What Goes Up Must Come Down, Part II

Or the further adventures of WeeBee in the ER...

Yesterday evening, WeeBee learned that there is a reason that Mommy tells him not to run in the vestibule of our church.  Bad things happen when you don't listen to Mommy.  Like tripping over your own feet and faceplanting into a bench, and bashing up your nose so you're covered in blood and screaming at the top of your lungs just as a couple hundred people are leaving Mass to go to the Living Nativity and Christmas Tree lighting.

The good news is I'm never going to have any trouble getting documentation that I am a practicing Catholic at that parish.  Like I said, a couple hundred people now know me as "that mother with the screaming bloody kid."

(Thank you to the kind people who held Baby Lowly and gave her cookies and juice while I tried to calm down my hysterical son.  And to the lovely woman whose name I didn't actually catch who offered WeeBee one of her kid's toys, and walked me to the car.  And to everyone who got me towels and ice, and the priest who opened up one of the side rooms so I could sit with WeeBee without a small mob gawking at him.)

Numerous people offered to call an ambulance, but I figured that was a bit excessive (thank you for the thought, though!)  I belong to the "don't call an ambulance unless your bleeding, broken, or 90% dead" school.  And if you're bleeding, half your blood had better be on the floor, and if your broken, there had better be a bone sticking out somewhere.  WeeBee was so worked up that an ambulance would have done more harm than good at that point.

Eventually he calmed down enough that we were able to make a run for the car.  After some mac & cheese and an episode of Octonauts, all was right with the world.  Aside from the blood that he refused to let me wipe off his face, and his swollen nose.  Unfortunately my go-to medical experts (my sister and husband) were out of state, and had to make do with text messages and broken cell phone calls for consulting.  (Curse your cruddy Jersey Shore service, Sprint!)  I really didn't want to take him in to the ER (we really need more urgent care centers in this part of the world) but I also didn't want to be some sort of negligent parent who left their son with a broken nose.  Or have him ranting about it every time he wants to make a point when he's 13.  I'm sure there will be enough things for him to blame me for, without giving him ammunition.

So I put Lowly in her pjs, told WeeBee we were going to get him medicine, and went for a little ride to the hospital.  Thankfully, we got there at the perfect time on a Saturday night - right after all the sports injuries had left, but before the drunken hipster invasion.  I expected WeeBee to throw a fit as soon as he realized it was basically a glorified doctor's office, but he was intrigued.  And his nurse fell in love with him when he saw the stretcher and said, "But Momma, I have to take my shoes off first!  They are so dirty!"

Surprisingly, the child who throws a fit at the doctor's over having his height measured hopped right out of the stroller.  He stayed still for 3 out of the 4 x-rays.  He let me wipe off some of the blood, and even shared his picture book with Lowly.  And within an hour and a half we were out of there, with a badly bruised but apparently unbroken nose.

What can I say, my family has hard heads.  Poor survival instincts, but hard heads.

Rest In Peace

You think you have problems, and then something like the massacre in Connecticut happens, and you realize your life really isn't that bad after all.

Those poor babies.

If it's possible to find peace after something like this, I really hope that one day their family and friends find it.

To Believe or Not Believe

Growing up, I did not believe in Santa.

<cue gasps and looks of pity>

It had something to do with my mother not wanting to lie to us, although our apartment in Brooklyn wasn't exactly conducive to chimney travel anyway.

I don't think it scarred me for life, although I suppose I wouldn't know.  I've always vaguely wondered what it would be like to really believe that a fat man in a red suit travelled around in a sled pulled by reindeer and would bring you whatever you asked for.  Knowing that it was our dad doing the shopping, my sisters and I made an attempt to keep our Christmas lists reasonable.  A pony might have made its way on to there once or twice, but we didn't really expect to get one.  I guess we thought it was just good to clear up any doubt in my dad's mind, should a random pony become available.

My little brother, on the other hand, believes in Santa - basically because he can't be trusted not to tell his entire class that Santa isn't real.

Which brings me to my current predicament - what to tell WeeBee.

This is the first year that he has really paid attention to Christmas.  While I didn't believe in Santa, people assume that any kid under the age of 8 or so does.  He's seen Santa decorations and cartoons, but I wasn't sure whether he already thought this was an actual person.  I mean, it's not like every time we watch tv I say, "Ok, WeeBee, we're going to watch Octonauts now, but Captain Barnacles isn't a real polar bear."  Once you start that, where does it end?  At a certain point you have to just hope your kid has some sort of grasp on reality.  I kind of doubt he'd never trust me again if I told him Santa was real, but I also don't buy into the idea that telling him Santa isn't real will ruin the wonder and magic of Christmas.  I was probably more in awe of my dad getting everything on my Christmas list than I would have been of Santa and his elvish posse getting the job done.  I mean, it's Santa's job.  The guy has nothing better to do for 363 days a year, and money is no object.

Too bad my dad never had a sleigh with reindeer, though.  That would have been cool.

Anyway, I figured I'd just treat Santa like a character in a story, and go from there.  So, I tried to explain the story of Saint Nicholas.  Apparently I did a pretty bad job, because WeeBee's version was that Saint Nicholas brought toys to poor children whose mommies and daddies didn't have money for toys, but it was ok that WeeBee's Mommy and Daddy didn't have any money because Santa would bring him toys.  Totally not where I was going with that.

Which lead us to the following conversation:

Mommy:  So on Christmas Eve, Daddy and I will take the presents and put them under the Christmas tree, and they'll be there when you wake up in the morning!
WeeBee:  NO!  NO, MOMMY, NO!  (Jumps up and down and waves arms) SANTA WILL PUT THE PRESENTS THERE!  SANTA WILL DO IT!  I WANT SANTA TO!
Mommy:  Umm...yeah...fine...ok, ok!

That totally caught me off guard.  All along he's been fine with the idea of Mommy and Daddy getting him presents.  He knows, for instance, that Daddy is going to try to get him a toy helicopter for Christmas, and that Mommy is going to try to make him an Octonauts toy.  Somewhere along the line, Santa became a glorified UPS driver or something.

I tried bringing it up again today, and things got even more muddled.

Mommy:  So...Mommy and Daddy are getting you presents for Christmas, but you want Santa to put them under the tree?
WeeBee:  Nooo, Santa is going to bring me presents!  He makes presents!  Santa has a workshop, Mommy!
Mommy:  What?
WeeBee:  Santa has a workshop, and he makes presents!
Mommy:  Well...it's kind of just a story...but...well...since when do you know Santa has a workshop?

