Please call an exorcist.

My baby has been possessed. Everyone who knows him knows it. In fact, my mom asked me if I had blogged about it yet. It's kind of hard to blog when you're battling forces sent to your home straight from the pits of hell.

Don't believe me? Just ask my sister in law's sister. Is that a sister in law once removed? Doesn't matter. All that's important is that fact that she's sporting a goose egg on her forehead from the plastic gun Phin threw at her face. My grandma narrowly missed at attack minutes before.

Wait, you must be saying. Wait, aren't you watching this whirlwind? Control him!

Can't be done. My mom, raiser of five children, daycare provider for 30 years, grandma of four wild and crazy toddlers, called me at work the other day to tell me all the antics he had pulled. She was laughing but I don't doubt it was to mask the tears.

The evidence is in his smile. It used to be cute and sweet. Now it's cute and....scary? aggressive? demonic? Ok, it's just freaking funny. We make him do it all the time.

Example 1.

Example 2.

Smiling face. I love it. 

He's so crazy. One moment he has hacked his way through the child lock into the cereal cupboard (gets the ability to scavenge for food from me) next he's chasing poor Liza around the house with a spatula. Lucky for Liza, little dude can't run in a straight line so she narrowly escapes every time. And Phin winds up in his second home. We call that place timeout. He calls that place highchair prison. 

Still, the other day while I was bringing my house up to a socially acceptable level of messy I heard him screaming and giggling and doing all the things that make him the best living example of a happy life and thought, "THANK YOU!" It would be so awful and boring without him. Give me more! More babies who think it's fun to stand on the vacuum while I'm using it and throw our books into the bathtub and feed the dog half a box of Kix and the poor neglected kitchen floor the other half. Dudes though, that kitchen floor is starving.

This is the best life. Even if sometimes I have to lock myself in the bathroom and send Jared pictures of my self with crazy eyes and captions that say, "Guess where I am right now? Guess why I'm so happy? He doesn't know where I am!"

You should know that's me sitting on the toilet. Not using it, lid closed. But just ask Jared how often I hide in there. The number might scare you.

Happy New Year!!

Short and sweet. Like my offspring.

First. Find my creepy dog.

She's all Phinny will point to in the pic. 

Although I can't vote in them, so excited for these to get under way. Love this stuff. Can't wait to see who my guy goes up against.

Can't believe we'll be seeing this guy in six days. For real? Yes. Christmas is in six days. 

source

He gets cuter every day. How did I get so lucky? I'm so in love. Even though he attacked our tree with a mop today. But look how beautiful he is with whip cream on his nose.

Happy Christmas week. Sounds better than Monday, right?

This was completely supervised. For the most part.

Remember that post where I said I can't help but love when Phen gets into trouble? Probably not. No worries, I'm saying it again. I love to see him become his own little person. Not going to lie, I wouldn't miss the shoes flying at my head or pen marks all over out going packages that were left alone no more than twelve seconds. Demon.

But watching him destroy furniture I really, really, really want to replace? I can live with that. 100%. Just need to bulk him up so he can tip that ugly couch. Pass the spinach yo.

My Grandpa was a college stud. I should have known.

This weekend

-I learned my baby loves a good football game. We took Phin to his first one. It was awesome. I totally envisioned him sticking nacho in someone’s hair, screaming through the whole third quarter, throwing his shoe/cup/spit wad at the mascot but hitting someone with much better seats and other horrible toddler things. Didn’t happen. Somehow all of his clothes stayed on his body and our seat neighbors left unscathed and uncheesed. Which is good because we have season passes so we’re going to see those suckers for five more games.

I think all the commotion overwhelmed him so he was happy to sit on my lap for 3 plus hours and wave at pretty, older chicks. And by older I mean nine to ten. (Don’t think I didn’t catch that Phin. My hawk eyes miss nothing. Nothing.) So we’re going back. Let’s hope the magic that is called sensory overload doesn’t wear off because I plan on getting my fill of stadium food between now and December third.  I salute the cheesy pretzel and ultimate nacho.

-I learned my husband wishes he could play college ball. File this under things about Lesco that really surprise me. Like the time he told me he hopes we own horses someday. And how he wouldn’t mind riding lessons before then. Whaaaa…?

-I learned my Grandpa played college football. Then when he got bored of that he switched to college basketball. Which was considerably less boring in his personal opinion. So I googled him and found some records he set while in a fraternity. Go Grandpa.

-I learned that cookie dough cheesecake bars are the bomb. If you don’t mind diabetic shock. YUMMY!!!

