I'm alive...

It's not that I don't have a million pictures--I do.  I probably have too many since my blogging has been put on the backburner.  We just have a TON going on right now--trips to the zoo, warm afternoons spent outside, my older brother came to visit, and Easter.  And did I mention we're moving?  My house is in a perpetual state of chaos right now. I have boxes coming out of my ears, and no matter how much I pack, it doesn't seem to make a dent.  Highly frustrating. 

And before I go on, I apologize for any typos...I'm usually a total grammar snob, and it makes me crazy to see errors 3 days later.  However, my eyes are giving me fits.  I don't know what's going on, but I'm having a horrible time seeing things up close.  My peepers are already in terrible shape--my prescription is
-5.75.  Yes, seriously...but they appear to be getting worse. Hooray. 

Anywho...Now that Mother Nature has decided to grace us with spring, we have been taking full advantage.  Sam had a fun-filled trip to the zoo a few weekends ago, and he was full-throttle the entire time.  He'd look at one exhibit for a minute, then turn and ask to see, "Mo, mo, animals," and proceed to take off in his version of a sprint.  It was hilarious.  I don't know why he has to say "mo" (more) twice.  I guess he loves being redundant. 

Checking out the monkeys

We were lucky to be there when they were feeding Casper, the giraffe.  Sam was able to get up close and personal.  Really close.

Overall it was a really good day.  They've opened up the new tiger exhibit, and I think they've done a good job considering the very limited financial resources they have. 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but Sam has a Carrie Bradshawesque fascination with shoes.  He wants them on at all times, and he's not afraid to try on his father's or his mother's kicks.   When his Uncle Brent came to visit, he thought he'd walk a mile in his boots.  It didn't work out so well for him.  The boots came past his knees, so there wasn't a whole lot of walking going on.

                                              

To wrap things up, we had a pretty full Easter week--3 egg hunts total.  (I can't tell you the number of plastic eggs that are now in the recycling bin.)  Sam was a bit tentative at the first egghunt, but once he found out there was "chocit" inside, he was an egg-finding-maniac.  He definitely (and unfortunately) has his parents' penchant for sweets. 

                                             

Figuring it all out

                               

                                           

            Chowing down on his Easter cookie.  Don't even think about trying to take it from him.

                                           

My view on the ride home.  And no, I didn't take a picture while driving.  

                                            

2nd egghunt.  Same outfit.  You can only wear bunnies for so long, so you've got to get it in when you can. 

                                           

Trying to open the egg.

                            

His loot

                                              

                            

Easter Sunday.  He wouldn't smile...probably because I had him in knee socks.

                            

3rd egghunt at the church

                            

Loving on his great-grandmother

Toilet trouble...

I thought I could take 10 minutes to check my e-mail, facebook, etc.  without incident.  I am stupid.  Very, very, stupid. 

In the time it took me to sit down and get on the internet, Sam had gotten a cup off the bar, taken it to the back, opened a door that he's not supposed to open, dipped the cup in the toilet water, and, well, he drank it.  Disgusting. If you see us today, you may want to refrain from kissing my child.

The good news is I cleaned the toilets yesterday. 

Blah...

It's not been a fun weekend, folks.  I take that back--it started out fun, but ended pretty miserably.  Friday night we actually paid for a babysitter and went out to eat with some friends.  We had a great time...until about 5:45 Saturday morning.  That's when I got sick--really sick.  I'm talking 12 hours of not-keeping-anything-down-I-didn't-realize-my-toilet-looked-like-this-please-God-make-it-stop-vomit.  I could hardly stand up I was so weak.  TMI? Probably...you'll just have to forgive me.  I feel better today, mainly thanks to a phenergan I was able to keep down long enough to take effect.  I am still tired, and my whole body is sore. 

