Little Monster,

Your Mommy is a bit of a wuss so today was a scary day for her. You had tubes put in your tiny monster ears. You have basically had an ear infection since the end of July. You have been on antibiotics five times and slept for approximately 42 minutes in the last five months. Even for a monster, that just sucks.

I love you. I love rocking your little monster body to sleep each night. Once or twice or even three times is ok. Anything above that and we start to enter “Mommy wants to stick her head in the freezer until her ear drums go numb” territory. But still worse was that fact that my monster was not growling out of pure furry fun, you were like a lion with a thorn in your paw. One that couldn't hear.

I did not like the idea of an anesthesiologist putting my tiny monster out. I did not like the idea of holes is your little monster eardrums. I did not like the idea of restrictions on any deep sea diving or water slides for the next year, but it was necessary.

You see monster, over the last nine months I have had exactly zero nights where I have slept all the way through. I have had many, many nights where your daddy was out of town and I had to work the next day and I was awake cradling a screaming baby all. night. long.

Your daddy and I were once bestest buds. Long term sleep deprivation is a terrible thing little babe. One false move on you dads part the last few months and he might have been looking at a fatal paper cut. Or a diaper in his face. Or I might have run away to Bangkok with the nice waiter from the restaurant down the street and done foreign, exotic Thai things while your daddy got some quality monster time.

I don't know if this will help you sleep, but it will help you hear. It will stop the pain. I will feel less guilty if I turn up Gossip Girl if you wake up 20 minutes after I lay you down so I can drown you out with Chuck Bass for five minutes before I go rescue you. Or maybe I'll still come grab you right away because you're my favorite cuddle partner and I think you have a crush on Leighton Meester.



Jared is not a very patient wait room person.

I received so many lovely and thoughtful gifts for Christmas this year (did I mention my husband managed to sneak a piano into my living room at two in the morning Christmas Day?) but there was one extra special present. I am so lucky to know an AMAZING artist. She is actually an amazing everything and art is just one of the notches is her talent belt. Not fair.

She was kind enough to ask me and Phinny to pose for a picture earlier this year for a painting she was doing as a gift. On Christmas Day she gave me an additional painting she did just for me. Did I mention I was super, super spoiled? She is so talented/kind/fantastic and if you ever get the chance to own a painting by Missy Ames, consider yourself very, very lucky.

I asked her if she would think it was a bit vain to hang it on the ceiling over my bed so I can stare at it all the time. I haven't been able to get a good pic yet with my camera, but here is one I took with my cell.

And by the way

If you were curious as to why I posted a picture of Lesco trying to eat my face in the most unflattering way possible, it's because I'm super envious of the way he can bust out a blue steele on demand and I just look angry.

But Lesco has not had a good day. In fact, he has had a crap day. The tipping point was when a cute bulldog wandered over to him in the dog park and marked her territory. All over his leg.

Bummer Jared. So to cheer him up, here is hot, model Jared and not good for runway or commercial shifty eyed Mel.

A Happy Christmas

I love LOVE Christmas and I am always so sad when it's over. Like I look at my countdown to Christmas clock and see three hundred and sixty something days and get an eye tear sad. This year was the best. Christmas Eve Eve was perfect. Christmas Eve was perfect and Christmas Day was best of all.

We baked sugar cookies, visited friends, stormed families homes and ate until we both looked like we were about to pop out a sibling for little Phin. That last part was not so cool but hello January, hello treadmill and peace out breakfast fudge.

Having my own little elf (you didn't know monsters turned into elves during Christmas?!?!?) to tote around made it even better. Why? Because he was far too young to open his own presents so that meant double (triple?) the present tearing time for myself! Or maybe it was because he is the cutest little thing to ever grace this planet with his existence and just knowing this was his first time experiencing the magic of Christmas made my being glow. Granted eating paper is totally the reason for the season for him at this point, but someday he'll get just what this time of year celebrates. There is such great potential in his beautiful, old soul. I love him and am in awe my Heavenly Father think Jared and I are worthy of being his parents.

Merry Christmas!

Santa, Santa

Today my monster met one of the worlds most important people, Mr. Santa Claus. He was on his best behavior. He knows that in just two days and two hours Santa will decide if he deserves a stocking full of squishy things to chew on or fuel for the fire place. Normally monsters love fires and things that start them, but he can use some new bath toys and we are in a recession people. Even monsters need to make smart business moves. Besides, he can just use our dead dead dead tree for fuel. Then the couches. Then the bathroom cupboard because that sucker has got to go.