-I did not learn that soup potlucks are also of bomb nature, duh, but I did learn that my stomach has an unusually large soup holding capacity. Could totally turn this into a money making opportunity. Is the circus sideshow employment office open today? Or do they have limited daytime hours?

-I learned that some stores suck. I also learned that this can be beneficial. Jo-Ann fabric was clearancing out all their Halloween and Thanksgiving stuff and throwing Christmas  up on the front shelves. Uh what? I’ll take myself a turkey at 60 percent off but that holiday is still a month and a half away. So while I hate them for rushing through my beloved fall, I love them for giving me a deal on my Halloween party décor. I love you! I hate you! Let’s make out! Logical, right?

-I learned that there is no way to keep silk un-wrinkly on my body for more than three point five minutes unless I stand perfectly still. Which I am incapable of unless I’m in one of those chamber things that puts you to sleep and wakes you up in five hundred years when everyone chooses their body from a catalog and eats dots ice cream. It really is the dessert of the future.

So awesome weekend for me. Ya’all learn anything you want to pass along? Dooo it!

We fought then made up. So it's like it never happened.

I’m a little head over heels in love with the two foot monster that stomps around our house. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am the parent that will break silence in the office with, “Oh frick humans, you will not believe what my monster did.” Happens two to three hundred times a day. Pretty much I relive his entire previous twelve hours in minute detail at work each day.

Everyone loves it, I’m sure.

The internal “Stay Cool Mel” moniter is beeping like mad by the time four o’clock rolls around, but I can’t stop. I have a problem.

This post is not about how I’m shocked modeling agencies and Mensa haven’t broken down my door trying to get at my Phinny, but seriously, what’s up with that? This is about how Sunday I had brief taste of wanting to lock myself in a dark closet and hold my breath until I passed out.

I’ll admit it’s my fault. I envisioned this perfect Sunday where Phin and I lazed around the house all day in our jammies eating cinnamon rolls and cuddling inbetween naps. I don’t know why I thought my one year old little boy had turned into a twenty eight year old chick for the day. Probably because I’m an idiot. Don’t worry, I was schooled. He quickly reminded me that he was still one and still a little dude. One who’s natural reaction to a sugary cinnamon roll is not to roll over on the couch and zonk out.

Some of my favorite demonstrations of this fact?

Taking my very favorite bowl, one I received when Lesco and I were hitched, out of the cupboard in the three seconds I had the child lock off and smashing it into dust. I can’t glue dust back together. Or the time he bit me so hard it put a hole in my leggings. That was a blast. I’m sure Liza wants you to know about how he threw the tape gun at her. And the cat. He threw the cat at the dog.

One positive, we mastered the word sorry. He sounds so freaken cute it’s distubring. Almost made his pact with Satan worth it. Almost but not really.

We ended the day in his rocking chair where we worked it out. I apologized for yelling like a madwoman when the bite happened. He rubbed my cheek while we rocked. That means I love you in Phin speak. So I think we’re good. 

I think the next fight I'll pick is with my little sis. She and her boyfriend are going on a last minute trip to Paris tomorrow. Paris. Suddenly my groupon for Fresh Mex doesn't seem that great. Oh to be young, in love, child free and have a boyfriend who works for an airline. 

Bon Voyage Renee!

Buy this beautiful pic here.

If I could marry a food today

Phin is having eating issues. The issue being he won't do it. It's been stressing me out seeing him run around all ribsy like. I keep reminding him that the ladies like some chunk. The ladies being me, his vovo and that pediatrician of his. I was sure that last one would convince him to down some hearty mac and cheese because he's got it bad for her. Must be all that devilish red hair she's sporting.

Either way, zucchini bread is the brand new love of my life. I've given it to him post meal ( meal = eating three bites and throwing everything else on the floor screaming for Liza) and so far he's been a champion zucchini downer.

I used this recipe with some adjustments. I'll fill you in but I'm not promising success. My wierd-a changes never seem to replicate well and my memory sucks so I might be telling you wrong in the first place.

I only used half the sugar plus a tablespoon or so.
I added a hearty squirt of honey.
I threw in a very large, very ripe banana.
Added half/three quarters of a baked sweet potato.
Zucchini was more like 2 1/2 cups.
Half white, half whole wheat flour.
Shorted the oil a little bit.
I may have added some extra vanilla. I had one those turn the mixer on way too fast so vanilla went everywhere mishaps and threw a bunch more in.

I also needed to bake it quite a bit longer than the recipe called for, but that might have to do with our elevation, 4500 feet.

It's so freaken good. I ate it for breakfast. Here's proof. Don't judge, these pics are I barely woke up and peed pics.

