Candyland fun...

So Sam wanted to play Candyland last night.  No problem.  If he wants me to go through the gumdrop pass, I'll gladly do it.

 

You know how little kids repeat everything they hear?  Sam's quote after pulling a double-blue card last night:

 

"Double-blue! Booyah!"  

He is a parrot. 

 

 

Admit it...

Pretty much every woman in the world finds it attractive if a man is musically inclined--especially the piano or guitar.  (Unless you're the guy who was almost 50, three sheets to the wind, and playing the guitar ALL AFTERNOON LONG before the Georgia game.  You, my friend, need to find another way to pick up chicks.)  But I digress...

All I know is when I was a freshman, it seemed that a guy could be a little short in the looks/personality department, yet still have plenty of dates because he could strum a tune. My friends, Sam has already figured out that music opens up all kinds of doors in the dating world.  However, his instrument of choice is the     oh-so-soothing...

Xylophone. 

Laugh now, but the kid can kill it.  I'll be happy to send him to your house for practice sessions.  Just let me know. 

Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the candlestick...

I've mentioned before that I'm a part of a bookclub.  I was invited by a friend a couple of years ago, and through this group I've made some amazing friends.  I cannot express how lucky I am to call all of them my friends.  We get together once a month, gossip, imbibe, and discuss the pick of the month.  Good times. 

A few months ago, one of our number mentioned that she had hosted a Murder Mystery Party for some friends, and that it was a lot of fun.  It didn't take long for us to decide that we had to have one ourselves, and that it was a mandatory event for all spouses. 

It wasn't fun.  It was epic--one of the most fun nights I've had in a while, and Anthony enjoyed himself, too.  (So much so that he stayed in bed much longer than I did the next day.) I wish I could give a play-by-play of the night, but I would probably get a lot of people in trouble.  Let's just say there were some people not exactly on their best behavior.

We chose the Jersey/Mafia Wedding kit.  There were gold chains, fedoras, fake earrings, bridesmaids' dresses, terrible suits, and a lot of "bumpits" going on that night.  We even had a wedding cake.  Everyone had his or her own character and script to follow.  It was ridiculously fun.  Again, I would post more pictures, but I value my friends, and I need to protect the innocent.

 

I feel like this pic is safe enough.  From left to right:

Stacy Sultry, Grandma Selma, Gina Giovanni, and Darlene Simpson.  Yes, I'm wearing black gloves. 

Communal Cowbell

As many of you know, my husband is a long-suffering, extremely passionate MSU fan.  Some people hunt, some people play music, Anthony follows all things in Maroon and White.  I like to read; Anthony likes to tailgate.  We've followed our dawgs to a College World Series, a Cotton Bowl, and almost every venue in the SEC, among other things.  I've watched him have the time of his life when we win, and I've watched him throw--and break I might add--a cell phone out the window when we lose.  (Which, let's face it...the past few years we've lost a lot.)  This passion could affect Sam in one of two ways:

1.  He'll be just like his father.
2.  He'll resent it and attend school somewhere else out of pure spite.

We attend an Episcopal church.  Before communion, they chime a bell at certain periods when presenting the Eucharist.  When they chimed the bell this past Sunday, Sam very loudly said, "I hear a cowbell."

I'm going with option one. 

What's going on...

Sorry I've been so boring lately.  Actually, I've had tons of stuff to blog about, but then something happens, and I feel guilty that I haven't written about previous happenings.  It's a blogjam, really. 

To recap the past couple of weeks, Sam has been busy.  I know, shocker.  We have found out that he is crazy sensitive to mosquitoes.  Need proof?

No, that's not Rocky Balboa.  That's my child.  His right eye was almost completely swollen shut.  I'm afraid to take him outside at all for fear of this happening again.  It's the 2nd time this summer that he's gotten bitten near his eye, and it's a problem, because the last time I checked, you can't spray "OFF!" around a kid's eyes.  He looked pitiful for 4 days.





He got a little bored since he had to stay inside so much, so he decided to entertain himself by getting into the "frigrator" and cooking with some raw eggs...on my floor. Exciting.  How sad is it that I went and got the camera before correcting the problem? 

That's right.  Rub those eggs into all the crevices in mommy's tile.

Notice the eye that's still funky.  I think this was day 3. 

And what have I been up to?  Glad you asked.  I was one of those insane people who went to the movie at midnight on Tuesday/Weds. to see the first possible viewing of Eclipse.  Go ahead, make fun.  I accepted my nerd status a long time ago, and I have no problem with it whatsoever.  Did I read the books?  Uh, yes.  When I was 9 months pregnant with the darling cherub above, I retreated to a town named Forks with a hot vampire named Edward.  (And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you may want to check your pulse.  Sidenote--Eddie doesn't have a pulse.) I like to think that the Cullen gang helped me get though the last few weeks of an uncomfortable pregnancy. 