He has never seen a human with that much facial hair and he gave him several long, long looks before he determined that yes, he did want to eat it.



The cousins came too. This year they were a little nicer and didn't run screaming in terror. That just hurts Mr. Clause's feelings.



Even when we walked away he couldn't take his eyes off of him. That Santa is one tricky fella.



I'm really hoping that Phinny Phin tricked Ho Ho Clause into coming to our house this Friday. I reallllllly want some yummy chocolates and he knows how to hook a girl up.

DIY queen. QUEEN!

This year I kinda suck in the Christmas/wife/citizen department. Last year was also slightly sucky but I blamed it on being miserable and pregnant. I wonder if for the rest of my life I will have something to excuse the fact that I have presents with no tags (my bad Steve, that Victoria's Secret set was for Na, but I think you'd smell great in Pure Seduction) and a tree that might burst into flames at any given second due to the fact that I haven't watered it in three weeks.

Either way, I checked out some photos from Christmas past to reassure myself that I've totally improved.

Example one. Circa 2003

I always tell people that one of our first years married we were so poor that we couldn't afford stockings so we stole a pair of my sisters old soccer socks and wrote our names on them with permanent marker. Shove a fake poinsettia on it and voila. Don't worry people, this won't be turning into a diy blog anytime soon.

But seriously, what the hell? Was this the year I couldn't kick the glue habit? Actually, that year would have been 1988 and I was waaay craftier then. I rocked that macaroni necklace project like a mini Jared (the one that has Just in front of his name and not the one living in my house). And in the name of full disclosure I was more of a glue eater than sniffer but I'm sure that can't be any better for the brain cells.

Side note Monster, don't eat glue.

If I could afford stuff to shove in the sock, couldn't I have just run down to the dollar store and grabbed a stocking? I definitely wasn't in an eco phase, but I might start claiming that. I was just re purposing people. And no, I didn't wash the socks. My machine wasn't energy star approved.

I should finish this blog, but my monster is ready to torch something small and flurry until then, a picture of my best excuse.

Stick a monster in something cute and fluffy and you have the perfect Trojan horse. Don't give him any money, I'm pretty sure he's running some sort of ponzi scheme.

PS

Did I tell you that I have discovered the best way to stop a monster from taking a bite out of you is to take a bite out of the monster?

Christmas, Christmas

Is is bad that my Lesco and I still try to wake up super early just so we can beat each other to the advent calendar? Is it worse that I went a whole day with out speaking to him because I KNOW he cheated and changed it before we went to bed? Am I the worst Mom ever because the list of one hundred and fifty two thousand things I can't wait for Phinny to do does not include moving the mouse on MY Avon Mouse Advent Calendar?

Look at that cute little mouse. Would you share?

Other Christmasy things have invaded our home and I like it very much.

I really need to clean that lamp.





Ignore me and my giant purple sesame street legs and focus on the monster. Focus! This is what he looks like right before he attacks you for your fudge. Only monsters and grinches steal christmas treats and he's not green (although he does have a super fab olive complexion).

Sometimes I want to cry because he is just so dang beautiful. Other times I want to cry because he just ripped a handful of my hair right off my head. I snapped this pic after one of those moments.

Who has a party to go to?

All my invites are for more casual affairs, but I'm seriously considering shelling out some cash for a fundraiser so I can buy this. Anyone else out there need a party dress? Someone should own this vintage gem. Scalloped edges? check. Butt ruffles? check. Exposed back? Check, check, check!!! I can just picture myself floating around in this.

Someone invite me to a fancy party!!!

I'm a girl that loves my space. I hate when people touch me. I am not a hugger. I may like you, or even like like you, but I will not willingly wrap my arms around you unless you're choking and there is a news person around and I have to save your life. Even then, if my hair looks bad I'll probably just let Jared do it. Worse than the hug is the random shoulder massage. I'm not responsible if I flip around and karate chop your neck. It's just a reflex.

Generally Jared does not fall into the no touching zone. Lately though, our bed is getting just too small. The problem is Lesco. He has legs like fricken tree trunks. As the smaller human, it is my right to have my legs on top. He throws one on top of me and I start to lose blood flow to the lower half of my body. It came to a head while I was pregnant.