You try looking into the eyes of an overly excited three year old and tell him there is no Santa.  I'm pretty jaded, but even I couldn't do it.

So now, as best as I can understand it, he is trying to cover all his bases, and get presents from Mommy, Daddy, and Santa, all of which are being delivered by Santa.

He also wants me to make a chimney out of cardboard and glue it to our house.  I tried to explain that wasn't quite how that worked either, but you can imagine how that went.

And this, my friends, is where I wash my hands of this entire situation.  I tried.  When he's eight and comes home from school in tears because Junior said there is no Santa, I can tell him I told him that five years ago, but he wouldn't believe me.  I am so not getting blamed for this.

At least we agree that Christmas is Baby Jesus' birthday.

Hello Again!

I think my New Year's Resolution should be to update this blog more often.  :/

Anyway, hello there!

We survived Hurricane Sandy.  So did our house.  Our side fence is a bit dented from a tree limb, but when your town tells you to get out because they don't expect the sand berm to hold and that now would be an excellent time to exercise your freedom of religion, and the only damage you end up with is a dented fence, it's really not even worth mentioning.  Especially when the towns on either side of you are gone.

So what did we learn from this experience?

1.  WeeBee has complete trust that I will keep him safe.  The day before we evacuated, I was trying to bring as many things upstairs as I could, and pack our bags.  WeeBee kept bringing all his toys, blankets, and paraphernalia back downstairs.  I finally sat him down and told him that a terrible storm was coming and the water might come and take away all our things, so he had to stop bringing full sized blankets and 17 toy cars downstairs.  Harsh?  Perhaps, but, "WeeBee, stop bringing your things downstairs" wasn't phasing him.  He listened to my description of the apocalpyse, blinked, and then said, "But Mommy, you will protect me!  You will keep me safe!"  Totally not the point I was trying to make, but probably exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.  Also, it's nice to know that at least one person thinks you have your act together.

2.  That flood gate that I always thought was kind of ugly and ruined the view when I went on a walk?  Yeah, that's basically the reason I still have a house.  Thank you, Army Corp of Engineers and whatever people agreed to that 25 years ago.

3.  I have to say, the whole mess has given me a new appreciation for this little house.  It's not perfect.  This whole yearly evacuation thing is getting old.  If I wanted to leave every fall, I would have bought a house with an ocean view in North Carolina.  I'd love another closet and I'm not really a fan of stacked washer/dryers.  A basement would be nice.  But it's survived an earthquake and two hurricanes without any damage, and there are plenty of "nicer" homes in the towns around here that can't say that.  It's a bit surreal to drive down the road and see a deck on the highway, or a two story house knocked off its foundation and left in the middle of a side street.  I mean, you expect to see trees down, and some crushed cars and garages.  The whole house-in-street thing I always associated with tornadoes.  And when you've spent the night obsessively checking Facebook for updates and see that places that you wandered with your kids are gone, seeing your house is still there makes it look like the most gorgeous thing in the world.

4.  Supermarkets after a week with spotty power and limited deliveries look like something out of Soviet Russia.  We take our supermarkets seriously in this part of Jersey.  Used to six different types of quinoa to choose from and eight kinds of tomatoes?  Ha.  Try a crate of butternut squash, a couple of cartons of orange juice, and some unidentified green vegetable that you vaguely remember seeing on the Food Network.  And this was a week after the storm.  I was seriously half expecting people to be selling things on the black market in the parking lot.

5.  While there will always be people running around looting and scamming after something like this, there are also lovely people who will come from all over to help out.  And even if you don't directly need that help as much as others, it's nice to know that when the Mayan apocalypse comes, maybe it won't turn into an episode of Extreme Preppers, with everyone shooting each other on sight, just because you think they're after the stash of canned yams hidden under the back steps that you announced on national tv.  So, if any of you lovely people ever stumble upon this blog by accident, thank you.

I will try to update more often.  I actually caught up with laundry the other day.  For all of 15 minutes, because then WeeBee started dunking toilet paper in the toilet and splashing water all around the bathroom, which required towels, but for 15 glorious minutes I could say, "HAH!  THERE IS NO LAUNDRY TO BE DONE!"  So there is always hope that I could actually post more than once every three months.  :)

The Search for a Little Red Sweatshirt

Last week I realized that WeeBee had grown 3 or 4 inches since last September, and none of his pants fit him anymore.  Well, I guess I had subconsciously realized that awhile ago, but it's much less noticeable when he wears shorts.  The other day he tried on a pair of pants, and they turned into capris.  Clearly something had to be done.

So, Saturday morning, we went on an adventure to Target.  Now, the adorable thing about shopping with WeeBee, when he's not screaming that his sister is looking at him, or poking him, or thinking about touching his hair ten minutes from now, is that he is incredibly grateful and excited whenever you buy him something.  And by that I mean grateful to the point where I almost feel like it sounds like the kid never gets anything and is fed once a week.  Anyway, we found him a couple of pants and shirts, and because he was being so good, he even got a robot t-shirt that wasn't strictly Fall-clothes-related.  (He's on a robot kick.  More on that next time I post.)

Then we came to the sweatshirts.  All I wanted was a boring little solid color hoodie.  He could pick the color, but I was not having my three year old decked out in some garish thing looking like the spawn of a punk rock pirate and the anti-Christ.  Yes, they do make stuff like that for preschoolers, and no, I'm not exaggerating...much.  The point is, we're still on the trucks and dinosaurs level here.

Anyway, I found the boring hoodie rack.  He told me he wanted a red sweatshirt.  Sure enough, they had a whole bunch of beautiful, bright red ones.  I picked one up, and noticed a sticker on it that said, "Check out my faux hawk!"  Or words to that effect.

Confused, I opened the sweatshirt up a bit, and realized that it had this weird black fake fur mohawk thing going down the top of the hood.  It was on all the red sweatshirts, and only the red sweatshirts.

Now, aside from the fact that this was totally not what I had in mind, my son would have looked absurd.  It was one of the stupidest looking things I'd seen in a long time.  It's so absurd that they apparently do not sell it on their website, otherwise I would include a link to show you all.  I don't mind fake fur fuzzies around the front of a hood on a coat.   Personally I think it's a bit girly, but I can live.  This, however, looked like an animal crawled up on the hood, died, and then bled out.  Bad choice of color, people.

Unfortunately, this left me explaining to WeeBee that he would not, in fact, be getting a red sweatshirt. His face looked a bit disappointed, but thankfully he didn't make a scene.  I suggested a grey one instead, and he approved.

