled in, don't you think?
Luke: Just stop here. There's our house. *Points to a Kroger*
Me: I'm pretty sure that's a grocery store.
Luke: I'm pretty sure that's our new house. There's a potty there and lots and lots of food. We could live there.

Luke: I need a drawer.
Me: You need a what?
Luke: No! Nothing!
*5 seconds later* Luke: I need a drawer.
Me: You need a...drawer?
Luke: Noooo! Nothing!!! I don't want you to say that!
Me: Say WHAT? I'm trying to understand what you're saying.
Luke: I don't WANT you to understand what I'm saying.
Me: Why not?
Luke: Because I just want to WHINE!

Luke: I want something to eat. I want a banana.
Me: We don't have a banana.
Luke: I want a red plum.
Me: We're out of plums, too. Sorry.
Luke: I want some croissants.
Me: We're definitely out of croissants.
Luke: We need to go to the store.

Moving Like Molasses

We've been in the process of moving into our very first house (yay!!!) and oh, my what a process it has been. We had lived in the same apartment for three years, so I completely underestimated how different it is to move with two little ones around. Especially when one of those little ones likes to pull things out of boxes and the other one likes to be held. Constantly. So here's what moving with the two of them has been like:

-The stairs are such that our regular baby gates won't work on them, so we had to order new ones. The new ones will get here on Friday, but until then, there's a whole lot of bargaining with a two-year-old, which goes something like this:
Me: Luke, I need to go get something from downstairs.
Luke: Not right now.
Me: Um...I wasn't actually asking for permission. I need to go downstairs. Do you want to go with me or stay up here?
Luke: Ummmm........The trash can is green!
Me: Yes, it is. Do you want to stay up here or go downstairs with me?
Luke: I saw a lawnmower this morning!
Me: Yes, fine. Downstairs or upstairs?
Luke: I like to eat bananas.
Me: Luke! For goodness sakes, do you want to stay up here or go downstairs?
Luke: I will stay here.
Me: Ok. I'll be right back. Do NOT go down the stairs by yourself.
Luke: Ok!
Me: *RUN downstairs as fast as I can, usually while holding Weston, rummage around, get what I needed, and run back to the stairs, where Luke is trying to slide down the stairs.*

-The door on our apartment could only be locked from the outside with a key, so locking myself out was not an option. It's very much an option at the new house, as I found out last Friday. Luckily, I had both kids with me when I walked out the back door, pulled it shut, and realized that (a) it was locked and (b) the keys and my cell phone were sitting on the kitchen counter. I was pretty grateful that the weather was nice because sitting outside with two kids would've been far less pleasant a month ago, when the highs were regularly in the triple digits.

-Weston really enjoys his swing, which is downstairs. Weston also really enjoys the rocking chair which is--did you guess?--downstairs. Which means that upstairs is the least fun place ever for him, and therefore, for me. GUESS WHERE ALL OF LUKE'S TOYS ARE. (This will change. We just have to strip wall paper and paint the playroom before we can move his toys downstairs. And at this rate, that should only take, what, about a year?)

-I call it a good day if I manage to unpack half a box each day. Of course, we currently have oh, about eight-hundred-and-eleven boxes, so we should be all settled in by the time the kids are ready to go to college. At which point we won't NEED to paint the playroom, so hey, bonus.

Raising a Sumo

I've now experienced the smaller-than-average baby and the bigger-than-average baby, and you know, the bigger-than-average baby? So much less stressful. Not the baby itself, mind you, but the goofy reactions from strangers.

With Luke, up until he was about 5 months, it was a constant barrage of, "Wow, he's really little!" and "Is he eating enough?" and "Are you sure he's actually 3 (or 4 or 5) months old?" To which my only response was to grit my teeth and smile because when you're already obsessing over feeding issues, the last thing you need is strangers pointing out that hey! Despite your best efforts, your baby is still teeny-tiny!

This time around, I've gotten a lot of, "He's ONLY 6 weeks old?" and "Wow, look at all the rolls on his arms!" and "Are you sure he isn't older?" (As an aside, why is it that people always want to ask you if you're SURE your baby is as old as he is? I mean, is that really the kind of thing you're likely to forget?)