It sucked, but we made it out alive. Mostly

Every once in a while something happens that makes me think, "Whoa. Whooooaaaaa. Now I can call myself a real mom." Sometimes the events that inspire these thoughts are perfect moments, other times it's being covered in a gallon of my child's vomit.

We were sick and everyone thought we were gross. I'm sure the cashiers at the hardware store are still trying to get Phin juice out of the self service station. Have to give Lesco major kudos for handling that one. And the two puking sessions on the way home from said store. And the next three after that.

Phin alternated between sleeping and destroying the house/my will to live in sanitary conditions. For a sick kid, he had some serious energy. I think he was a viking in a past life. He probably drank a lot and clubbed people. He probably left that life with fewer limbs than he was born with. I bet his name was Kveldulf..or something.

I joined the sick club on day two. Never a cookie, always a cookie cutter. Wait, other way around.



Please someone tell me that you too have had a moment where your child has climbed all over you while you sat picking at your nails, too weak to address the fact that you are mere furniture in the eye of your offspring. Anyone?



Plus, I haven't had internet in my house for over a week. A WEEK. I sat outside my brothers house and used his wireless a couple of times while he was sleeping. Steve & Kari, does that creep you out?

Yay for google! Yay for health!

Things I shouldn't teach my kid. Part 1

Ice cream before dinner is ok. Especially Ben and Jerry's. Spoil your appetite? Make you scream all night long from a tummy ache slash sugar high? Huh.

Let groceries sit for a while on the counter before you get to putting them away. Maybe milk should be like wine and cheese. Better aged.

Feet on the counter are fine. Isn't that why they make clorox wipes?

Putiting your pajamas bottoms and favorite band t-shirt on hours before bed? Perfectly acceptable. Classy even. Wear them to Walmart, you'll fit right in.

Post pictures that make you look like a terrible parent on the internet. It will make people feel better about themselves. It's called the MTV Teen Mom effect. or affect. Who knows.

I should have believed them. A note for mommies.

There are things they tell you. They being every human that has had or been within 50 feet of a child in the last 100 or so years. Things that should terrify you into never having a one of your own. Except they tend to tell you these things when you're pregnant. Even better, when you're holding that brand new, perfect smelling newborn of yours.

Uhhh, too late dude. The return policy on these things sucks.

People told me to get sleep while I could.
Enjoy my alone time.
Say goodbye to my favorite restaurant.
Say hello to concealer.
Memorize what my house looked like clean cause I was never going to see it that way again.

That list look short to you? Don't worry, there are thousands more.

I would tell people “Oh I hear you. I know my babe is going to be a total nightmare.” Playful head tilt and nod. Fake scared laugh. Maybe followed by a “I just hope he isn't like me.”

But really, it was a facade. I was going to have THE BEST BABY in the world. And not because of luck either. I was going to show that baby who was boss. Are you laughing at me? If not, go ahead. I am. No really, ignore the tears. It's hysterical.

My baby showed me. This is not a letter of defeat. We're still going at it and I imagine it will be that way for the next 16.5 years. And probably another decade after that.

I just want to let all the other moms in the world know they are not alone.

For all the mamas of picky eaters, I'm right there with you. I introduced my baby to a giant variety of foods early on. He loved everything. I considered myself a parenting genius.

Not anymore. He prefers dirt over veggies. He'll take dog food before a burrito. Stuffed animals go in before any sort of meat. Right. There. With. You.

For all the moms who have babies that steal ice with a Stretch Armstrong reach (wtf?) and hurl it at the waiter. You are not alone. If your baby finds every toy and magic noise making machine completely unsatisfactory the second you walk into a restaurant, we should become best friends. If crayons are for mouths and paper menus for shredding, our children must share DNA. Did you leave dinner last night looking worse than the people crossing the finish line after an iron man? You just ran a harder race my friend.

Did you send the CEO of Spanx a three page, hand written thank you note along with a fruit basket? Did you manage to go through life with a fairly light makeup routine but now go through two tubes of concealer a month? We should plan a play date. I won't judge if you missed a spot.

Sleep. Oh sweet, sweet sleep. When your child was born and skipped that whole sleepy newborn phase, did you think there might be something wrong? When you heard of other babies the same age as yours starting to sleep through the night, did you get a glimmer of hope? When you were the last one in your due date club awake at 12, 1, 2, 3 and 4 in the morning did you start to get a wee bit resentful? When your baby hit one and you could count on your fingers the number of times s/he slept 5 or 6 hours in a row, did you start tearing up every time you heard of another mom's sleep victory? Did your pediatrician tell you that some babies just don't sleep as much as others? Did you consider punching her in the face? If so, come over. I'll make you dinner. We'll share horror stories. We have all night, right?