Fast-forward to this morning.  Baby Lowly was taking a nap, and he had crawled up onto my lap to watch Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood.  For those of you who haven't made this a regular part of your morning routine, it's essentially a reboot of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, only without Mister Rogers, and it's all computer animated.  Daniel Tiger's son (also named Daniel) is the main character.  It's really cute, and WeeBee loves it.

Anyway, as we're sitting there, WeeBee told me, in a very soft voice, that the reason he wanted a little red sweatshirt was that little Daniel Tiger has a little red sweatshirt too.  He wasn't being whiney, or demanding, or even asking for me to get him one.  It was just like it was this little secret he'd been carrying around for the last two days, and he wanted me to know, in a teeny tiny voice.

And here I was thinking there was no thought behind his color choice beyond "Oooh, red is a bright color!"

So I asked, just this once, if he would like me to see if Kohl's had any red sweatshirts.  After all, he's a little boy.  Little boys get dirty.  It's not like a second sweatshirt is going to go to waste around here.  The next thing I know I'm getting a giant hug and a kiss and he's saying, "Oh, thank you, Mommy!  Thank you!"

I have a feeling this is going to be the best $5 I've spent in awhile.

That's Impossible!

I like keeping the kids' smaller toys in baskets on their bookshelves.  I think it looks cute, and it's easier for WeeBee to put his toys away when he knows all dinosaurs go in one basket, and all cars in another.

Unfortunately, it's also easier for them to dump everything out.

Like the contents of 5+ baskets down the stairs.

And while Mommy chases one little hoodlum, the other can dump another basket down the stairs, and run off giggling.  Then when Mommy chases hoodlum #2, the first one can go right back to causing mayhem.

Somewhere between threatening to throw all the toys in a garbage bag and never letting them see the light of day again, and having hysterics over the mess, I told WeeBee he was being naughty.

WeeBee:  (truly, deeply shocked)  I not naughty, Mommy!  That's impossible!

I see.  Clearly, I should not have read "Click, Clack, Moo - Cow's That Type" to this child, because now everything is "impossible."

It's not that they have an obscene amount of toys.  But when you're standing at the top of the stairs looking down at 50 alphabet blocks, half a dozen toy cars, 6 duplo blocks, and 2 dozen crayons that you swear are multiplying underneath the front doormat, what will take 15 minutes to clean up looks like it will take 2 hours.

And sometimes you just have to go have a cup of tea, write the day off as a disaster, and try to face the world again tomorrow.

That Is the Answer

Around 6:30 Sunday morning, WeeBee weaseled his way into my bed.  Well, a more accurate description would be that he scrambled up, climbed on my back, and then hung his head upside-down over my shoulder, so that when I opened my eyes, he was three inches away, grinning maniacally, upside-down.

WeeBee:  Look, Mommy!  It's a beautiful day!
Mommy:  Uh huh.
WeeBee:  Mommy, 1 + 1 is 2.
Mommy:  Uh huh.  Wait, what?

Every once in awhile, WeeBee comes out with something and I have absolutely no idea where it came from.  Besides questioning what sort of child does math problems at 6:30 on a Sunday morning, he didn't learn this from me.  I thought maybe he saw a math show on Nick Jr. at Paka's house, but my husband is convinced the only thing he watched was Blue's Clues and Pound Puppies (whatever that is.)  I questioned WeeBee on it again later, and he was even more insistent.

Mommy:  So, this morning, you told me 1 + 1 is 2.
WeeBee:  Yes!  1 + 1 is 2.  That is the answer.

Right.

Sadly, I must go, because my little tyrant has just questioned why the laundry hasn't been put away.  I believe his exact words were, "Mommy, why is the basket on Daddy's chair?  It's impossible!"  (With the implication clearly being that I'm the impossible one, because the laundry basket is preventing him from bouncing on the chair and throwing mini beach balls behind it.)

Puppies, Kittens, and Vladimir the Hedgehog

Or how to keep Lowly entertained when you are too tired to think...

Lowly has an ambivalent relationship with TV, with the exception of watching Gumby.  (She can hear that theme song from across the house, will drop everything, and run into the living room to dance.  It's awesome.)  The rest of the time, she doesn't really acknowledge its existence.

Apparently, videos of baby animals on Youtube are more her speed.

Yesterday afternoon I took a nap to escape from the teething baby of doom who is getting 4 vampire teeth at once.  (Incisors?  The pointy ones in the front?  I should just google this, right?)  Anyway, my husband had the brilliant idea that Lowly might like to watch a video of baby puppies on Youtube.  She went nuts.  She would have spent the entire afternoon squealing at the computer screen if we had let her.  Sadly, Daddy had to run errands eventually, so I found my delirious self camped out on the bed watching videos on my phone, and getting attacked by a drooling toddler who was hell-bent on kissing every adorable furry kitten that couldn't figure out how to climb out of a basket.

I think my husband might have regretted the whole thing when he heard me announce that I wanted a baby hedgehog, though.

Stinky, Smelly, Mushy Bananas

WeeBee takes a long time to unwind at the end of the day.  There are days I wish I could put a trampoline in his bedroom and just let him go at it until he fell asleep.  One of his favorite routines, aside from using his bed as a diving board, is telling me about his day.  Then I have to tell him about his day.  Then he tells me about his day, again.

Last night he started in on this while I was downstairs loading up the dishwasher.  I admit I wasn't quite giving him my full attention until I heard this...

WeeBee:  And I took the stinky, smelly...
Mommy:  (thinking he's referring to the lentil soup I made for dinner that he refused to touch, that I'm still rather ticked off about) WeeBee, we don't speak about our food that way!
WeeBee:  And I took the stinky, smelly banana, and I gave it to Lowly.
Mommy:  What?
WeeBee:  (pleased with self) I took the stinky, smelly, mushy banana, and I gave it to Lowly.  Then I only had two slices of banana.
Mommy:  (trying to figure out how grounded in reality this conversation is)  You gave mushy bananas to Lowly?
WeeBee:  Yes!  And then I had two!
Mommy:  You mean you took apart your sandwich?
WeeBee:  Yes!  And gave the stinky, smelly, mushy banana to Lowly!  And she ate it!

So, as far as I can uncover, WeeBee did not approve of the quality of all of the banana slices on his peanut butter and jelly and banana sandwich at lunchtime.  He then took the offending pieces of banana, and gave them to his sister, who has less discriminating tastes, leaving him with two slices of banana on his sandwich.  All of which took place silently, within twenty feet of me, while I was unloading the dishwasher in the morning.  He was quite gleeful, although whether it was because he tricked his silly little sister into eating subpar bananas or his problem solving skills, I couldn't actually tell.

