Payback

I'll admit it. This felt good. Chet deserves it. If he slept at night, I would not invite danger into his crib. Maybe. I am kind of mean like that.

So awesome

So Josh has been in Germany for the past 9 days. Yes. He left before Chet was 2 weeks old. Yes. I have considered a massive murder/suicide multiple times. Mostly at 7 am when both babies are awake and demanding something from me after only 4 hours of sleep. But Josh gets home tonight around midnight so starting tomorrow, I'm going to ignore both children as much as possible.

To give you a glimpse of what goes on at my house, let me give you a peak of what has been happening for the last 2 hours. I decided to forgo trying to accommodate either child and left Chet in his crib, half sleeping half screaming and Rip pulling out all my pots and pans and putting food crumbs in them so I could shower.

I started the water only to hear Rip sprinting towards the bathroom at a hundred miles per hour. I jumped in before he could see what he was missing out on. No such luck. He made it just in time to see me disappear behind the shower curtain. He responded by getting all the dirty clothes in the dirty clothes basket and throwing them into in the bathtub with me. Rather than fight the inevitable, I pretended nothing unusual was going on. I let him continue to toss a heap of clothes into the shower with me. He quickly tired of that and started dumping out the garbage can. Again, I ignored it (I mentioned that I'm tired, right? Normally I am only half as negligent). I think he sensed my surrender so he stopped the garbage dumping and found the floor air vent (something I'm usually very adamant he doesn't touch) to be much more interesting. He pulled that up and started shoving tampons he found under the sink down there. I only caught glimpses of this, since I was now trying to hurry out of the shower as fast I could so I could try and prevent some of the destruction.

After the worst shower ever, I brought screaming Chet downstairs to feed him and Rip followed us. While I was feeding Chet, Rip insisted on trying to cover Chet's face with a dirty spit-up blanket. Rip then took Chet's binky and threw it behind the 400 lb dresser I'm too wimpy to move. Rip got what was coming to him though when he continued rubbing his face all over Chet's face and Chet projectile vomited into Rip's eye. Rip started crying while I laughed my face off. His eyelashes were dripping spit up. It was so awesome. The words, "Well, you deserved it" were spoken multiple times in place of the sought-after comfort.

I'm sort of hoping that I just pass out unconsciously for the next 12 hours until Josh gets home. I mention I don't do newborns right? I hate the lack of sleep, the spit up, and the nursing 24 hours a day. I sort of am just waiting for Chet to be a year old. Although I suppose when he's that old he will also be throwing clothes into my showers and dumping out the garbage cans. Oh well. At least I won't smell like spit up.

Chet Robert Robbins

He's here. In all his glory.

Chet Robert Robbins
January 3, 2011
Weight: 7 lbs 15 oz
Height: 20 1/2 inches

Some might wonder Rip's reaction to his little brother. Well, here he is trying to twist off his head. Not really, but it does look that way, doesn't it? For the most part Rip ignores him. He does like to rub his face all over Chet and give him 'kisses,' though. The first day he threw a remote at his head and tried to rip his head away while I was nursing Chet, but he's mostly adjusted to having this new pet at home. I'm pretty sure he thinks Chet is a dog since he's constantly petting his head. Needless to say, Chet's hair is usually pretty greasy.

I've intentionally never mentioned Rip's skin disorder. Probably because it's both a little weird and a little psychotic. See, Rip loves skin to skin contact. And when I say he loves it, I mean he goes into a ballistic rage if Josh ever dares get out of the shower without holding him and letting this psychotic child caress his chest. It worries us.
And this is our little snowman shoveling the walk. He's oh so helpful.
Anyway, we're all doing good. I'll admit, this has been a completely different experience than with Rip. For one, Chet doesn't frighten me the same way Rip did. I remember being absolutely terrified of taking Rip anywhere, scared he was going to cry or do some absolutely horrible baby thing I couldn't control. Anyway, I feel way more prepared this time. Not to say that I think newborns are especially awesome, I still prefer a 6 month old. But I don't necessarily want to throw myself in front of a bus this time. It's an amazing feeling.

Twin Pigs!

I thought an update is in order, since I'm due in less than two weeks and I most definitely will not be posting before then or immediately after.

I really do deserve credit for posting this picture. For Halloween (yes, two months ago), Josh was a zookeeper, Rip was a monkey, and yes, I was a pig. It seemed like such a good idea, until I went to one house and the person handing out treats was ecstatic to point out that their dog was also costumed as a pig for Halloween. I was only mildly humiliated. I have very little pride at this point and so someone telling me that my twin was an overweight bulldog has little or no impact on my self-esteem.