He would not stay on his side.

It eventually came to this.


The belts have come down, but it looks like they might have to be reinstated.
This morning I woke up and had a dog, a cat, a lesco and a monster in bed with me. I need a California king.

Oh Christmas Tree

I cry all the time. I love crying. Sad news articles, goopey commercials, good books, pictures of bears trying to climb into tiny buckets. Tears. Last year my fave was some jewelry commercial where a mom was rocking her new babe by the tree. I would rewind it over and over if I wanted a good cry. If Jared even attempted to interrupt my tear fest I would throw anything within arms reach to shut him up. My animals learned to duck and cover. My husband never learned anything. Too wild to tame.

In my head I could just see myself with my sweet little babe the next year. Well it happened tonight. My perfect little monster was mad and growly and on the verge of burning down a church so I walked him around the tree and sang pretty little songs. He fell asleep on my shoulder and I wanted to freeze time right there. My baby, my tree, my cold December night. My baby. I know tomorrow when I'm at work or next month or year or decade when I'm having a gray day I'll close my eyes and think of right then and feel much warmer.

Our not so little Christmas tree. :)

Shouldn't this make him love me more?

Someday Phinny will be very surprised to learn that everyone doesn't have homemade pizza for dinner several times a week. I'm an addict.

10k in 10 degrees.

I ran (okay maybe slowly jogged or limped dragging my bad leg while whistling war songs from the 40's) the turkey trot this year. This might seem tempting to you. You might think that this would give you free license to eat all the stuffing and pie you can get your hands on while smugly telling people that you are just sooo hungry from the race you ran that morning. More gravy please. I'm here to tell you holidays are not for exercising.


Your husband might take a picture of you looking like a boy with a ponytail.



As we drove to the race site I watched the thermometer slowly drop and drop on the dashboard. I briefly considered peeing my self while racing for a happy moment of heat. I opted out because I realized post pee my pants would freeze and that would cause uncomfortable chafing.

I met my chicas and learned that one of them had forgot an ear warmer. There were several children under the age of ten that had quality looking headbands but we were pretty sure they could all out run us. And knock us down and take our keys. Not worth it. Somehow she survived with her ears still attached.

I think I just regained feeling in my toes 37 minutes ago.

Monsters prefer heat and bananas to eat that aren't frozen. Warm meat > frozen fruit.


Post race we started a fight with each other just to see if we could still feel anything. Physically or emotionally.

Monster, a few house rules.

Dear Monster,

My family has long had a love affair with all things edible. However, you do not seem to know exactly what that word means. Because of this, I feel that it is my duty as your mother to make you a list of things you should not eat.

Let's start with the dog. Stop trying to eat my puppy. Not edible or very clean these days. We like her, she keeps the cat (also not food) in line and frankly she's a much better sleeper than you are.

The bows on the Christmas presents. Shiny = fun. Shiny does not = delicious. It might mean interesting diapers. It might mean silly pictures. It does not mean a healthy digestive track.

My hair. I like it on my head. Go after Daddy all you like, he deserves it. I think he might go bald someday anyway. Sorry Lesco.

Anything electric. So far we've been able to avoid this but the way you're scrabbling these days we might have to switch to candlelight and battery operated lamps. I have a tendency to catch my arm hair on fire whenever I fiddle with matches so can you just give up on this one? That burnt hair smell sticks around forever.

Dirt. That's just...unhygienic.

Also, the bathtub, grocery carts, your Vovo, our couches and the aquarium at the pediatrician's office. And the pediatrician. Thanks little one!

The month got away from me once again and I didn't even begin to scratch the surface of what I'm thankful for. However, little Phin is sick again and I think he did it on purpose right when his Daddy needs to leave town and I'm feeling overwhelmed and scared about the next week and the extreme lack of sleep.

Deep breath. My life is so, so good.

It's good because I have amazing parents. Amazing, beautiful parents.


Crazy siblings. Crazy good.





And the most perfect little family at home. I can't even believe how lucky I am to have these two boys to call my own. My biggest dream is to be home more with this perfect little baby boy and hopefully it will happen in the next year.

