Friday, December 2, 2011

Do you have a 2 year old? I'm sorry.

I was talking with my mom and complaining about the sheer evil that is inhabiting my 2 year old and she responded that I was in good company. My sister's 2 year old has a similar list of evil-doing, and after talking with another friend with a 2 year old, she reported much the same behavior. Bottom line? Two-year olds are nasty. You may be convinced your adorable 1 year old would never and I am here to tell you that he would. And will. When he turns 2 that is.

So I've compiled a list in order to help anyone who might be wondering if they either have a 2 year old or some horrible demon from the underworld. Probably a 2 year old. Sorry.

You know you have a 2 year old when...

  • The phrase 'Get down' is undoubtedly the first words to every sentence.
  • Getting out of the shower is something like a horror film. The suspense of finding out what he/she has been doing while you've been pretending he/she is away at college is terrifying. And you are sincerely relieved to find that he/she has only lit half of the house on fire. Hey. It could have been the whole house. He/she must have been tired.
  • Someone tells you, "It could be worse," and you think to yourself, "But could it? Really?"
  • You wonder if you're the only one raising a soulless underling
  • During one of his/her bolts from the store/car/wherever you think, "Maybe someone will pick him/her up. Maybe someone nice who doesn't mind tending a power-hungry, opinionated little monster who generally thrives on chaos." Maybe. But you generally don't have that kind of luck.
  • Potty training is a source of constant confusion. Is he/she ready? What does 'ready' look like? Will he/she just one day inform me that he/she is ready to stop pooping on themselves? So confusing...
  • You spend most the day fantasizing about boarding school. For you.
  • Your house looks like a tornado on crack was there.
  • Your neighbors below you complain of earthquakes. Nope. That's just your 2 year old jumping off of everything and then laughing manically when he nearly breaks his ankle.
  • Going to the grocery store alone is some kind of spa retreat. There are no commands of "This way! This way mama!" pointing in the direction of the donuts the entire time. And definitely no apologies once he/she throws his sucker stick at some random shopper's head.
So yes, I most definitely have a 2 year old. 

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Uh Yeah

Alright. Here goes a major picture narration. And if you're basically in disbelief due to the back-to-back blog posts, don't worry. It won't happen again. And if you really don't care about seeing 500 pictures of me and my family, skip this post. This one is for the sisters and mom.

Here is Halloween. I did not go as anything, Josh was some guy with a mullet, Rip was a dragon/dinosaur/we still don't know, and Chet was a monkey. We went trick or treating with some friends. Check out Rapunzel!

 Here are the kids making Halloween cookies. Really I just love that Chet is sitting on the table like he belongs there. I worship him.
 And here are my boys before church. I basically was going ballistic on how cute the boys looked in their sweaters with a collared shirt coming out. Seriously. Josh was like, "Then just take a freaking picture and stop!" So I did. Take a picture. Still didn't stop me though.
 Here are Graham, Drew, and Rip watching Yo Gabba Gabba. I love these boys. But I might love their moms more. Sara and LIndsey are the bomb.
 This is at a park a short walk from our house. Really, the fall was so beautiful. Note that I said 'was?' Fall is over. Winter is here.

 This is just a glimpse of Rip's spatula obsession. He calls his spatula 'pancake.'

We went to Buttermilk Falls the other day on a hike. It was spectacular but pretty dang cold. Please don't take offense by my lack of makeup. I look scary, I know. But I'm at a point in my life where I don't really care. Not really .I still care.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and since we live in outer darkness and it costs at least $400,000 to fly home, we are staying here. But I'm actually excited because we're going to do it with a few other couples and we're doing it all ourselves. Like real adults!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

The worst blogger? Nah...

Josh told me yesterday that I am the worst blogger in the world. Now, pretty sure I fall in the bottom 5% but the worst? Come on...

So an update. Here it is. Rip is insane (not much of an update, but rather a reminder...), and Chet is very likely a genius. Seriously. I feel I have a pretty realistic grasp on my kids and their abilities, and Chet is honestly brilliant. He was trying to put a piece of toast on his spoon! Amazing! Doesn't sound like much now, but you would have been flabbergasted had you been there. Obviously. But really, I hate to sound cliche but Chet is so much fun right now. I forgot how much I liked this age (10 months). He's just so pleasant and he accepts most of Rip's abuse without too much complaining. We love him. He has started taking steps and eats well, sleeps well, and is snuggly. Chet is our rock star.