This is a picture of Rip 'eating' in his high chair. Rip does more throwing of food than eating, but we're currently trying to stop that. What I mean is, I tell Rip 'No, no throwing food' and he holds his arm cocked back, fist clenched around something edible, and stares me down until we hold eye contact for a minute, and then he launches whatever he was holding. He keeps eye contact throughout, curious and eager to see my reaction. Fantastic. Mealtimes are such a joy. To add insult to injury, Rip is sure to throw food on your back the second you bend down to pick up his previously discarded food. Look how happy he is about it! Bad seed.

And this picture is the two boys eating popcorn together, watching a little tv. Twins!

So I'll probably have this baby January 3rd. I don't know why I think that, but I do (I'm due Jan 1st). But I like to keep Josh on his toes so I usually call him a couple times a day and claim to have had the baby. Our conversation goes like this:

Phone Ringing...

Josh: "Hey."

Me: "Hey. Guess what? I had the baby! At the grocery store. He's so chubby!"

Josh: "Oh yeah?"

Me: "Yeah! And he told me he loves me, unlike Rip who has made it pretty clear with most of his facial expressions that he sees me only as an obstacle to keep him from having fun (i.e. tearing off tree ornaments, jumping out of the shopping cart, etc.)."

The conversations vary, but I usually pretend to have had the baby at least 3 times a day. Sometimes when we go to bed and I'm in bed reading and he's brushing his teeth, I shout out, "Agh! I had the baby! He's in our bed snuggling with me!"

The News and the Weather

I think I'm a blog failure. I only update once a month, and usually there are no pictures in which to ogle at. Yes, that definitely identifies me as a failure as a blogger. I hate blog failures. Why even keep a blog if you aren't going to update it with all the many exciting events in your life that make your life seem way more action-packed than most everyone else you know (that is the point of a blog, btw)? So I'm a hypocrite. I've been called worse. Seriously. Probably by you, the person reading this.

I think this month's blog topic is going to call attention to an issue much in need of such attention. The weather. Not the weather itself, but the weather being broadcasted 6 billion times a day on the news.

First off, I love the news. More specifically, I love the Fox evening News. Probably because I love Hope and Bob, and even Sandy who is looking a little more like a drug-addict than a news reporter. I accept Arrika, even though her name is spelled ridiculously and I have a hard time respecting someone who didn't take the initiative to legally change the spelling of such a horribly derailed attempt of an 'original name.' It's disgusting, really. But I digress.

I digress because I'm missing a key player in the Fox evening news. Brett Benson. The meteorologist. I like Brett. I like that he can laugh at himself and he takes the teasing of the anchors in stride. I like that he played 'college ball' and that I can use phrases like 'college ball.' I like the way he looks, the way he talks, and I like the way he does his hair. He seems like a good guy. The problem I have is not with him as a person, but what he does. And same goes for Jodi, Kevin, and the other local meteorologists for news stations.

See, I cannot stand, I repeat, cannot stand the amount of weather they shove down our throats during the evening news. And aside from it being repetitive, it's minutes upon minutes of satellite radar blurps of wind speeds and forecasts on pressure and humidity. No one cares, no one understands it, and no one wants to spend half their night praying Hope or Bob signs Brett out with, "Thanks Brett. That sounds like a bunch of crap I couldn't care less about. Next time, start and end with the seven day forecast and leave it at that. Let's not get fancy with something no one but God himself can predict." That would be refreshing.

So while I'm trying to find out how to avoid bed bugs aside from never going out in public again, I'm being informed through swishes of color and cycling clouds of mist just what the dewpoint is going to be for that night. Its outrageous! I feel like calling the station and giving them a piece of my mind. And after spending an entire day with a one year old who ultimately has decided to embark on a permanent fast, I have a lot of mind to give (literally, the boy maybe eats 300 calories a day. I'm dumbfounded how he's lasted this long). I just want to watch the news without the endless updates of highs and lows and just keep it to a simple, "Tomorrow is going to be cold. The next day not so cold. See you tomorrow."

Nice genetics!

Someone should have told me. Yes, definitely. Someone should have told me that whatever bugs you most about your spouse, your kids will inevitably inherit those same aggravating traits.