I don't even know where to begin.

Security Items 2, Mommy 0

So, according to those parenting books, it is relatively normal for children to have security items.  You know the type - teddy bears, fuzzy blankets, a dog with one eye that you aren't allowed to wash but you can smell from 10 feet away.  My son has a full sized quilt that he drags around the house with him.  How he has not killed himself going down the stairs with the thing, I will never know.  Lowly has now decided to one-up him in the weirdness factor, and is demanding a pair of shoes.

When we were on vacation, Daddy picked out a cute little pair of denim shoes for Lowly.  The other day she wore them for the first time for about 20 minutes.  She spent the whole time running back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen, staring at her feet.  When she inevitably fell, she would sit for a few moments and poke at the bows on top of the shoes, then hop up and keep running.

That evening I noticed she had little blisters on her feet.  Nothing terrible, and nothing a pair of socks wouldn't prevent, but still, I felt bad.  One year olds should not have blisters, even if they clearly aren't bothered by them.  I put the shoes away under her bed, made a mental note to make sure she wore socks with them, even if she's just puttering around the house, and I decided to continue letting her run barefoot for a few days.

Last night, Lowly noticed the shoes under the bed, dragged them out and brought them to me.  I informed her that it was bedtime, and handed them back.  She then threw them at my feet, and for the next five minutes stood there yelling at me and stabbing her little feet into the shoes.  (She couldn't quite figure out how to get them past the elastic strap on top.)  I tried picking her up to rock her, but she arched her back, went all rigid, and screamed all the louder.  All this coming from the child who will not wear sandals and likes to fling her socks around the car.

Finally, I gave in.  It was late, I still had to get her brother to bed, and it sounded like he was trying to sneak himself a bowl of Cheerios downstairs.  Figuring that she wouldn't get blisters from just wearing them (as opposed to walking in them) I put the shoes on her, picked her up, and rocked her again.  This time, all was well.  She absentmindedly played with the bows, and within 10 minutes, she was asleep.  I'm not sure how I got the shoes back off without waking her up.

Yes, I know, I know I've created a monster.  But she can scream until she's blue in the face - she's never walking out of the house with shorts with "juicy" written across the back.

Hail, Vacations, and General Mayhem

I was all set to finally write a post last night when we were hit with some sort of apocalyptic hail storm which turned into torrential rain.  (Seriously, I saw less rain when Hurricane Irene hit.)  That in turn caused the gutters to back up, pour in through my bathroom window, and back up around our water heater.  Six towels, one cookie sheet, and a shop vac later, we're more or less back to normal.

Last week we went on our first family vacation, to the Poconos.  The kids had a great time, and WeeBee was fascinated by the concept of being on vacation.  They had a great time at the pool and the historical farm that we visited, where WeeBee decided he wanted to take home a sheep.  He was less impressed with the rooster that bit his finger, but that's what you get when you insist on poking your little fingers through the cage.  Besides, everyone needs a good "I was attacked by a bird" story.  Almost twenty five years later, I still remember the nasty goose that stole my peanut butter and jelly sandwich when we were on vacation in New England.

In the "what mayhem have my children caused" category, Lowly is walking/running.  She's still not one to babble for the sake of babbling, like WeeBee was.  She has about 10 words she uses to get what she wants, and the rest of the time she's perfectly content to watch whatever chaos is surrounding her, and then give you the raised eyebrow.  This kid's sense of timing is unreal.

WeeBee's 3rd birthday was a few weeks back.  I guess that makes him a preschooler, not a toddler?  Either way, he's shot up another six inches or something, and I'm starting to feel short standing next to him.  I was really hoping to postpone the "stand next to Mom and see who's taller" contests until he was a teenager.  He still likes to climb up in my lap and give me hugs, though, so it's all good.  :)

I Can Do Crafty Things Too!

You know all those gorgeous nurseries that you see in baby magazines?  Yeah, well, my kids' rooms don't look like that.  They had cute little crib sets, but the walls are plain, and I didn't spell their names out in 12inch high wooden letters.  I feel slightly guilty about WeeBee's room, since it was due purely to my lack of organization.  Lowly's room was pretty bare because there were a whole bunch of real life problems at the time that were a lot more urgent than what shade of paint to go pick out.

But I'm working on it!  The good thing about holding off on decorating is now WeeBee can tell me what he likes.  After I talked him out of painting the room black, his answer to everything is, "I want blue, like Thomas!"  (The Tank Engine)  So I've invested in a $2 glue gun and now I'm going to take over the world!  :)  Look what I made!

It's one of those photo/memory board things, for WeeBee's room!  The only things I had to buy were the bulletin board and the quilt batting that went underneath the blue fabric - everything else I had around the house.  (Well, not counting the glue gun.  But I needed that anyway.)  The blue fabric is from the curtains in his room which were about 2 feet too long.  I have no idea why I had that much white ribbon lying around, but I'm glad that I did.  The buttons were all from Nonna's button box, which I thought made it a little more special.  :)

If you don't have small children running around correcting you on the use of glue guns and ribbons, you could probably make it in 45 minutes (a little less if you're using a staple gun, I suppose.)  As you can guess, it took me quite a bit longer.  Still, by that afternoon, my husband was able to hang it up over WeeBee's bed.  Yay!

I'm way too excited about this...

I'm Still Here!

No, I don't have a good excuse for not writing for a month.  Unless not feeling like it is a good excuse, which it probably isn't.  Not that I don't love all my loyal readers!  Sometimes things are just blah, though, and I don't feel like writing about it.

Anyways...

Baby Lowly can now stand all by herself.  She can also bite her brother.  By that I mean she's discovered it's an option when your brother is being bossy and takes your toys, not that it's an option we encourage in this establishment.

They are starting to play with each other, as opposed to next to each other, which alternates between adorable and chaotic.  The other afternoon, WeeBee informed Lowly that she was no longer his sister.  He was in complete shock when I then informed him that it didn't work that way.  Then he tried to convince me that she could be my sister instead.  The whole thing ended with him in a foul mood and Lowly laughing at him.  Still, that afternoon they were rolling around on the living room floor together, giggling.  I couldn't believe the boy who screams bloody murder when she looks at him at the wrong moment was the same one who was letting her pin him to the floor, but there you go.

Which isn't to say he can't still be a stinker, as we see from this morning...

Me:  Did you just tell Lowly you were sharing?  And eat all her Cheerios?
WeeBee:  But we arrrreeee sharing!  We just...we ate...Mommy, I take the bowl and put it in the sink?