Rip, on the other hand, is clinically insane. He spends most of his day using a spatula to do one of two things. He is either using it as a sword and shouting 'Pancakes!' at me, or he is shoving the spatula in Chet's face screaming, 'Two bites!' or 'Mo bite Keck!' Apparently me forcing Rip to take 'two more bites' on occasion (every meal) has scarred him and he is transferring his frustration onto Chet.  This is what Rip is taking from his childhood. Hmph. Yes, food is still an issue with Rip. He generally sticks to his basic food groups of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold cereal, and yogurt. Oh. Toast. Can't forget toast. So feeding Rip is still the bane of my existence.

Also worth noting, Rip is obsessed with the movie Spirit. It's the Disney horse one (Thanks, Lindsey for letting us borrow this)? Yeah, so he has been waking up early and coming in our room at 6:30 asking for 'Mo neigh show?' When I say 'asking' I really mean he is demanding vehemently. He has watched it at least 4000 times just today. I think I am starting to like the show. If you've never seen it, it's definitely a must-see. It gets better by the 5 billionth time. Can't wait for tomorrow's showing.

Josh has been busy busy, which is really just a cutesy way of saying I hardly see him and the boys are starting to look at the produce guy at the grocery store as a father figure. I usually am okay with it, being that it gives me ample time to watch Say Yes to the Dress, but being that I have already watched all 86 episodes available on Netflix, I'm sort of sad right now about his absence. The only thing that helping with flying solo is that I don't have to make dinner. Rip doesn't eat anything I make anyway (except the aforementioned token 'two bites'), so we eat pancakes for dinner when Josh won't be home. We eat a lot of pancakes.

That about wraps up this random blabber. I'll post some pictures next time. Probably Halloween costumes or something original. Stay tuned.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Yearly Update

Okay, okay, settle down. I was texting my sister-in-law and she replied that she hardly knew me anymore and that it was time I updated my blog. Fair enough. I will try to recap some of the events of the past month or two.

First off, my parents came to see us. It was amazing. Needless to say, I was pretty depressed to see them go. I should have taken more pictures, but considering I took any at all is a miracle in and of itself. Here we are at Taughanock Falls. My dad carried Chet in the backpack. It was pretty adorable.

We took my parents to see Cornell's campus, which really is beautiful. This is the only picture we took there. Again, it sort of is amazing that I got even one, so...

Here we are on a family hike. We are so active. Probably the only picture you'll see of Chet not in the bjorn. Hey, he likes it so I like it.
 We actually like Chet a lot more than Rip right now, but we seem to be taking only pictures of Rip. I"ll explain that it a bit.
 Rip likes to dress in my clothes. No, he is most definitely not normal. Never claimed he was though.

This is Sapsucker Woods, the woods right in front of our apartment. Let me just say that they are incredible right now. So beautiful. I take the boys in them a couple times a week. So pretty. This was a few days after a lot of rain.
 And then a few weeks ago we went to some sound maze. I'm not going to explain it other than Rip did not quite grasp the idea of following the paths. He liked best walking straight through the corn. Uh, he's 2 remember?

So basically here is the update. Rip turned two, waited a month or two, and then decided he was going to transform into what we call, 'El Diablo.' He is a monster. He isn't the worst two year old in the world, but he most definitely has a mind of his own and that mind is usually working overtime to prove how independent he is. Josh usually is wondering if we should discipline him more. I say yes.

We do catch glimpses of our old Rip right before bed when he is so snuggly and we can maul him to death. I love mauling the kids. Anyway, he allows it before he goes to bed and even asks for 'mo kisses' at times, which usually means I forget about the fact that he is sheer evil. He is still pretty hilarious, albeit insane.

Chet, on the other hand, is without a doubt the cutest baby in the entire universe (and that says a lot considering I typically don't like babies that much). Talk about good natured. Maybe I just compare him to El Diablo (Rip), but he is so pleasant now. He had a rough go, but once I stopped nursing and put him on soy formula, he morphed into such a happy baby, even when Rip is wrestling him (i.e. every hour of the day). He even seems to like the wrestling, to a certain point. He loves Rip and has even started acknowledging Josh (he pretty much couldn't stand the sight of Josh until a month ago). Imagine! It is soooooo nice having a kid who will eat. So nice.