This isn't to say it it isn't worth it. It is. I want more. So I guess what I'm saying is that it changes you. Into a masochist.

Feeling fancy

Weird things have happened to me this week. Including but not limited to finding myself sitting in a truck with an older gentleman I had met five minutes before while he cried. I should mention I currently needed my bathroom but if was far, far away. Sweating from heat and fear of peeing in an old dude's truck is not hot. Or so said the face of the six packified guy who jogged by shirtless while I looked out the window pleading for help with my eyes.

But more on that later. Or maybe never.

Awkward.

I love summer when I'm not busy complaining about my old house with no ac. I want to celebrate it. I love my husband and my baby too. Basically I'm so full of love my hair should be glowing. There was actually a day where all three of us were in the same house together with no morning agenda. So we had breakfast.

I love breakfast.

Fancy, summer breakfast. Really, there is no better kind. Maybe, maybe fancy autumn breakfast and possibly even fancy winter breakfast. I'll let you know after we try it.

Even though my girlness is currently outnumbered, fun was had by all. Phin wore his jammies which is either disrespectful or incredibly fancy. If you knew my Phinny Phin you would assume the latter.

Jared wanted to wear his, but I made him shower and put on cologne. It was a party after all. I decided it will be an annual tradition. The three of us swore to never let life interfere with fancy breakfast.

Why I love sick days

No need for words. That's a happy mama.

Linked up with Angry Julie Better in Bulk 5 minutes for mom Project Alicia

In a little shock over here..

Did the world just tilt on it's axis unexpectedly? Is the moon in some very rare lunar cycle? Were your animals all on edge this morning?

My baby, ugh, toddler, slept through the night. If that doesn't indicate that something awfully strange is going on in the world today...

I want to do something to celebrate. Normally I'd just light fireworks and invite presidents to dinner, but this calls for something bigger. Something bluer.

I think I'll consult Martha. She knows everything.

I think it will be this. It's only summer once a year, you know.



Martha's Genius Recipe

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days

I hate when life is too busy to blog.

I lie. Partly.

It's true I hate when I go a couple days between posts. Mostly because my blog is totally passive aggressive when it comes to these things. First it lays down the guilt trip. Then it gives me the silent treatment. Finally it goes to hang out with cooler people and "forgets" to invite me. Honestly, my blog needs to grow up.

I don't mind a full and happy life. Summer is that way. I have family in town, some of my very favorite people. People that might not like me back very much. People that enjoy watching me writhe in pain as I pay to be tortured with them. Who knew you were such a demon Pilates?

Other things too. Classes. Work. Birthdays. Dinners.

Really, I just want to spend every second I can with my beautiful little family. I tripped on a dinosaur in the dining room the other night. How awesome is that? I'm at that brief stage in life where I'm tripping over my little boy's toys. I keep having these moments with that perfect little monster.

Just tonight, when we were out, Jared and I each had one of his hands as we were walking along and swinging him up in the air every few steps. Of course this elicited giggles of ear drumming popping, glass shattering pitch. How lucky are we?

And how can I still be so in love with my husband? How is it so good still? When we were first married we would crowd in our tiny little kitchen, play Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald and cook together. We still do this. We did just the other night and it makes me feel so lucky to be in my shoes. I love these long, happy summer days.

Feeling a little sentimental

One year ago I went back to work. I cried until I hyperventilated. I cursed my boss's boss for ruining my plans to go part time. I cursed my husband for not having oodles and oodles of money. I cursed myself for not having some brilliant idea that made me a millionaire before my 25th birthday. I started each day crying and usually ended it the same. Didn't help that Jared was out of town much of the latter half of last year.

Everyone told me that it would get easier. That on some days, going to work would seem like a break. I've had exactly one of those days. In a year. It isn't that I have the world's easiest baby. Anyone remember the ear infections that lasted six months? It isn't even that I hate my job. I actually really enjoy my coworkers and the programs we work with. It isn't that I grew up with the dream of having babies and staying home with them. In fact, I didn't even want children for the first several years of marriage.

But I changed my mind. The second I saw that teeny, tiny, skinny little baby I completely changed my mind. I want to spend our days together. It won't be this way forever. He is already a year. Less than four more and he'll be starting kindergarten. After that, it's never the same. He will never be the little boy who needs two naps a day and has to be rocked before bed. Why waste such a tiny, precious second in our history at an office where I annoy people with my lack of interest and dedication?

Staying home. It's not for everyone. It's not forever. It is what I really, really want for right now. I don't want to look back at these years full of sadness. So if anyone out there is wondering what my biggest goal is right now, it's getting to that place. Then I will only covet little things. Like expensive shoes, private islands and humans with superior genetics. You know, the kind that star in shiny hair commercials, don't compulsively eat rainbow chip frosting and get into med school. On a whim. But even those people don't have a Phinny.