One of these days I'm going to crack up in front of him.

I'm So Not A Morning Person

I put fish food in my coffee this morning, instead of in the fishbowl.

Yes, I realized before I drank the coffee.  But I have a feeling it's just going to be one of those days.  :(

Happy Birthday, Baby Lowly!

Can you believe it?  Baby Lowly is 1 already!

Actually, I can.  I have more trouble believing she's only 1.  Then again, I have a weird sense of time.  But that's a problem for another day.

Back to birthdays!  Lowly had a lovely tea party at Paka's house yesterday.  WeeBee restrained himself and only hijacked a few of her presents.  He's not really buying into the whole, "It's Lowly's birthday, so you should be extra nice to her" thing, though.  This morning he tried to convince her that it was a fair trade if she gave him the Matchbox car that she was playing with, and he gave her a shoe.

Anyway, remember how I had said I've been working on super secret craft projects?  Well here's one of them!

Isn't it brilliant?  It was one of those things that had been making the rounds on Pinterest awhile back, and as far as I can tell originated here.  I'm rubbish at coming up with things like this on my own, but once I see an idea, I'm not too bad at adapting it.  (At least, I think so.)

Basically, you take the Ikea Bekvam step stool, which is about $15, and then decorate it with odds and ends to make it look like a stove.  I used Panna coasters from Ikea for the burners, and my husband came up with the brilliant idea to cut down old corks for stove knobs.  I got little measuring cups and spoons from the dollar store to use as pots and spoons, and then wedged a wire basket in the middle to store everything.  Then I used some old scraps of yarn to crochet little pot holders.  After a little paint and Gorilla glue, you've got yourself a stove.

A few notes, in case you're inspired to do something similar:

1.  The Bekvam step stool was a major pain to put together.  I've put together my share of Ikea furniture (table & chairs, beds, bookcases, nightstands, dressers) and it was by far the worst.  The instructions weren't terrible, as these things go, but it was extremely difficult to get the screws to fit properly.  I suppose it could have just been a fluke (one never knows with Ikea) but I'm inclined to think they were a bit overzealous in their attempts to get the thing to be sturdy, and drilled extra small holes for the screws.

2. Olive oil and nail files work reasonably well for removing Gorilla glue.  Or you could just wear gloves in the first place.

3.  All in all, it's a fairly sturdy piece, but keep your kid's particular idiosyncrasies in mind.  If you think your child will be hell bent on gnawing off the stove knobs, draw them on or something.  Yes, I suppose in theory your kid could try to climb between the first and second step and get stuck.  Yes, your kid could fall off it if they climb it.  It's a step stool.  You can fall off anything if you try hard enough.  My point is, I am not responsible if your kid is determined to live dangerously.

Anyways, here's hoping Lowly enjoys this as much as I did making it.  Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

No, WeeBee, St. Brendan Was Not A Pirate

This afternoon the kids and I were cleaning upstairs.  That is to say, I was putting things away, and they were taking them out again.  That's how we roll.  WeeBee popped out from underneath the blanket on his bed, and had the following conversation:

WeeBee:  Um...excuse me, Mommy.
Mommy:  Yes?
WeeBee:  I'm a pirate!
Mommy:  Umm...really?
WeeBee:  (bouncing up and down)  Yes!
Mommy:  That's nice.
WeeBee:  I have a pirate broakt.
Mommy:  What?
WeeBee:  I have a pirate broakt.
Mommy:  A boat?
WeeBee:  Noooo.  A book!
Mommy:  Ahh.  What book?
WeeBee:  You knowwwww.
Mommy:  WeeBee, what are you talking about?  You don't have a pirate book.
WeeBee:  (hops off bed and pulls a picture book about St. Brendan off the bookshelf)  See!  This book!
Mommy:  Ohh.  WeeBee, St. Brendan wasn't a pirate.
WeeBee:  Yes!
Mommy:  No, sweetie, he wasn't.
WeeBee:  He had a boat.
Mommy:  Yes.
WeeBee:  It went in the water.
Mommy:  Well, yes.
WeeBee:  Up and down?
Mommy:  Well, yeah, I guess so.
WeeBee:  He was a pirate!

Eventually he let the matter drop.  The implication was clearly, "Yeah, Mom, you believe what you want.  He was a pirate."

Look At What I Made!

I love to putter around on Pinterest when I'm bored.  Lately there have been a whole bunch of recipes for edible Eastery birds nests floating around, and that inspired me to make the following.

 (Photo courtesy of my brother, Patrick, who also emailed it to me after I thought I had sent it to myself and then apparently lost my train of thought and wandered off without ever hitting "send."  He's awesome.)

The original recipe I found here actually used lo mein noodles and melted marshmallows.  Apparently it tastes better than it sounds, because similar recipes are all over the web, but I had a feeling that wasn't going to fly with my family.  When I originally saw the picture I thought it was of pretzels covered in chocolate, so I figured I might as well try that instead.

As a disclaimer: I had no experience melting chocolate.  I used chocolate chips and melted them in the microwave.  I'm sure that breaks most of the chocolate melting commandments, but my kids will only amuse themselves for so long, so time was of the essence.  I'm sure it works much better if you use chocolate that's meant for melting for lollipops, and melt it over the stove.  So if you are a chocolate melting expert and spend the next 2 minutes reading my blog and slamming your head into the keyboard because I did this all wrong, I warned you.

Basically, I poured a quarter of the bag of chocolate chips in a bowl and microwaved it for 30 second increments, stirring it in between, until it was smooth.  If it starts to get grainy, adding a little butter seemed to help a bit.  (As you can see in the picture, there was a batch I had trouble with.)  Then I took little pretzel sticks, broke them into quarters, and threw them in the bowl of melted chocolate.  I mixed it up with my hands and then put handfuls of chocolate covered pretzels into muffin tins that I'd sprayed with Pam.  (You can try spraying your hands with Pam too, but it didn't help me much.  Eh, some recipes are just messy.)  Then I popped the whole thing in the freezer for an hour or two.  You could probably take it out sooner, I just had other things to do.  Then I melted a few more chocolate chips to use as glue to attach the "bird eggs."

The verdict?  Well, it's difficult to go wrong with chocolate covered pretzels, as far as taste goes.  Unfortunately they don't bend the way noodles do, so you run the risk of your nests looking less like nests and more like animal droppings.  (Especially if you run out of room in your muffin tins and start free-forming nests on a cookie sheet.  It will work, but they can look kind of funky.)  If I made it again, I'd do it with the chocolate specifically made for melting instead of the chips.  Still, it was fun, and the ones that came out well looked really cute.