So Chet is awesome, Rip is a demon, and Josh is at school A LOT. That about sums up our lives. Now here is a video of the good child and the bad child. Take a guess of who is who.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Old enough for a minivan

Let me just start by saying that I hate those stupid secret questions you have to answer when trying to retrieve a forgotten password. I've been trying to hack into my own AT&T account and see what my current text messaging balance is (I got a text from AT&T telling me I was at least $20 over... not good), but I have no clue what my password is. So I've spent the last hour trying to figure out what famous person I would most like to meet, living or dead. Uhh... it seems like the secret question is a little too secret since I have no freaking clue and it's my secret question. I've literally put down every variation of Jerry Seinfeld I can think of and from there I'm plum out of ideas.

But that's beside the point (is there ever really a point?). I was talking to a bunch of ladies in the complex (our complex is considered the Wymount of Ithaca; scary), and they were all commenting on how Suzy (not the real name; I am protecting people's identity here) has the most amazing minivan (I really need to stop using these parenthesis to make side comments). They were lamenting on how Suzy's minivan has cameras in the back and tvs in the front and yadayadayada. What is so disheartening about all this is not that Suzy has a camera and a tv and I have a civic that barely holds two carseats, but that I have reached an age where a 'cool' minivan deserves the envying of my friends. I'm that old. Minivans! Imagine! I remember playing MASH as a kid and inevitably the car that was undesirable was either a garbage truck (which would actually be sort of cool... damn these parentheses!) or a minivan. Now look at me. Drooling over Suzy's van because it can fit a big stroller plus all your groceries plus the strangely huge umbrella I seem to be lugging around! Such luxury.

And it gets worse. It really hit me I was old when I was talking to all the ladies and someone mentioned bunions, which naturally led to comparing and contrasting bunions. I am fortunate to not have any bunions, but the fact that it did not strike me as strange or frightening that these women were comparing bunion surgery scars, leads  me to believe I am no longer 26, but 86. Put me in a home now, because I'm looking longingly at minivans and thinking about the recovery time of a bunion surgery. I am old.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

A Bad Day...

Today has honestly been the day of living hell. And it's only 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm thinking about checking myself into the local jail. Based on today, jail is looking pretty good. Pretty damn good. Oh. Swearing offends you? Best you weren't around today. Chet's first word might be a four letter one. Let me explain.

We live in Ithaca, which upon today's analysis, is the worst place in the world. Period. So anyway, we live in Ithaca and do not have a washer and dryer. We can either pay a small fortune and use the washer and dryer in the basement, but to use any machine manufactured in the early 1800's makes me nervous. But we usually do anyway. Well, it just so happens that today I have at least 3 loads of laundry, which will basically take all day to do. So I consider braving the laundromat, which really doesn't sound that bad, only I have the two kids with me (Josh is at some pretend meeting all day), plus I haggled my friend into coming with her 1 year old so, yeah. Three babies basically. We are idiots.

I separate all the whites, darks, and sheets and towels and go to put Chet in his car seat. Upon returning, I find Rip has dumped all the laundry out and has been throwing it all over the house. I should have taken this as a sign of upcoming events, but I foolishly plunged forward. I separated them once again (this oddly takes me some time; why?) and went outside with two kids in tow, three laundry baskets, and one giant diaper bag. We get outside, I unlock the doors, and throw my keys on the front seat while I start loading laundry in the trunk. Rip gets in the car, I shut the trunk, he closes the door, and then locks all the doors. With my keys inside. I stand there shocked. Is my kid really locked in the car? My friend is with me and we are like, uhhh, what do we do? I quickly remember that there is some hidden lockbox somewhere on the car and so we start digging around for it. Neighbors start joining in the search, but no luck. We can't find it. I keep trying to call Josh, to which he texts me he is in a meeting. At this point I consider finding a gun and instigating some kind of school shooting on Cornell's campus, but I don't because I don't have a gun. I haven't reached hysterical yet, but Rip is starting to. He's probably been in the car 10-15 minutes, watching. He starts pouting, asking to get out, and for me to 'hold you, hold you?' Finally a neighbor asks if they can call AAA, I say yes, they say he will be here in 10 minutes. Those next 10 minutes Rip is screaming and at one point, starts slamming his head into the window. I stay relatively calm, but I can't stand watching this 2 year old screaming for his mommy, sweating, with snot pouring down his beet-red face. He tries desperately to get out and at this point I'm crying. My friend starts crying, my neighbor is crying, and Rip is crying. I'm pretty sure Chet was crying because that's basically his go-to. We're all crying. The AAA guy gets there and blah blah blah. Rip is saved!