Since my experiences with Luke have left me with some vestigial paranoia about whether my baby is getting enough to eat, I'm very much enjoying all this wow-he's-so-big feedback. And yet, I still feel the need to weigh him once a week. Anxiety, I tell ya...there's no logic to it.

One Strange Duck

Luke woke up at 6:30 this morning.
McMoose: Luke, lie down. It's still dark outside.
*Luke lies down.*
Luke, 5 minutes later: Dada, can you make it be bright outside now?

Luke, watching Toto walking around on the porch: There's a spiderweb!
Me: Ok.
Luke: A spiiiiiiiiiiderweeeeeeeeb!
Me: Oooooookaaaaaaay.
Luke: I want Toto to go away from the spiderweb.
Me: Why?
Luke: The spider will eat Toto.
Me: Um. No. The spider is small. Toto is too big to be eaten by the spider.
Luke: The spider will drop on Toto.
Me: If the spider drops on Toto, Toto will eat the spider. Toto likes eating spiders. Don't worry, Toto is fine.
Luke, trying to open the porch door: I like to eat spiders, too.

Luke, crawling on the floor on his belly: Ssssssss! Sssssss! Sssssss!
Me: Oh, My! There's a snake on the floor!
Luke, sitting up: I am not a snake. I am a duck, actually.
Me: Ducks do not crawl on the floor and say "Sssss!"
Luke: Ducks DO crawl on the floor and say "Sssss!" sometimes.
Me: When do they do that?
Luke: When they pretend to be a snake.

Things I Forgot About Life With a Newborn

(When do they stop being newborns, anyway?)

• The insane amount of laundry they generate. Between the diapers and the regular clothes, my poor washing machine is due to have a nervous breakdown any day now.
• Speaking of diapers, they're actually pretty easy to change and wash at this stage. I forgot that they don't get bad until after we introduce solids...so I was thinking maybe Weston could just live on Mama-milk until after he's potty trained. That's perfectly reasonable, right?
• They're freaked out by weird things. Luke hated noise. Anything above a whisper annoyed him. We live by the train tracks and even though he heard those trains multiple times every day, it still took him EIGHT MONTHS to get used to them. Weston, on the other hand, freaks out every time he--are you ready for this?--YAWNS. Seriously. I'm thinking that either (a) his throat is always sore from the reflux and yawning with a sore throat is kind of unpleasant or (b) he thinks he has used up all the oxygen in the room and is worried there won't be any left for his next breath.
• They hate the car. Actually, this might just be MY newborns because it seems like every other baby in the country loves the carseat and could spend hours napping in it. In fact, if I read one more parenting article that says going for a ride in the car is a sure way to soothe a crying baby, I might start screaming myself. Because in my experience? Going for a car ride is a sure way to send a perfectly calm baby into hysterics.
• They pull their own hair. And then have the audacity to get mad at whoever is holding them at the time.
• They can be completely exhausted, but instead of just going to sleep, they prefer to sit and grumble at the world.
• They can be in the middle of a meal, get distracted by a shadow on the wall and stare at said shadow for a full two minutes before remembering that they're still hungry. At which point, they get all offended and yell at you, as if YOU'RE the one who got distracted in the middle of a feeding.
• Their hair smells really, really good. The rest of them? Smells like regurgitated milk.
• They make really sweet squeaking noises in their sleep.
• For all the time you spend kissing and holding and rocking and feeding them, they always have a confused look on their faces when they see you--kind of like when you see someone at a family gathering who looks familiar and you KNOW you should remember their name, but you can't think of it to save your life? Yeah.

Bug And Hopper, Month One

One of the few times he's asleep anywhere other than my arms:



They nap like this. I nap in the (very small) space in between:


The first bath. I'm pretty sure there's a very similar picture of Luke from a couple of years ago.


Sleeping in the sling while I sew--what else?--another baby carrier.





Buddha Baby is watching you.


Sleeping. Looking Enormous. Etc.


Weston in the carseat...


...Luke in the carseat


We got Luke a trampoline--or a "twam-po-YINE!" as he calls it--last weekend.