Anyway, a group of girls met up for some pre-movie Mexican and adult beverages.  We then headed to the theater...at 10 o'clock.  You know you're old when you look at your watch and think, "I should have been in bed an hour ago."  We powered through though, and I will be seeing it again.  Preferably when there's not a disgusting redneck woman talking to the screen as if Edward and Jacob are going to talk back.  Seriously.  I'm not lying.  She had a full-on one-sided conversation at one point.  This was also while she was apparently guzzling beers.  We kept hearing the tell-tell pop of a can opening, and the way she was acting, I don't think it was a contraband Coca-cola.

Have a happy 4th!

Memo to parents...

For the handful of people who read my ramblings, you know that my sweet, (once) chunky, baby boy has just turned two.  And he has embraced this whole terrible twos thing with relish.  I don't know which kid on the playground told him that his head had to start spinning just because of a number, but I really don't appreciate it.  I mean, I certainly wasn't thrilled to turn the big 3-0, but I didn't catch an attitude. Anyway, the number 2 is definitely giving us a run for our money around here. A few things of note for all you parents out there.

1.  "Mine" becomes the most integral word in their vocabulary.  As in, "Give Mommy her nail polish back.  It's not paint."  Sam's response--"No.  Mine.  Sam's polish."  The kid has gotten as territorial as a mother grizzly bear. 

2.  Going to the grocery store feels like heading to war.  Sam used to be the best "grocery store baby."  He would sit contentedly in his little seat, and I would peacefully peruse the goods.  Not anymore.  First of all, he finally noticed those wretchedly gross grocery cart "cars."  You know, the ones that should probably require a commercial license to drive?  The ones that look like they are NEVER sanitized? Yes, those.  He's also figured out how to unbuckle his little seatbelt and bolt into the oncoming cart traffic.  On top of all this, he also thinks he should help me shop, which means I get to the checkout with a random bottle of barbecue sauce, some marshmallows, and a bottle of chocolate syrup. 

I try my best to get in and out as quickly as possible.  I look like I'm on that tv show, "Super Market Sweep."

3.  The transition to the "big boy bed."  Wowsers.  Never knew how much this would affect me.  When Sam was in his crib, he might wake up early, but he went back to sleep because he couldn't get out of the crib.  Now, he just rolls right on in to our room...at 5:00.  We have now put a gate on his door.  Is that a fire hazard? 

He wears me out, but he sure is fun.

So there you have it.  3 things you should know about 2-year-olds. 

This Bud's for you...

Our Memorial Day was spent on the back deck eating ribs and drinking a few adult beverages.  Sam thought he'd help his daddy out and play bartender.  Do you think this kid has watched his dad open a beer with his t-shirt? 

And don't worry, Mom.  As soon as I took this hilarious pic, we steered him away from brewskis. 

He's going to fit right in at the Sigma Chi house. 

Home Sweet Home...

We're in.  Finally.  The men are still working on converting an extra bedroom, but for the most part, our new home is finally livable.  I'm so happy I could sing, but I'll spare you.  The past few weeks have been incredibly chaotic and stressful, but it was definitely worth it.  It's soooo nice to have plenty of room, a lovely, old, established yard, and neighbors who continue to drop by with welcomes.  I even have some empty cabinets and drawers--seriously shocking.

I've also been asked to "Go to the river" with my worker friend, "Cockeye."  While dressed in his signature jorts and shirtless combo, he asked me my Memorial Day plans. When I made the mistake of saying that we didn't have much in the works, he insisted on my coming to the river with him.  He even told me he'd pick me up.  I'm not exactly sure what river he's talking about--the Pearl?  I didn't really pursue this conversation.    I guess the whole wedding ring thing doesn't serve as a deterrent for him.  Yet another reason why I'll be glad when they're completely through with the house. 

I would attempt to write about everything that's gone on, but it would take me forever. So, here's a summation of what has happened in the past few weeks.


Paint, paint, and lots more paint...Sam turned 2--sniff...Curious George birthday party with family...lots and lots of yard work by my brother and my dad--thanks a bunch, guys...furniture rearranging...more trips to Target than I care to remember...a book club gathering in the new place...several awesome summer evenings on the deck...restocking of the pantry and fridge resulting in astronomical grocery bills...no internet for over a week...a couple of illnesses for Sam and me...a serious lack of sleep...decorating anxiety...

Aren't you glad I refrained from posting about the above nonsense?  You would have been bored to tears--if you already aren't. 

Happy Memorial Day!

From the mouths of babes...

Sam is pretty much a parrot these days, so we're having to watch every word that comes out of our mouths.  I'm not sure that we're doing a great job with that, though.  Yesterday Sam had some funk on his nose, so I got a wipe to clean up his face.  As I was scraping away the nastiness, he pointed to his nose and said, "boogers."  Lovely.  I'm pretty sure his daddy taught him that one because I know I didn't. 