So. Do we go to the laundromat? Yes. Should we have? Absolutely not.

We drive over there, unload our laundry, and realize that even though there is a sign, the actual laundromat is on the other side of the strip mall. We haul our 4 bags of laundry, two strollers, and three kids across this strip mall, and reach laundry central. By this point, I'm coated in layers of sweat (I was sweating profusely during the Rip locked in the car I'm a terrible mother fiasco), and the blasted humidity that I hate is definitely not helping. The two babies are crawling around the laundromat floor, Chet is screaming, wanting me to pick him up, Rip is bashing people's laundry baskets into washers, dryers, babies, anything really, and I am hoping Child Protective Services is on their way to rescue me from this life. No such luck. We finally get the washers started, and Rip is crying for a snack. I brought him crackers, but by this time it's lunchtime. We get some bagels and muffins at a bakery/deli and this is when Chet decides that he absolutely is done with everything and everyone. He is screaming in this echo-ridden deli place and I am shoving apple sauce down his throat. I am honestly about to lose it and I put him on the ground (it is absolutely filthy, btw),  and hope he finds a good home with owners who will love him, maybe let him sleep in their bed. He starts picking up food particles/tetanus and eating them. I don't care at this point. I'm hot, exhausted, and hating my life.

I'm sort of sick of rehashing this living nightmare, but just know that lots of crying later, we made it out of the laundromat. Will I ever go back? Not a chance. Will I ever leave this apartment? Only if promises of jail are made. As long as I don't have to take care of another human being, I am so for it.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

As promised...

Lucky you! You now get to spend the next 45 minutes (if it takes you any shorter, you either did not spend adequate time oogling or you skipped this post altogether; shame on you) seeing pictures of my apartment here in Ithaca. You are so blessed.

This is directly across the street. As you can see, there is our mailbox, nestled snugly in the midst of some poison ivy.

And the outside... Look! There's Rip.

And the kitchen... notice the knobs on the oven? You sort of have to guess what temperature you're using. I've guessed wrong now pretty much every time.
And this is our enormous bedroom. The picture actually makes it look smaller because we have an armoir and a desk fitting comfortably in there, but it definitely is a lot smaller than the luxury we're accustomed to.
The living room... yes. That's an AC unit in the window. Yes. That is supposed to condition the entire apartment (I say 'entire' as though the apartment is vast and spacious; it is not). Also, notice any lights other than the lamps? No? That's because there aren't any. We are lucky to have three lamps, but it still seems weird that there is no light fixture of any sort.

And just because we're all adorable, a few extras. Man, I wish the bags under my eyes were not the primary focal point. The boys in their Cornell hats and sweatshirts. We are very supportive.
And Chet last night in his skin tight pajamas playing with a balloon. I love skin-tight pajamas on babies and toddlers.
And a recap? There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom but they sort of just look like every other kid bedroom and bathroom you've ever seen. So not much there. But I was thinking how you're not supposed to put real names or locations on blogs and things, because it's dangerous. I agree. However, I'm almost 10,000% positive no one wants to come stalk me and my family. For one, they would have to deal with Rip and the constant battle of finding him the exact train he is currently looking for. That in and of itself is reason enough to stay away. For two, they would have to stare at the bags under my eyes and that is not only terrifying; it's somewhat grotesque. So I'm feeling pretty confident I'm not stalker material. Chet might be though. Wait. Never mind. He would vomit apple sauce, oatmeal, or whatever else he has eaten and he would promptly be returned. Yes. Chet no longer spits up, he vomits. And considering he's mobile, you pretty much step into vomit wherever you go. So yeah. No one is taking this family.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Here comes a doozy...

Yes, we made it to Ithaca. No, this update will not entail beautiful, scenic pictures of Ithaca or our apartment or Ithaca really at all. That post will come when I actually take pictures of my apartment or Ithaca really. So stay tuned.