I Guess I Should Get Used to This?

So Baby Lowly is starting to talk.  She said her first real word the other day, if you don't count "mum mum," "dada," and "Baabaa" (which apparently refers to WeeBee.)  I was holding her on my lap, facing me, when she suddenly pitched forward and smashed her forehead into mine.  Then she grinned and announced, "Dinnnng!"  Then she repeated the whole thing another 3 or 4 times.  She thought it was hilarious.  My head hurt for the next half hour.

Anyways, last night I was driving home from Grannie & Peepaw's house with the kids.  WeeBee was very tired and borderline cranky, but Lowly was in a great mood.  She spent, no exaggeration, a half an hour trying to get WeeBee to talk to her.  This is what went on in the back seat, while I sat in traffic on the BQE.

Lowly:  Baabaa.  Baabaa.  Baabaaaa.  (shifts in carseat towards WeeBee)  Baabaa.  Baabaa.
WeeBee:  No, Lowly!  I don't want to talk!  I'm tired!
Lowly:  Baabaa.  Baabaa.  Baabaa.
WeeBee:  No, Lows!  I tiiiiired.
Lowly:  (sinister giggle)
Mommy:  WeeBee, Lowly just wants you to talk to her.  Be nice.
WeeBee:  No!
Lowly:  Baabaa!  Baabaa!
Mommy:  I'm sorry, Lowly.  WeeBee is tired.  I'll talk to you.
Lowly:  Mummum.  Mummum.
Mommy:  Yes?
Lowly:  Baabaa!  Baabaa!  Baabaaaaaa! (shifts again to get a better look at WeeBee)
WeeBee:  Lowwwwwly, stop it!

Fun times!

Only WeeBee

Would think it's a good idea to scoot around the floor on his head like some sort of demented inchworm.  And of course he managed to get a nice little rug-burn on his forehead before I realized what he was doing.

(sigh)

I guess it could be worse.  He could have done this Easter morning.

What Are Stickers For?

7am this morning, while I'm still waking up over a cup of tea, and wondering what is up with all the fog outside....

WeeBee:  Mommy, can I have a sticker?
Mommy:  What?
WeeBee:  A sticker!  (smiles his "I know you're going to say no, but don't I look cute?" smile)
Mommy:  No.
WeeBee:  Pleeeease?
Mommy:  What for?
WeeBee:  A sticker!
Mommy:  Stickers are for doing things.  Like going to the potty.  Or cleaning up your toys.
WeeBee:  Or saving Baby Lowly?
Mommy:  Ummm...yeah...

Nothing Like Waking Up In the Morning

To your toddler screaming, "I'm a dinosaur!  Roaaaar!  I'm a cow!  Moooo!  Roarrrr!  Mooooo!  Cow!  Dinosaur!  Mooooooo!  Roooaaaarrr!  Maaaa!  Mommy!"  And then continuing in this theme for the next hour.

I need to find some stronger coffee.

I Know, I Know, I Should Post More Often

But I've been working on two awesome craft projects at night after the kids go to bed, which is normally my writing time.  Pictures are coming, but for now I'll be all mysterious.

What's new here?  Baby Lowly can climb the stairs.  WeeBee is still falling down them.  My next house will have a slide/elevator/trampoline.  For now, I'm doomed.

Speaking of doom and despair, WeeBee is insisting that Baby Lowly's eyes burn him.  Whenever he has a whiney crying fit because he wants something, Lowly watches him and grins.  He then throws himself to the ground, arms covering his face, and yells, "NO, LOWS, IT BURNS!  Mommy, Lowly's burning me!" Which of course makes Lowly crack up even more, because nothing entertains her like WeeBee theatrics.  No idea where he got this from, but I feel like I'm being followed around by Gollum.  If he starts saying "precious" I'm going to freak out...

Favorite Shirt

Over the last week or so WeeBee has been trying to be all independent and dress himself.  I used to put two outfits out for the day and let him choose which one he wanted to wear, but now he pulls his little step stool over to his dresser, and ransacks the drawers until he finds what he wants.  He has very definite ideas about what clothes go together, and it's not nearly as haphazard as I would have thought.  "Baseball pants" go with "baseball shirt" and "soccer socks."  "Favorite pants" (camo fleece pants, and the only pair I can more or less guarantee he won't strip off in the middle of the day) go with "orange shirt."  And, as I learned today, "comfy pants" (khakis) go with "favorite shirt."

It was in the 60's today, and WeeBee was going stir crazy, so I told him I would take him for a walk.  As usual, by 3pm he was running around in a tshirt and diaper, the pants he had insisted on wearing this morning having been rolled up in a ball somewhere.  That lead to the following conversation.

Mommy:  WeeBee, what happened to your pants.
WeeBee: (in a singsong voice):  I don't knowwww.
Mommy:  Well, go find them, you can't go outside without pants on.
WeeBee:  I want brown comfy pants.
Mommy:  (Running through how many brown pants he has and which ones he could be talking about)  Ok.  Well, favorite pants are in the dryer.  Do you want those and your orange shirt?
WeeBee:  Noooo!  Comfy pants!  And favorite shirt!
Mommy:  (now completely confused)  Which one is favorite shirt?
WeeBee:  You knowwwww!  (waves arms around)  It has two arms!  And it goes over my tummy!

At this point I turned away so he wouldn't see me crack up.

Well, it turns out "favorite shirt" is his flannel shirt that he wears when it's very cold.  Silly Mommy, not realizing it was perfect for 60 degree weather, and comfy pants...

Look What I Made!

I learned to crochet when I was 8 or 9 years old.  Nothing fancy - a hat for my doll, and a series of scarves that I'm sure my sisters dreaded getting for Christmas.  Over time I unfortunately forgot how to make hats, and stuck to scarves, blankets, and anything that was a rectangle/square shape.

Which brings us to today, and the giant pile of yarn that my husband has quite rightfully been bugging me to either use or get rid of.  I had been puttering around on Pinterest and some of the other blogs on blogspot, generally in awe of everyone else's crafting abilities.  (Have you seen some of that stuff?!?)  Anyway, I finally decided either I could spend the rest of my life crocheting scarves and wishing I could make something more interesting, or I could muddle through and experiment a bit.  I mean, it's yarn I'm working with here, not gold.  It's not like I can't rip the whole thing apart and start over again.