While I was sickly, my sweet husband took care of Sam, me, and the house.  He got me anything I needed and was Dr. Dad for the day.  However, when I finally emerged from our bedroom this morning, it looked like Geoffrey the Giraffe had gotten sick all over our living room. I give you exhibit A:

No, our house is not in Baghdad, and no, we were not burglarized.  This is how much damage an almost-2-year-old can do when everyone is just trying to survive.  He had "colored" all over the tile floor, gotten out every ball he owns, broken his chair, and dumped his blocks out in the center of the room.  Walking through there was like dodging land mines.  Notice the bar stools on their sides...that's because Sam climbs up them and gets on the counter.  He thinks it's hilarious to do this over and over.  We don't. 

Exhibit B: 

I thought you might get an even better idea of the destruction if you saw a different angle.  Can you believe the mess?  I promise my house usually looks better than this.  After about an hour and 1/2 of clean-up, it was finally back to normal.  Moral of the story--I shouldn't get sick again.  Ever.

Shave and a haircut...

Actually there was no shaving involved--just a haircut. That's right, people. Haircut. After 20 months of sweet, untouched, baby curls, we had to shape things up a tiny bit. To say that I was a little uptight about it is an understatement.

I took Sam to the salon and proceeded to be the over-the-top parent that I always dreaded. I talked to the girl for 10 minutes beforehand to make sure that Sam didn't end up looking like some sort of monk. I did not want monk hair.

I mean, seriously? I don't know anybody that could carry off this look.

I just wanted the tiniest trim so that his curls wouldn't be quite so shagtastic. After conveying that I would go Linda Blair on the stylist if she went too short or gave him monk hair, she started to trim. I must admit, she did a good job.

Sam was pretty good, too. She gave him a sucker, and he was putty in her hands. I have no idea where he gets his penchant for sugar because his father and I are complete health nuts. We certainly don't dig through our pantry and eat baking chocolate chips when there's nothing sweet in the house. Certainly not.

So, I've survived another parenting hurdle. I'm so proud.

For all you future mothers...

Yet another thing that they don't tell you in pre-baby classes--how your shopping experiences will change. Let me enlighten you.

You will not be able to leave the house without diapers, a massive, cumbersome stroller, wipes, an extra outfit, goldfish, and juice/milk.

You will attempt to buy a book, and end up buying one for your child too because he/she starts throwing a fit in the super-quiet bookstore and screams "Book! Book! Book!" at the top of his/her lungs.

You will go into your favorite store, Anthropologie, and attempt to find something cute, weather-appropriate, and inexpensive (good luck with that one) to wear to a football game that weekend. You will take the huge, cumbersome stroller into a handicapped changing room and strip down as quickly as possible. Your child will tire of the book you just got him/her, and he/she will demand "cackas.'' Cue the goldfish. While you attempt to wade through the pile of potential outfits, your child will open the door and show everyone in the dressing area what you look like without a top on. Awesome. You will leave a trail of crumbs Hansel and Gretel style all over the store, therefore making it easy for the employees to figure out which person made a fantastic mess. You will turn red with shame.

On the bright side, you will get 3 cute tops and a blazer. Your child will be so exhausted from peeking out under the dressing room door that he/she will fall asleep on the ride home.

I'm just warning you.

My Friday Night Part II...

The discovery of 2 week old milk wasn't enough excitement for us this weekend. (See previous post.) Sam decided to throw us a real monkey wrench and get sick. Hooray.

While most young people (a category I no longer belong to) were out at 11:45 on Friday night, I was cleaning up vomit. Awesome. No one likes vomit, right? I know I don't, and I became close friends with Captain Puke during the 40 wks. of my pregnancy. I was one of those lucky people who physically threw up the entire 9 months. I've been fortunate to avoid dealing with this oh-so-fun brand of stomach upset since Sam's arrival, but he happily reintroduced me Friday night. I can't complain too much...Anthony had to take a second shower at midnight.

Poor baby Sam was confused, frightened, vomiting, and running fever, and his parents were just trying to hold it together. Now that Sam's nausea free, I can only think about what we must have looked like--Sam in a diaper with puke everywhere, Anthony with upchuck running down his chest, me trying not to slip in it.