Take Josh for instance. He has a horrible gag reflex when anything (i.e. toothbrush) goes too far into his mouth. This, like many of Josh's 'cute' peculiarities, irritates me to no end. So naturally, Rip inherited this. Rip barfs regularly and for no other apparent reason than he stuck his fat little fingers in his mouth. He has an impressive two teeth and he likes to feel them on occasion. This inevitably leads to a vomit attack. Awesome. Spontaneous vomit. Many a night I go into Rippy's room to check on him before I go to bed, only to be greeted by the ranking smell of puke. Josh thinks it's child abuse, but I usually just let him sleep in it until morning. Hey. It doesn't bother him, it doesn't bother me... until I have to clean up dried up puke in the morning. Then it bothers me a lot.

And what about Rip's disinterest in food. I mean, the kid can't be mine since he is most definitely not motivated by food. He likes a snack here and there, but he really is not a great eater and has no real passion for eating. Neither does Josh. Josh is a good eater and eats most everything, but the guy forgets to eat sometimes. Really? I never knew that was possible until I married him. I plan my schedule around mealtimes and even go so far as to plan what that mealtime will entail (yes, I'm disgusting). It drives me absolutely insane when Josh doesn't get excited for good food. He eats quite a bit, but there isn't that intensity and passion that true eaters have. I have it. Rip does not. Josh has failed me. Sometimes I get excited for Rip to try something truly spectacular, only to have him push it out of his mouth, throw it on the floor, and look at me expectantly like, "What else? Got any goldfish crackers?"

But Josh isn't the only one to blame for crappy genetics. I have man child hands (small like a child and masculine like a man, hence, man child hands). My fingers are double jointed as well and so when I point with my pointer finger (index finger?), it sort of bends down. Rip's does the same thing. And his fingers are sausagy like mine. Really. Nice genetics. It doesn't help that Rip is a caveman and rather than trying to use real words he points to everything. He points with his sausage finger and I retrieve what he points at. We have a system.

Ultimately, I think someone should be out there informing the masses that you really need to consider your spouses 'quirks,' because you will be dealing with them in multiples. I know if someone had told me I'm going to have a family of barfies, I might really have reconsidered. Probably not since not many guys would find double-jointed man child hands attractive. I'm not sure Josh does either, but it's a trade off for me putting up with his getting queasy every time he brushes his teeth.

New shoes

Remember when I mentioned the Asay weirdness and that Rip is definitely afflicted with it? Well, he is. And today was further evidence of that fact.

Rip only wears those Robeez shoes. You know, the soft-soled ones that are kind of like slipperish things? Well, anyway, since he walks now and the weather is going to start getting cold, I decided to spend my birthday gift card on some new shoes for the little cretin. So off we went with my mom in tow, to the real happiest place on earth (Disneyland is definitely not that place) -

Nordstrom.

With so many ridiculously cute shoes, I had a hard time picking some but settled on some lime green pumas. Let's just say, they're probably the cutest shoes I've ever seen and I would easily have no problem wearing them myself. Anyway, I find this amazing shoes and put them on Rip. I wasn't too surprised he refused to stand in them, let alone walk. He was used to a moccasin-like shoe, so anything with real soles would naturally be confusing. We all laughed a little, looking how adorable he looked in his cute shoes. But after 10 minutes or so of Rip buckling his fat little legs underneath him and flat out refusing to stand on the incredible shoes, I started to lose patience.

"Seriously? I mean, seriously? Are you suddenly paralyzed? You forget how to walk?" I was so mad 20 minutes later when he was still plopped down on the ground like a 4 month old. He wouldn't even crawl. Both my mom and the sales lady assured me he would inevitably get used to the new shoes and walk again. I'm not so sure.

I brought psycho baby home and tried to get Josh to coax him to walk. Nope. I made Josh show him while he put his own shoes. Nothing. I even tried to lure him with treats, chocolate milk, a balloon, etc. etc. etc. Zip. After screaming, "What is wrong with you?!!" 17 times, Rip managed to cry. He pulled at the Velcro desperately, sure that the shoes were breaking his legs. No Rip. The only thing likely to break your legs is me if you don't start walking in those awesome shoes. I told him that, and yet he still refused to walk.

A whole day later, the kid is still not walking in his shoes. And yes, I made him wear them the entire day, sure he would eventually give up and walk. Nope. Here is a picture depicting what he did most of the day. Nothing. Lots of crying and whining with a whole lot of sitting.

I'm pretty sure he's doing it to drive me crazy. I initially thought he was concerned about the feel of the shoes. Now I know he's doing it out of will and spite. I'm starting to admire his determination, until I look at those green shoes sitting on his useless legs, and then I get mad all over again.