After some more puttering on Pinterest, I decided to make wrist warmers.  I figured I might as well start with Lowly - she's the smallest, and if I was going to have to redo the thing eight times, I'd rather do it on a small scale.  Besides, they looked relatively easy, and I was tired of going on a hunt for the mitten she had flung off somewhere in the car so she could wiggle her fingers.  This way her hands would be relatively warm, and I would look less like the mildly unorganized mother that I am.

The great thing about crocheting for a baby is that they can't tell you your work looks hideous.  The not so great thing is that they won't stay still long enough for you to measure anything, so I had to sort of eyeball the sizing.  Still, I think they're rather cute...

WeeBee apparently agrees, because he wants me to make a pair for him next.  So more pictures to follow!

Selective Command of the English Language

Why does it never fail that WeeBee, who uses words like "buoy" and "common sense" in the correct context, will suddenly pretend he has no idea what "WeeBee, please pass me the box of wipes!" means when I'm elbow deep in his sister's exploded poopy diaper?

I suppose I should get used to this.

Happy Valentine's Day

Forgot to get a gift for that special someone?  Never fear, the Bronx Zoo has got your back.

Nothing Says Love Like Hissing Roaches

Personally, I'm waiting for the MTA to start offering to name giant killer rats after your loved ones, but that's just me, my twisted sense of humor, and inherent distrust of rats brought on by reading Harry Potter at an impressionable age.  But let's save my list of phobias and suspicions for another day.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Where Have All the Green Beans Gone?

Baby Lowly is not a huge fan of mushy baby food, so I normally cook up some steamed vegetables and let her gnaw away on them.  Yesterday was green bean day.

As Lowly was finishing up her green beans, WeeBee started whining about wanting crackers.  Now, one of WeeBee's many little quirks is that he will not eat crackers that are just handed to him out of the package.  They must be placed in a bowl, or on a plate, otherwise there is much wailing and grinding of teeth and probably some flailing around on the floor.  I have absolutely no idea where he came up with the idea, but as he always throws his dishes in the sink when he's done, I live with it.

Wanting to save some time (and space in my dishwasher,) I reused Lowly's green bean bowl, which still had four or five beans at the bottom, half hoping he might finish the beans himself.  At the time, WeeBee didn't seem to care.  He had his three or four crackers, and life was good.

I went back to clearing off the counter, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed WeeBee chuck the bowl into the sink a few minutes later.  We then had the following conversation.

"WeeBee, did you finish the green beans?"
"No."
I looked in the sink.  Empty bowl, no green beans.
"Well, what happened to them?"
"I put them in Lowly's shirt."

You've heard of feeding your vegetables to the dog?  Well, when your sister is wearing a jumper that's a little big on her, and your dad assumes you're just standing at his elbow eating crackers and talking to your sister, and your mom has her back turned, you can take your vegetables and leave them in the folds of your sister's sweater/jumper/onesie.

At least he's honest.

Thought For the Day

If you wake up with a kink in your neck, under no circumstances should you decide it's a good idea to give your kids a bath that morning.  Well, unless your kids are covered in poop, which mine were not.  Because when you have to put your toddler in a headlock to get the bubbles out of his hair, you will want to curl up in a little ball and die.

Except, you won't be able to, because that would involve moving your head.

So don't say I didn't warn you.

WeeBee to the Rescue

Some days - well, to be honest, most days - no matter how well I clean a room, within 10 minutes it looks like a bomb hit it again.  As soon as I put all of WeeBee's trains in their basket, he runs into Lowly's room and dumps them all over the floor.  I have clean clothes folded in a basket, and Lowly decides to use it to stand up, flipping the basket and herself over onto the floor.  My husband decides to throw his dirty clothes into an invisible hamper in the bathroom.  And I load up the dishwasher, only to forget to actually turn it on.

It's not that it's time to call in the producers of Hoarders, or Clean House, or whatever spinoff show the cable networks are cranking out these days.  It's not like you can't sit on my couch because it's been overtaken by a collection of Taco Bell hot sauce packets, or some other useless thing.  But some days, the general "lived in"-ness of the house really gets to me.

But the other morning, just when I was about to go sit in a corner and cry over the pile of laundry that I could swear is increasing and multiplying every time I turn my back, WeeBee wandered by.

"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"You're cute, Mommy."  He then gave me a kiss, and puttered off to find a train, or color a picture, or something.

The laundry situation might be hopeless, but I definitely have the sweetest little boy in the whole world.

Lowly Speaks

I get a lot of comments on how Lowly is extremely quiet.  Granted, compared to WeeBee, most people are quiet, but they have a point.  Most of the time she's perfectly content to chew on a toy and watch WeeBee cause mayhem.  Occasionally she eggs him on by giggling.  I wasn't particularly concerned about the limited babbling, because I have heard her do it - I just figured when she had something to say, she'd say it.

The other evening she was playing with her dollhouse on the floor, while I tried to convince WeeBee that it was time to change his diaper.  He was rolling around on his bed and protesting, when I heard "Mummum," to my right.  I didn't really notice, and continued negotiating with WeeBee, who was now flailing around like a dying cockroach.  Then I heard it again, but much louder, "MUMMUM!"

At that point it clicked - that was Lowly talking.  She had apparently tried to crawl towards one of the dolls and gotten stuck, unable to figure out how to sit back up again.  She was glaring right at me with a look that clearly said, "Hey, stupid, you going to do something about this?"

The funniest part of the whole thing was that she didn't say "mummum" like a baby trying to figure out a new sound.  I've heard her do that - a few weeks ago she decided 2am was the time to experiment saying "Fa!  Fa!  Fa!"  She said it like an adult would, the first time normally, and the second time with the tone of "Hey!  You!  Wake up!"  Apparently she's been paying more attention than I'd been giving her credit for.  And even if she does look at me like I'm a moron, it's nice to be called Mummum again.  That was WeeBee's name for me when he first started to talk, and I really wasn't expecting her to say the same thing.

Getting From Point A to Point B

I had always heard that some babies learn to crawl backwards before crawling forwards.  It never made any sense to me - how is that easier?  The other day I happened to read that it has something to do with their arms being stronger than their legs, but it still made no sense.  Then, last night Lowly started crawling backwards across my dining room floor.

Now, to start off, "crawling backwards" isn't the best way to describe it (unless my daughter has come up with a completely new method of crawling.)  It's more like scooting backwards, closer to when you're sitting on the floor and push yourself backwards using your hands to get out of the way of someone walking by.  That explains the whole "arms being stronger than their legs" part, as they are putting all their weight on their arms to push themselves back, and not really using their legs at all.  What it doesn't explain is why Lowly started doing it, as her pediatrician was pretty emphatic that she has subpar upper body strength.  Granted, I never thought it was all that bad, so maybe she was just being uncooperative that day.