As pretty much everyone knows, we got quite a bit of snow last week, and I have failed to put up our snow pictures.  I apologize. I'm sure you've been dying to see Sam in action.  Sambo wasn't too thrilled with the cold.  It probably has something to do with the "snowball" his daddy threw at him, but that's just my guess.  Some tears were shed after that. 

Lately he's gotten very particular about his hands being messy, so that probably also jaded his opinion of the white stuff.  I don't think that he'll like building sandcastles this summer if this phase continues.  Seeing how he deals with the beach ought to be a hoot.

Before his dad threw snow at him.  Notice my use of his socks for gloves.  Classy.

Post snowball = not happy.

I love this hat--I think it's hilarious.  I got it on sale at the Gap a few weeks ago for $5.  Best purchase ever.

He wasn't too sure about the snowman.  I guess it is kind of creepy if you think about it.

You're a fickle woman, January...

I mean, really? A few weeks ago, this place was waaaayyyy too cold to qualify as Mississippi. I don't know about the rest of you, but lows in the teens do not make me happy. There's a reason I live here and not in Wisconsin. I can deal with sweltering summer days, horrible literacy rates, and off-the-charts-obesity, but I cannot deal with cold weather. After Christmas is over, all cold weather should end...just my humble opinion. And last night? Hail, thunderstorms, and tornado sirens. No, thank you.

Today? Beautiful. Gorgeous. I have on shorts and a t-shirt for crying out loud, and I am a seriously cold-natured person. It feels like baseball weather. And crawfish weather. Sitting out on a porch having drinks weather. But I'm on to you, January. I know how you operate. You'll lull me into a false sense of spring, then crush my soul with another cold spell. Probably like the one they're predicting next week. Blah.

Speaking of obesity rates, yours truly is working on losing what I like to call my "Christmas weight." I've actually been exercising the past few weeks, and if you know me, you know that it's a huge deal. "Bikini Season" is just around the corner, and I'd like to lounge around the pool with my head held high. We'll see how long it takes me to fall off the wagon. I went to my first spin class last Monday. Um... nobody told me that it would be really uncomfortable. I honestly don't know how men can stand it. I have a whole new respect for those bikes.

As I type, my child is still fighting the nap that he's supposed to take for his well-being and my sanity. He keeps yelling my name hoping that I'll come save him. It's a battle of wills, and I'm still not sure which one of us is going to win. Pray for me.

Your mama's going to bring you uptown...

I must say, Anthony and I are really fortunate when it comes to having friends. We've got a great group here in the capital city, and they definitely know how to have a good time. Yesterday we loaded up the car with plenty of tailgating food and headed to a friend's house to watch our MSU bulldogs and the New Orleans Saints. Separate games, of course.

I won't act as if I'm some lifelong Saints fan, but my grandfather always pulled for them--he was a sucker for underdogs--and Anthony has always liked them. I think my allegiance truly started post-Katrina. How could you not pull for a team whose hometown needed hope and revitalization as much as New Orleans did? Watching them come out of the tunnel for that first game back was something else, and I was sold. We've been pretty darn loyal ever since. Our posse went down for the Saints vs. Giants game earlier this year, and we had a blast. Anyway, we gathered our small version of the Who Dat Nation, ate lots of food, and pulled the black-and-gold through.

Once the win was clinched, we celebrated. And what better way to celebrate than pushing furniture out of the way and making a dance floor? This is usually our favorite way to spend a weekend night, and it makes me feel like I'm working off some of the calories I've inhaled during the day...a win-win situation. Last night's dance party was kicked off with a selection of some good, old-school country tunes. Good God, I'd forgotten how much I love Reba. When "Fancy" came on, I think every girl there knew the words. The song is pure poetry, I'm telling you. The lady knows how to tell a good white-trash story. Throw in some Brooks and Dunn and Kenny Chesney, and the night was golden.

"And that's the night the lights went out in Georgia."

Really?

Last night I went out to dinner with some friends. Sam stayed home with his daddy, who usually does an excellent job of chasing his son. Usually.

This morning Sam woke up, and Anthony brought him to our room. He had on the same outfit from yesterday, the same diaper from 5:45 yesterday, (which was soaked) and his tennis shoes.

"Anthony, why does Sam have on his shoes?"

"I don't know. I guess I forgot to take them off."

The kid slept in his sneakers.

I guess next time I'll need to remind him to remove the child's shoes before putting Sam to bed. It was a rough night for daddy, that's for sure.

Puff Daddy to P. Diddy...

Prince, to "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince," then back to Prince.

What am I talking about?

Name changing.

When I first found out I was pregnant with Sam, the grandparents began concentrating on the super-important-life-or-death task of.....deciding what they would be called.