While raising a monster you sometimes have the misfortune of running into competitive and obnoxious parents of normal children. I have encountered this a bit in the past at work with parents insisting their five years olds are advanced enough to be in the high school level summer camp, but it’s worse when your toting around a real live monster. This happened to me while buying diapers the other day. It started off innocent enough.

“Oh your baby is so cute! How old?”

“Thank you, he’s seven ½ months.”

“Wow, he’s a huge baby! So much bigger than my nine month old.”

What I wanted to say is, no he’s not you weirdo. My baby has big fat misleading cheeks but he’s barely made it on the growth chart. He is a small baby and while I shouldn’t care that you think he’s some oversized jumbo babe, which would be fine, it annoys me that you are comparing our children. Really though, I just say,

“Really? He’s only in the 5th percentile. Hmmm.”

“Oh well maybe it’s just the car seat. Is he crawling yet.”

“Just starting.”

“My baby started crawling at six months. She’s pretty advanced.”

“Oh, yup, mines not crawling yet, but he’s been cruising around furniture for a while now. And surfing. Did I mention my baby surfs? He loves it so much, just a little less than rock climbing. Loooves rock climbing. They’re doing a spread on him next month in Outside magazine. Rock climbing and surfing, it’s all I ever hear about. Oh yeah, did I tell you he talks? He’s been doing that since he was in utero. Soo hard to sleep when your baby is yelling at you from the inside about all that Mexican you just had. Can’t even use the restroom in peace. These days I just pass him a Russian novel to keep him quiet for a couple of hours. He loves his Turgenev! But yeah, not crawling yet. Can I get the receipt in the bag?”

Dear Monster Monster,

Today was your very first Pieday. Before you ever existed your Daddy and I tried to get everyone over for the holidays (when I say holidays, I wasn't picky. I would have taken Flag day!) but no one would come. They all had long standing plans else where. So we did what any logical people would do, we made up our own. Nobody can claim tradition elsewhere on a made up holiday. Well, they can, but we'll talk about liars when your older.

We decided the most important factor in creating a holiday was the food. Obvious, right? We chose pie. Pieday. What do you do on Pieday? You eat. lots and lots and lots more pie. We made 23 this year. Even with a monster rolling around our feet and demanding to fed and cuddled and occasionally wanting a superman to eat. Monster, please learn to respect your superheros. He didn't save our planet just to have a monster eat his head in between Cheerios.

I didn't burn any pies this year. I didn't yell at your daddy until at least 30 hours into the bake fest. And I didn't poison anyone. Total success.



You preferred mac and cheese.

Thankful, even for the cat.

Catching up on things I'm thankful for.

My Liza.
This dog is a pretty pretty princess. Seriously, she's more devious than a Disney channel star and is my bestest little girlfriend. When I was pregnant I had a major fibroid that caused quite a few growing pains and kept me confined to the couch. This girl never left my side. True, she is convinced she is the most important person in the house, digs rocks more than dog toys and as no idea why we all love the loud little human that moved it, but she is a perfect doggy. I'm so thankful for my Liza Dog. Even if she did eat all my croutons. And hogged the bed last night. And sometimes gets totally jeally-jeal if I kiss Lesco. I love her.




My garden.
At old job I once spent a month giving my coworkers daily updates on how massive my melons were getting. Apparently the group a few cubicles over found my giant melon updates hilarious and inappropriate. Especially when I would declare, "Check out my melons today!" and open a beautiful, fabulous picture of.....cantaloupe. They could not see the picture and they didn't know about my garden. Or maybe they did but it was too hard not to laugh when they heard someone ask if my grandma had seen my melons. A perfectly acceptable question as she is an avid gardener herself. Ahem.

I love to garden with lesco. It's so fun to eat homegrown food and I miss it over the winter.



My co-workers.

The gratitude might not be mutual as I threaten them daily with letter openers and fatal paper cuts, but I love them. Seriously, have you ever told anyone you didn't like that you would superglue their eyelids shut if they didn't leave you alone. Didn't think so. Why waste your breath? Plus I'm already listening to holiday music and no one has thrown anything at me yet.

The cat of justice.

I hate this cat. Really a lot at first and now not as much. I came home a year ago late night and there were three little kittens on my doorstep. Liza ran up to them barking and they didn't move. Poor Lize didn't know what she was supposed to do at that point because cats have always moved in the past. Except for the one cut out of plywood and painted black down the street but Liza refuses to talk about that incident.