In any event, Lowly is now officially puttering around.  I'm doomed.

In other news, do you think God frowns upon telling your toddler that the black beans you're trying to get him to eat are raisins?  Is it not quite as bad if your toddler thinks they are raisins, and you just agree with him?

Weird News

First it was the poisonous toothpaste in the dollar store, now it's the radioactive tissue holder of doom from Bed Bath and Beyond!  Yes, folks, your bathroom is trying to kill you.

Radioactive Tissue Box Holders of Doom!

I love how these things made it through New Jersey with no problem, and then got flagged in California.  All the more reason to avoid the truck lane on the Turnpike.

More Random Musings

1.  Flippy the Fish is still alive.  He has breakfast with WeeBee every morning.  (He gets fish flakes, WeeBee gets bran flakes, life is apparently good.)  I'm just grateful the thing is still alive.  I hadn't seen him eat for the first 3 days, and I was starting to worry that he was too stupid to swim up to the surface to get the food, and he was going to starve to death.  Apparently, I was wrong.

2.  WeeBee may or may not have an imaginary friend.  (Besides the fish, that is.)  He keeps talking about a Girah, who is apparently also two years old.  I can't figure out whether Girah is just his default name for people when he's playing or if Girah is an actual entity.  (He named one of the inhabitants of Lowly's dollhouse Girah, but he also had a whole conversation with Baby Girah, who appeared to me to be a ball of yarn.)  I didn't want to ask too many questions because a) I didn't want to make him embarrassed, and b) if it was just his default name for things, I didn't want to force it to become an imaginary person.  I mean, I don't care if he has an imaginary friend, I just want it to be his imaginary friend, not something Mommy invented.  I'm sure he things I'm weird enough as is.

3.  Apparently having your little brother run up to you and scream "HA!" is hilarious.  Hilarious to the point that you laugh so hard you throw yourself backwards and nearly crack your head on the edge of a table.  Some days I worry about what those two are going to get up to once Lowly can walk.

4.  Speaking of mobility, Lowly considered crawling today, and apparently decided it wasn't for her.  She was sitting on the floor of her room and wanted one of WeeBee's trains, so she leaned forward so she ended up on her hands and knees.  She stayed like that for a few seconds with a look of complete disgust on her face, clearly thinking, "Well, this is the stupidest thing ever."  She seems to like trying to pull herself up on things, though.  Just what I need, another climber.

Introducing Flippy the Fish

When I was little, my family lived in a 3rd floor apartment in Brooklyn.  I don't know if the rental agreement expressly forbid dogs and cats, my parents thought it would be kinder to the dogs and cats of this world not to try to squeeze them into the apartment, or if three little girls were enough trouble without adding four legged creatures into the equation.  For awhile we did have a series of goldfish named after the '86 Mets, however.  My memory is a bit fuzzy, but I feel like they lasted quite awhile, and then we got some really stupid silver fish who kept getting stuck between the filter and the tank wall, and died off rather quickly.  I think that was more or less the end of that experiment.

I know fish don't rank very high up on the exciting pets list, but I'm weird.  Heck, as a kid, my favorite part of the Natural History Museum was the rock/gem section.  I like boring.  Anyways, I always wanted another fish, but my sisters all ended up with cats, and the odds of my 25 cent goldfish living more than a week in a house with three cats just weren't that good.  Somewhere along the line I ended up with a husband, two kids, and a dog instead.  Funny how things work out, no?

Anyway, yesterday I went into Petsmart to get our dog some rawhide treats so she'd leave WeeBee's crayons alone.  (Don't ask.)  We use it as our local aquarium/zoo, and take WeeBee to see all the animals.  Hey, it's free and you can pop your kid in a cart and keep them from running off - can't beat that.  Well, this time my husband suggested getting WeeBee a pet fish.  I had just found the dog treats for 75% off simply because there was a red Christmas bow on them, and being in a good mood, I agreed, on the condition that we could find a round fish bowl.  Not a roundish one with flat sides, a real round fish bowl like you see in cartoons.  They're really quite difficult to find in real life, and I really wasn't expecting them to have one, but they did.  Ten minutes later we were the proud owners of Flippy the Fish, Petsmart's finest 13 cent goldfish.  (WeeBee named him after the fish from Oswald the Octopus before I could come up with a suitable Doctor Who name for him, but as it really is his fish, I'll let it go this time.)

The cutest part of the evening, though, was when WeeBee insisted that we walk quicker in the parking lot on the way back to the car.  "Mommy, walk quickly!  Walk quickly, Flippy will get cold, Mommy!"

Happy New Year to You All!

I've had a cold since the day after Christmas, but I hope you all are having a better time of it than I am.  I'm sorry to report that we had the most boring New Year's Eve ever.  After WeeBee and Lowly went to bed, my husband and I started channel surfing.  After 5 minutes of a special on the Children's Miracle Network that left me paranoid about what mysterious diseases my children could suddenly come down with, we switched to the coverage of the Times Square New Years Eve spectacle.  Around 10:30 I realized I had been staring at some rapper bouncing around on tv for the last five minutes and I had absolutely no idea what I had just watched.  At that point, I grabbed a box of tissues and headed to bed.

Apparently New Jersey isn't enforcing their anti-firework laws this year, because I awoke at midnight to the sound of everyone in the immediate area setting them off...for the next 20 minutes.  (I was too tired to be annoyed, just vaguely curious as to where all the fireworks came from.)  And then at around 5 pm that evening, my neighbors must have found a box they drunkenly misplaced the night before, because they started setting them off again.  I wish I hadn't been so sick, because it was a really clear night out and I probably would have gotten a pretty good view of most of the fireworks, but what can you do?

Aside from all of us being sick at the same time, the New Year hasn't been too bad.  One of my New Year's Resolutions was to do a better job of using up everything in my fridge.  I'm not horrible about wasting food, but I have a tendency to get towards the end of a container of something and then forget about it.  I know it's only the 4th, but I've managed to use up 3 eggs, 2 tomatoes, a bowl of roasted potatoes, and a ham bone.  I think I'm going to have to buy ham more often, because the ham bone turned my slow cooker split pea soup from pretty good to absolutely amazing.  (And that was with a cold that is seriously impairing my sense of taste/smell.)

Unfortunately, my head is very fuzzy right now, so I'm going to stop before I type something completely incoherent.  Sorry if this post sort of went round in circles.