For my father, he decided on "Grandy."
My mother decided to be "Mimi," which is what we called her mother.
My father-in-law picked out "Papa" as his moniker.

My mother-in-law? Well, she wavered. A lot. It's been a running joke for a while now. After many sleepless nights, she settled on "Gammy." We have referred to her as "Gammy" for the past 20 months, but it appears that we will have one final name change. Sam has a pretty big vocabulary, and I realize that sounds like bragging, which I guess it is, but whatever. This is my blog, so I can brag all I want. Anyway, he can say/recognize a ton of different words, but he absolutely refuses to say "Gammy." (He won't say "Mimi," either--we're working on it, Mom.)

This is where some Lebanese background info is needed. The Lebanese word for grandmother is "Siti." I have no idea how it's spelled because I always see different variations. Anthony and I thought it'd be a great grandmother name, but MP wasn't so sure. (She was worried that he might call her something like "Siti" but with the "Sh" sound. You get my drift.) Last week we asked Sam if he could say "Siti." He smiled and said, "Sissy." If you ask him her name, he responds with "Sissy." I am so glad that we have a solidified name after almost 30 months of debate. The entire family can rest easy.

Now we just have to figure out what he wants to call my mother. Sigh.

In other news, Sam hit a bunch of buttons on the remote and almost bought some really dirty movies on pay-per-view. That would have been really fun to explain to the husband.

A trolley, some snow, and a little caroling...

I firmly believe that my husband is one of the hardest people to buy for in the world. He doesn't want anything for Christmas, and he doesn't care if he gets anything. (Although the Egg Bowl win was a nice little happy.) On top of that, his birthday is in December, which means that I have to scrounge up a good birthday gift, too. Despite the herculean efforts it takes to come up with something appropriate, I think I may have finally done it.

With the help of his and my parents, I rented the Fondren Trolley last Friday night. I had him invite his friends, we donned our tackiest Christmas duds, and we had a very "spirited" night. I even conjured up some snow.

Modeling his Christmas finery. He wasn't even close to being the tackiest.

I'm sporting my 3XL men's t-shirt that I wore as a dress. If you would like one of your own, you can pick it up for a meager $4 at Wal-Mart. And yes, that's a Santa Claus necklace around my neck.

This needs an explanation...We decided to give a small prize to whoever wore the tackiest outfit. Some friends showed up in these matching, denim jackets. The jackets were given to them as a wedding present. For real. No lie. They are hideous--and hilarious. I'm glad that they can now honestly say they've worn the jackets.

The trolley did not run us over--it was parked. And I'm wearing running shorts under my shirt/dress. I promise.

We stopped by Belhaven to do a little sledding. It wasn't that easy considering there wasn't a whole lot of snow, but we didn't really care.

Anthony's parents graciously let Sam spend the night with them that night, so we were able to sleep in. (Thank goodness because it was one of the latest nights we've had in awhile.) Joe took Sam out in the snow the next morning. Forgive Sam's motley outfit. I didn't send appropriate clothes for him because I didn't believe it would actually snow. Serves me right.

Saturday night, we headed to the Belhaven Singing Christmas Tree. It was beautiful, but pretty darn cold. We had dinner with friends after the program, and we decided to top off the night with a little bit of Christmas caroling. We didn't leave the house to subject anyone else to our singing, but we had a great time nonetheless. It was so cliche, but it was ridiculously fun!

Yes, that's the lamp from A Christmas Story. Awesome.

If you look closely, you can see our tip jar. If you missed out on tipping us that night, feel free to send us a check in the mail.

I promise I'm alive...

We've just had a lot going on lately. We had a wonderful, laid-back Thanksgiving holiday--which was capped off by a Bulldog win. Anthony still hasn't come down from his cloud. The Christmas tree is up, and although it hasn't proved to be quite the sticky situation I feared, Sam has still managed to kill an ornament or two.

We have a birthday party for Anthony tonight; I'm not going to divulge his age. I'll be posting pictures from this event ASAP. It ought to be interesting. Two words: Tacky Christmas.

And now, for the score:

Sam 3, Christmas tree 0

Somebody's got gas...

On Tuesday, it wasn't us. Our sweet little gas company decided to do some maintenance on our gas line, but they apparently forgot to turn it back on. Luckily for us, Tuesday happened to be pretty chilly, and we had no hot water and no heat. I think Anthony's shower lasted all of 20 seconds, and I didn't get to take one at all. While I waited on the gas people to come back and correct the issue, I wrapped myself in quilts and sat on a heating pad. I looked like the scene from Christmas Vacation when Clark accidentally gets trapped in the attic. I'm not exaggerating. I looked ridiculous. Fortunately, Sam was at MMO that day, so he didn't have to freeze with me.

We have now rejoined the 21st century--I have heat, hot water, and I am now clean as a whistle. I even took the turban off my head.