Until then, you get to read about the magic that is Rip. He turned two today, and I am here to document that I not only baked him a cake, I frosted a Thomas the train character on it (the kid takes obsession to a whole new level).. I, my friends, am amazing. Here is the said cake. Not that impressive when you compare all the cakes that are on the internet, but considering I have zero artistic ability and or creativity, this is like a serious work of art. This is comparable to when monkeys paint a circle or something.

And most importantly, it tasted good too. You can begin worshiping me now.

So like I mentioned before, Rip turned two today. Man. I would say it's gone by fast and all those cliche type things you're supposed to say in order to even pretend to be a good mom, but it really hasn't. I honestly feel like we've had Rip for at least 20 years. That would make him 20. But he's not. He's two. And very much so. Josh comes home and spends 30 minutes with the kid and always says the same thing. "That kid is on one. What is with him tonight?" Uhhh... He's two. And he has our genetics. Bad combination.

In spite of bad genes and being two, Rip is incredibly fun. Somewhat bizarre, he does and sort of says (he only talks a little) the funniest things. He's basically crazy. The phrase, 'Easy Psychopath!' usually comes out of my mouth at least 14 times a day. Not sure what the consequence for that will be...

Rippy the two year old. Here are some of his likes:

  • Trains. Not just a little, not just a lot, but an extremely frightening level. 
  • Climbing out of his crib and climbing into Chet's crib in the morning. He likes to show Chet his trains, just in case Chet forgot what they looked like.
  • Bikes. He likes to look at other people's bikes and then cry about how I can't let him steal them.
  • Balloons
  • Hats
  • 'Keck' (aka Chet). Although, if Keck (Josh and I both call Chet, 'Keck' now) approaches one of Rip's trains, Keck becomes less popular. Really, when Keck does anything besides laugh and smile at Rip, Rip is not impressed by him. But if he sees me getting frustrated with Keck, he comes over and hits me. Only he is allowed to abuse Keck, apparently.
These are a few pictures from the last couple of months. I will now begin to narrate.

Dayna took some family pictures for us right before we moved. I know she was busy so a shout out to Dayna is called for. Dayna, you rule. Move to Ithaca. We can stare at wildlife together. I'll post more of these fam pictures later. Just a sneak peek...

Two weeks before we left for Ithaca, we last minute flew to San Diego to see some friends and say goodbye to amazing weather. This was us at the beach. Chet was not impressed. Rip was. But then, Rip loves water. You wouldn't know it from his expression... his constant expression.

So for Rip's birthday we went to a kid science museum thing. It's the same thing as the Children's Discovery thing at Gateway in Salt Lake City. A little old for Rip, but he seemed to still like it. This is him and Nina doing arts and craft. Well, Nina is doing arts and craft and Rip was balancing markers on his head. It's a girl/boy thing.

After the discovery thing we went home for cake and ice cream (remember when I made that amazing Thomas cake? I rule). Here are the two points right after Chet attacked Rip's cake. Rip was ticked.

Oh, and my mom got Rip a train set that he idolizes. He goes ballistic every time Chet glances at it. But we also got Rip a bike which has been wanting since forever. Well, the second he saw the train set the bike took second fiddle. But Chet seems to like it so whatever. It works out. Here is Chet 'riding' Rip's bike. I do like Chet. How could you not like him? Oh yeah. He spent his first 6 months vomiting on everything. He still vomits but not as much. So we love him now.
This is what the porkchop used to look like. Amazing! He doesn't look anything like that now.
Rip feeding one of his trains. He has to have a train to sleep, eat, ride in the car, etc. etc. etc. A train is his constant companion. Now you understand why I call him a psychopath?!!
This is Rip's fort. He loves hiding. So hiding in a fort while he watches Thomas the tank engine?

This is at his cake and ice cream festivity. He loves hats, as I mentioned above. A lot of time he climbs out of his crib and finds his hat and is just playing in his room with his hat on. We think it's hilarious. But then, we're his parents. We think most things he does are hilarious.

Wow. This post is a doozy. I'll post in a few days about Ithaca in general. I'm sure after this marathon entry, you'll remember why you don't actually like me. So maybe you don't care about what my apartment looks like or what across the street entails. Well, my mom does. So deal with it.