It was supposed to dip below freezing that night so I let them in. I called them little black, little grey and calico. I just don’t like cats. I don’t know why. That’s a lie. I know why. I don’t like them because they jump up on counters and that’s gross. Because they use a litter box and don’t go outside and that’s gross. Because they get all pissy when you dress them up and try to make them pose for a family photo and that's annoying because if you want to be a part of this family you better act like it!

No one wanted little black and so she stayed. And now she hangs out on a chair in the dining room and jumps out at people when they walk by. Jared insists that she is a cat of justice and only attacks those who deserve it. I must let evil, evil humans in because she goes after everybody.

Dear Monster,

Today I am grateful for your daddy. I swore, SWORE, in my head to no one out loud, that I would wait until the very end to use this one because things that happen at the end are almost always important. End of the week = paycheck, end of semester = grades, end of dinner = dessert, end of level = level boss. But I couldn't wait. I am impatient just like you. Plus I am grateful every single day.

He poses on a rock like a lands end model.

He is amazing and knows how to do everything. He loves to surprise me all the time. He will build me a wall that doesn't need to be built or let me buy seven different cans of paint for the same room. He covered my ceiling with fabric in the middle of the night once because I was so excited to see it. He will go to the store in a snowstorm, drop me off at my office door if it's raining and give me a haircut if I can't wait to go to a professional. He will cook a fab dinner and then leave for work at two in the morning rather than 5 pm the night before so he can spend a few more hours with me when he has to go out of town. He wakes up Christmas morning at three so he can decorate the living room with lights before I get up.

He falls asleep in weir d places.

He feeds and bathes you every single night he's home. When I started a new job he packed me lunch every day. He lets me get the mail and hold the remote.

He is learning ancient Greek for fun.
He thinks cars will fly someday and complains loudly in traffic about it not happening yet.
He commissioned a blanket made for himself when he first moved out.
He once fasted for a week and ate nothing but volcanic ash.
He bought and restored a classic car then sold it when we were broke newlyweds.
He is an archaeologist.
He loves children.
He once broke his own lawn mower so our neighbor wouldn't mow our lawn while he was out of town. ( I totally supported this by the way.)
He has a black belt in Kung Fu.
He left me in a restaurant on our first dating anniversary because he saw a woman walking in the rain outside and wanted to give her a ride.
He is the most amazing human ever and he is all mine. And yours too lucky lucky!

He is number one.

Thankful

I remember looking at some sort of sleep article when Phinny was six or seven weeks old that said by 8 months babies typically sleep around 11 to 12 hours a night. I quickly calculated and determined this would be right around Thanksgiving. I think I cried a bit thinking how far away that was. Or maybe I was crying because Jared ate the last bite of peanut butter or because I couldn't find the remote. Pretty much cried all the time the first little bit. As special and glowy and wonderful as first new baby time is, NOTHING can prepare you for how hard and life changing those first couple of months are. Hard, hard, hard. So I just knew I would be so grateful this Thanksgiving.

Tired Lesco who just can't see the turkey at the end of the tunnel.

Well I happen to be mother to a cute as a button monster baby. He does not sleep 11 to 12 hours a night. Not even close. Not even far away. He'll go for three straight hours on a really good night and then it might take hours to get him down again. And then sometimes it's only for half an hour. Pure monster.

Scary babies throw gang signs

But I am thankful for so many, many things. And I want to list them because it helps me remember and because I want to acknowledge how friggen amazing I have it. Like, scared 24/7 the other shoe is going to drop amazing. That good.

(Look at those boys. LOOK!)

So my Lesco and I have been sharing each day what we’re thankful for and I’ll try to post it here as well.

November 1)

Fall colors. There is something in me that gets plain giddy when the leaves start to change. This usually leads to me inhaling all things pumpkin flavored for the next twenty four hours until I puke all things pumpkin colored for the next three days. It’s a vicious tradition. I’ve been driving by this tree on purpose every time I’ve left the house for the last few days.

Wonder how the owners of the house would feel if I arranged a fall photo shoot for Phin-bin in their front yard? Is there some sort of imminent domain I could claim? Would it be worth it to go to law school to find out? Is anyone else craving pie all of a sudden?

Halloween was spooky. My monster let his horns out and we carved a pumpkin we grew ourselves. Some people objected to his cage. These are not people who live with him. Can't wait til next year!