Parenthood.

My Friday night...

Tonight we picked up hamburgers and kicked it at home. It should have been a fairly normal night...until the smell.

Anthony sat down in our living room, and sniffed. "What smells so bad?" I responded, 'I don't know--I smelled it earlier, but I never could find anything." We decided that while we were out getting burgers one of our pets decided to use our house as a toilet. We got down on all fours and tried to figure out where the cat/dog had done the deed, but then we found the source of the odor, and it wasn't a pile of poo.

Sam's sippy cups have been disappearing, you see. So much so that I went this week and bought four new ones because I couldn't find the other cups. Well, we found them. One in particular that I haven't seen in weeks. And it still had milk in it. Spoiled milk. That smelled more like rotten cheese. Or cat/dog poo. Disgusting.

Yes, we fought over who would wash it out. I won.

Right now...

My child is as happy as a pig in slop. He is currently sitting on top of my dining room table, and he is DESTROYING my cute, festive, Halloween centerpiece. (Proof is below.) Right now, he could run around naked while screaming obscenities, and I wouldn't care. The beginning stages of a sinus infection do not equal happiness, so we're just trying to make it until the end of the day.

On a side note, I'm not sure what happened in the last month or so, but the kid has developed a TEMPER. If you walked by our house at certain times, I feel sure you would call the police. When he gets mad, (because I won't let him stick his finger in sockets, for example) he acts as if I'm beating him with a garden hose. It's not pretty. All I know is we're about to implement some discipline tactics, which ought to be hilarious. If anyone has suggestions, feel free to bestow your veteran advice.

P.S. There was a question about safety plugs...We do have them, but Sam still wants to pull out anything that is plugged in-- then he tries to stick his fingers in there. I've also had to stop him from attempting to remove safety plugs. He'll either be a mechanical engineer or a criminal. We're keeping our fingers crossed.

Just showing off...

I warn you now that the following video will only interest our close family. If you've just stumbled across my blog, don't roll your eyes at me--I'm informing you before you click that the lovely piece of film below is nothing but my child showing off some of his skills.

If you did choose to watch the above cuteness, and you're wondering what talking like "that lady" is, well, Sam has learned how to mock people. Especially people who have smoked for years. He does it on cue now, and I think it's hilarious every time. Sue me.

I'm an idiot...

So, last night I was getting Sam ready for dinner with my in-laws. As I picked him up, I noticed a really strange smell--like rotten eggs. I couldn't figure out what in the world it was. I sniffed the kid's hands, armpits, hair, and still had no idea what I was smelling. I decided it was all in my head, put Sam in his carseat, and went my merry way. After I arrived at the Shermans, I still sniffed "eau de eggs." I got Sam out, took him inside, and asked my FIL if he could smell the stinkiness. He agreed that something was definitely rotten in Denmark, but he couldn't figure out what the funk was either. We chalked it up to the antibiotic Sam's taking and walked out the door. As soon as we got outside, Joe asked me if I had checked Sam's diaper.

Ummm.....nope.

I promise I'm not new to this motherhood game. I'm just an idiot sometimes.

The Mom Purse...

You know that scene in One Fine Day where Michelle Pfeiffer's character saves the day by whipping out her mom purse? At the time I thought that the scene was such a ridiculous exaggeration. I know better now. I was searching for my keys today, and I had trouble finding them...because they were buried in the bottom of a humongous tote that resembles Santa's gift sack more than a lady's handbag.

The contents: 1 wallet, 1 travel wipes case, 1 diaper, 1 Capri Sun, 1 bag of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, 1 calendar, 3 lipsticks/glosses, 1 toy car, 2 children's books, 1 coupon organizer, 2 rubber bands, 4 bobby pins, 1 bracelet, 1 compact, 1 pack of gum, 1 bottle of perfume, 1 comb, and a cell phone.

I think I need an intervention.