Friday, June 24, 2011

House for sale?

Let me just start by saying that if you are currently in the market to buy a house, I hate you. But to be fair, you deserve it.

We have been selling our house for two months now, and have showed it multiple times a week. Do the math, and it comes out to 4 billion times I have had to clean the house for all the dumb looky loos. Now don't get me wrong. I was excited the first 16 million times someone came to look at the house. I would vacuum, wipe, and scrub each time, just hoping that my efforts would pay off and some fortunate family would get the privilege of sharing the same home I once resided in. Fool.

Inevitably, people would come to look at the house the same time I was trying to round up my children and get out. What this means is that while I'm walking out the door I'm hearing things like, "Oh wow. I could never live with a kitchen like this..." or "How did they manage with this paint color? Yuck." Really lady? You're thinking my neutral paint color is yuck meanwhile I'm watching your nasty little 5 year old wipe his snotty nose on your mom jeans? I've got another definition of 'yuck' and it falls somewhere along the lines of your hair. Wash much?

Not to be a nasty, but selling our house has bridged the final gaps into my final metamorphosis of biotch. I hate home buyers. Everyone thinks they are looking for the equivalent of Oprah's house, but only willing to pay $100,000. The math doesn't add up, people.

And on that note, our house is currently under contract and we hope all goes well.

Also, I was feeding Chet some of Rip's old baby food when I got the crazy idea to check the expiration date. It hasn't even been a year since Rip was eating-but-not-actually-eating that crap, so I figured I was okay. So I take a glance and realize the expiration date was April. According to my calculations, that makes the sweet potatoes currently being digested/thrown up by Chet almost 4 months old. The truly interesting point in this story is that I checked the expiration date prior to feeding Chet. That's right. I fed him rotten food. And I feel pretty dang good about it. Awesome, in fact. Serves pukey right.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


A word of advice?

If your husband runs up the stairs smiling and explains that he just sold his car and that it won't be a problem because he'll just work from home except maybe once a week, and it will kind of be nice living "the simple life," don't be a fool. There is nothing simple about being stuck at home with two babies for the fifth day in a row. See, he had some blah blah blah blah that he absolutely had to blah blah blah which means blah blah blah blah, which translates into your out of a car. Again. So don't let your husband pretend sharing a car between the two of you is an okay idea. It isn't. We are not pioneers (although I have a sneaking suspicion that pioneers did not have a car, let alone two cars so...). Or when he tells you he sold his car, you can say, "Oh good. Now you're going to take the bus! Go UTA!"

And if your husband decides to work from home every day, be prepared for the following:

  • Interrupted nap times. Husbands, at least mine, is utterly convinced that people enjoy falling asleep to him slamming doors, yelling, laughing boisterously on the phone, and or walking in and out of their rooms.

  • Hopeful lunch requests. Husbands, at least mine, figures I might as well make him lunch, since I'm already feeding two children plus myself. Uhh... no. When you're here and pretending you can't hear the baby crying in his crib, I'm here pretending I can't see you while I'm making lunch.

  • Advice on children?

    If your child begins rolling over, begin mourning. All rolling over means is that they are hereby forfeiting sleeping in order to roll over to the exact side they hate to sleep on (i.e. their back). Nevermind he has been able to roll over for two months, he is just now figuring out the advantages to never sleeping and mom looking at him like she would love nothing more than to leave him in an orphanage in Russia (see absolutely no advantage). I come in to find him screaming on his back, and he opens his bloodshot eyes to find me hovering anxiously over his crib, willing myself not to smother him.

    If your child still only has 4 teeth and will be two in three months, and you've been telling yourself that his crappy eating is due entirely to his lack of teeth, be prepared to be disappointed. It has nothing to do with his teeth and everything to do with his anorexia.

    So other than Chet not sleeping, Rip not eating, and me not having a car, things are pretty blissful around here. We still have not sold our house and I'm wondering if it has something to do with the fact that whenever we show the house, one of the looky loos wakes up Chet and I may or may not give them a look that could sear stone. I'll try to cut back, so long as they take my "One of the kids is asleep downstairs, so maybe just peek in the bedroom quietly and if you wake him up I will literally strangle you right here in front of your Realtor and her weird hair" more seriously. We'll see.