You think you have a lot of laundry?

Ha. In fact lots of those.

There are benefits to have 300 lbs of laundry to fold. Instant ride for the kiddo.

What's that?

I think I just heard you ask me a serious question. I think it was,

"Mel, how exactly are you going to burn off the sixteen pita pizzas you ate for dinner?"

Humans, I don't know. But an evening walk with a monster who had to be held every second he wasn't trying to kamikaze into traffic probably took care of two of them. The other 14 will probably just hang for a while.

It was ugly. So, so ugly.

I might have mentioned, I don't know, four thousand or so times that Phinny is not a sleeper. We have tried every single method in the universe (alien sleep technology anyone?) to convince him, train him, torture him into closing his eyes for more than a few hours at a time. Once I even compiled a beautiful graph showing him all the benefits of REM shut eye. He peed on it.

Ok, that didn't really happen. But I did make myself a chart chronicling my sleep loss. It was depressing so I peed on it.

Thousands of humans have asked us if we ever resorted to driving to calm him down. This usually caused Jared to curl up in the fetal position on the floor and mutter jibberish that might have meant "It never stops. Never, never stops!"

The screaming that went on from the second the car seat locked in to the second we killed the motor was enough to crack any terrorist. Hear that Obama? We will drive for our country.

It has become much better. He still has to be entertained or the peace ends fast. Yesterday I gave Phin a jar to play with on our way home from picking up take out.

"Mel, did you get a peanut dish?"
"Nooo. I got, oh crap."
"What?"
"I gave Phin a jar of peanut butter to play with, but he can't open lids."

This point Jared leans back to glance at Phin.

"He can open lids."
"Oh crap."

Battle scars

I have a bruise on my leg from a stick of Old Spice.

I have found taking a shower while Phin is sleeping is off limits. The only bathroom with a shower backs up against his room and it wakes him up every time. So the babe has to be in bathroom prison everyday.

This was a non issue when he wasn't mobile. Stick him in his little vibrating chair and bust it out in 5, 10 even 15 minutes. 15 glorious minutes.

Mobile baby, for the most part, is exponentially better.

Not during shower time.

I have not totally baby proofed this bathroom. The basics are done. Toilet paper sits on top of the toilet, not in the roll holder. No poisonous cleaning chemicals are under the sink. Razors are hidden. Even I no longer know where those suckers went. So sorry about that world.


He still finds stuff. Yesterday I was showering and every five seconds he would throw back the curtain and pelt something at me. The Old Spice. A race car. Travel lotion. A dog toy. His shoe. Tried to shove the cat in, but she won.

I think he's trying to tell me something. Mommyhood is dangerous business friends.

Have an awesome holiday all.

Did you sleep with a knee jammed in your throat?

No? Maybe you forgot it happened. Maybe your husband took a picture for posterity's sake. It probably looked something like this.



Doesn't sound familiar? Dang. Than you probably slept better than me.

Oh yeah, oh yeah.

If the title of this post didn't sound exactly like Pauly D in your head, your first grade teacher clearly failed when teaching you to read.

Demand a refund.

Scratch that, the government is totally broke. Instead, soak up my the ray of gloriousness that is Phin's hair.

Our faces are washed out. I'm totally smirking, but our hair is so freaken glam.

That's what happens when you mix sunscreen with baby hair. Baby hair that needs to be cut but Mamma has a hang up and doesn't want to admit that her baby isn't really a baby at all, but a vicious, crazy toddler. Just to clarify.

Beach day was awesome. Did I accidentally flash the entire beach population trying to come up from the water all Baywatch like for Lesco? Yes, yes I did.

Did everyone laugh? No. So I guess me and the beach broke even.

Did Phin scream every time we tried to trick him into his baby flotation device and one point push it out to sea screaming no? Yup.

Did he also enjoy petting every single "Dog dog" and sitting at the edge of the sand throwing sticks for Liza? Yes sir. Phin and the beach, even.

Did Jared float around like a little social butterfly, making friends with the dudes with beer bongs, telling them how awesome being a dad was and showing off his dog? Jared, always winning.

Did the people cheer when we left because my psychotic dog barked every thirteen seconds that passed without a stick being thrown into the lake for her?

If they did we didn't hear them and for that and I think beach day was a total success.

Check out the chick walking on water in the back. Awesome.

Doesn't it look like he's having a blast? He was, dude is like an Olsen twin. He doesn't smile for the camera.

All tuckered out on the way back to the car.