    Thursday, May 19, 2011

    I dunno

    Thanks Dayna for the picture. Josh and I realized we have very few pictures of Chet. Not because we don't like him (we do now, he's older and puking less), but because he doesn't necessarily do anything that merits a photo. Usually when we take a picture, it's because Rip made us laugh. Chet has not really done much of that. He smiles, rolls around, but he certainly does not insist on looking at us out of the corner of his eye (Rip), or kick Josh randomly in the head (Rip again), and he certainly does not make up his own sign language (yes, Rip not only signs, but makes up signs for words he doesn't know; genius). Still, looking at his little face does make me smile. Still can't wait for him to be one, though.

    So we went to some friends' ranch, which ended up being seriously one of the funnest trips ever. I don't really want to narrate what's happening in each photo, but just know that if you see us sitting on a four wheeler, assume we went four wheeling. See horses? We rode them. Get the idea?

    I do want to add that while on this trip I was again reminded how unattractive I actually am. It only takes a few pictures with no makeup to remember that God gave us mascara for a reason. That reason is to make my face less offensive. It also didn't help that the other wives all weigh an accumulative 85 lbs and have perfect hair (seriously people. How does your hair look that good while at a ranch with dirt everywhere? Defies physics is what it does). The funny thing is that it doesn't bother me all that much. I guess I'm coming to grips with my love handles.

    Monday, April 18, 2011

    Booty Shorts

    I thought about doing a post without mentioning the boys, but who am I kidding? My entire life revolves around these two and their issues.

    Here is Chet with hair. Hair makes him angry. This must have been a month ago.

    Here is Chet in the process of losing his hair. Rip lost his hair too, but a lot earlier. And yes, Chet spends a lot of his life in the bjorn. This makes him happy, only he doesn't look happy, he looks surprised. Either way, he doesn't cry in the bjorn, and so I don't feel like leaving him at a homeless shelter while he's in the bjorn. It works.

    This is Rip sucking down a bottle. He is off bottles, only he isn't when he asks for one. What can I say, I could care less if the kid gets a bottle of milk (Josh feels differently, but as soon as he spends 24 hours a day with the offspring, his feelings will matter). And you can't see, but he's pointing to Chet. Usually when Chet is crying and I'm not in the room, Rip will find me and pull on my legs until I go and pick Chet up. He doesn't like it when he cries. Chet isn't crying, but he might have made a noise. Rip likes to point out anything Chet does (i.e. nothing) to me. Chet makes a noise, Rip laughs and points at him. Yes, Rip. Chet is absolutely fascinating.

    And this is our newest solution to Rip being obsessed with the computer. Strap on the headphones and then we don't have to listen to the annoying kids' stuff he insists on watching (for some reason, Rip has no interest in Shark Tank). Never mind that the headphones are huge. With this kid's genetics, he's doomed for a life of small headedness. Headphones will always be huge.

    Yup. Rip has discovered the toilet to be the most fascinating thing in the entire world. He loves finding things to put in it, putting his hands in it, and driving his cars in it. He has only just realized he can actually put his feet in it, and this has taken his love for the toilet to the next level.

    But I do think it deserves mentioning that I played in the UVU alumni game this last Saturday. Now, I know I'm old and all, but when did girl soccer players start tucking their shorts into their underwear? And why? We were playing at 6 pm; no chance of tan lines. I'm still not over it. All I could focus on was the 25 feet of thigh (these girls were tall) being exposed and the inevitable wedgie you know where. Disturbing. Very disturbing. So if you're 18 and playing soccer, please explain to my why rolling your shorts to sheer skankiness helps you play better. Maybe  a diversion? Can't be sure. Only thing I'm sure about is that the length of the shorts on these girls could not be more than 2 inches and Barbie wears more fabric. Hmm. Maybe I'm older than I think.

    Also, Josh got the fellowship so we will definitely be heading to New York this fall. So if you're interested in buying basically everything we own, since we are bound to live in some kind of glorified bomb shelter and will be unable to fit any of it in the said bomb shelter, please email me. Items for sale include house, lawn mower, car, computer, skis, soccer shorts measuring longer than 4 inches, Chet, and couches that Chet has redecorated with his puke. Remember, these items will go fast, especially the puke couch, so email me soon.