Happy Birthday...A Little Late

Since I am an amazing mother, I am always on top of things. When I get a free moment, I always spend it cleaning my house, working on my child's precious pictures & scrapbook, and retrieving crayons & cars from beneath the couch.

Or not.

Truth be told, most of my free moments are spent sitting on the couch willing myself to do anything...anything at all. I think, "Wow, Tristan's birthday was over two weeks ago, I should probably write Thank You notes." It's a nice suggestion, but one I know I will not take. Instead, I tell myself I will do it  the next time I get a free moment.

Right now, my energy is spent trying to grow a baby & stay awake. Grocery shopping feels like a workout routine, driving the car makes me want a nap, and sitting makes me tired. I hope the baby doesn't mind all the caffeine I'm consuming, but at this point, it's a necessity.

Tristan is now a two year old. My little baby boy is no longer my little baby boy. He sleeps in a big bed (approxiametly 3" off the ground), reads books (looking at pictures & tearing pages out counts as reading), and plays with trucks & trains. I cried yesterday because I felt that at any moment he was going to be too old for me to cuddle anymore.

We celebrated his birthday with family & our dear friends. We were blessed by all the people in our lives who truly love this little man. I know without a doubt that I have sisters & friends who would do anything for him. They aren't lying when they say it takes a village. It really does, and I could not do it without all of them. I am even more blessed to know that as I welcome this new little baby, there will be just as much love for him/her.

Since he is madly in love with "Cars", we decided to use that as the theme. I tried to be crafty & creative and made his cake. For normal people with that creative gene, I'm sure it's fun to do something like that. It gave me an ulcer. The cake got stuck in the pan and came out in four pieces. I don't know if it's appropriate to pray to God our Father for help with a bday cake, but I definitely lifted up a few. Heavenly Father, please let my baby boy's cake be beautiful. And please help all the starving children in Africa. Amen.

KA-CHOW!!!

Put enough frosting on, and you can't even see the heap of crumbs that was underneath. Thank you, Jesus.

Tristan now has more cars, trucks, and trains than he could ever want. And he loves all of them. It's a good thing he's not spoiled or anything. He has so many that I was thinking about rewrapping them for his Christmas gifts. On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad of a mom would that make me?

The birthday party is over, the Thank You notes still not written, and the batteries are already wearing out on several of the toys. Next year, I look forward to planning for two birthday parties. For people like me who truely do not have the natural party planning gifting, it is beyond stressful. But we do it because we know they aren't going to stay little for long. They are our babies. We love them more than anything. Everything they do is so darn cute, even when they take an entire page of stickers and stick them on their arms. And because we are crazy.

Finding "Elmo"

My Little Man was Nemo for Halloween. He cannot say "Nemo", so instead he told everyone he was Elmo.

We had some very confused adults, that didn't even bother to play along.

"No, Tristan, you are NEMO!"

"No, Elmo!"

Good luck winning a fight against an almost two year old. They always win. Yesterday he successfully convinced me that trains are really called busses. If he says he's Elmo, he's Elmo. You can try and argue, but you will just walk away feeling defeated, and with most of your candy missing.

El Diablo

My sister left for New England today. She will be gone ten days. That is ten days that I get to have her cat terrorize my household. Penny, (or El Blanco Diablo, as I like to call her), has only been here one day. One day too long.

She looks sweet. She looks cuddly. She is stalking me. She is the Devil.

15 Weeks Till D-Day

Today, BabyCenter tells me my child weighs roughly as much as a rutabaga. If I knew what a rutabaga was, this would be more meaningful. Pretty sure I ate one once at the in-laws Thanksgiving dinner, and I "politely" spit it out into my napkin. No bueno.

The child rolling around inside of me feels a lot heavier than 1 1/2 pounds. This terrifies me, leaving me to believe that, come my due date, I will give birth to a child roughly the size of my couch. When I get kicked, these are not love taps, but karate moves. I have nightmares that my baby breaks my spine in half (and that I am a dog groomer at Petsmart, but I think that's because I ate carmel popcorn right before bed).

When I try to imagine the personality of this new baby, I always picture a girl. I picture a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with and love on. A little girl that will let me play with her hair and paint her nails. A little girl that will want to watch "Beauty & the Beast" with me. If this child comes out a boy, I will officially have the worst motherly instincts ever...and a whole lot of sparkly pink shoes to get rid of. I am torn between turning the nursery into a chic fest, and turning Tristan's new room into every geeky comic book lover's haven.

 Since becoming pregnant, I have decoupaged two items for my Little Man's new toddler room. Six months ago, I didn't even know what decoupage was...and now I am the proud owner of two pieces of furniture that look like Superman and the Hulk threw up on it. Having four sisters, and zero brothers makes me a bit challenged in the boy department. I have had to take many a lesson's about the Silver Surfer, the Green Goblin, and why Thor is so awesome. His room has been painted "so bright your eyeballs bleed" blue, and Marvel Comics characters can be found in every corner. I even found outlet plates with Iron Man, The Thing, and some dude that looks like Fabio on them.

I also learned a lesson in child development; after watching me screw the plates on, Tristan decided to copy me with his own tools. By the grace of God, Tristan managed to wedge a screw into the light socket without being completely electrocuted. Thank you, Jesus, for my little Handy Manny.

I think the nesting might have also officially begun. I found myself, like a loser, cleaning my oven and stovetop at 11:30pm on a Saturday night. It needed to be done, and I don't know why. I am preparing for this new baby, and hoping that she (maybe he), comes sooner than 15 weeks. I will do anything possible to get her (maybe him) out before December 31st. Who couldn't use the tax break? And I am ready to meet my daughter (possibly son).

For now though, I just prepare. I enjoy the last short months that I have with only Tristan. And I wait patiently to meet the newest member of our family. Until then, it remains just the three of us.

I Am NOT A Marathon Runner

We are officially half way to our destination, and I have learned that I could never, ever, ever, ever run a marathon. I'm too much of a wus. When I look at those baby emails that excidetly tell me "Congratulations, only 135 more days to go!" It makes me want to curl in to a ball, suck my thumb, and rock back & forth.

I'm ready to meet our baby. I am done having my spine karate chopped. I am ready to buy teeny tiny diapers. I am done having to plan my day by restroom locations. I am ready to touch baby soft skin. I am done having emotional meltdowns at the grocery store. I am ready to find out if we are adding a boy or a girl to our family. I am done having people tell me "Wow! You look WAY bigger than you ever did with Tristan." Thank you family members. It makes me feel even better when you call your significant other from across the room to stare at my belly and contribute more comments about my size.

I have to remind myself that I need to cherish this precious time with just me and baby. Although it seems like forever now, it won't last for long. I love the kicks, the rolls, and even the gymnastics move's on top of my bladder. And now I love looking at our new pictures of Baby Green.

We had our 20 week ultrasound today. I drank my 16 ounces of water like the radiologist instructed me to, and prayed fervently that I wouldn't accidentally wet myself during it. As she pressed and pushed, prodded and poked, I prayed harder. And harder. "The baby is moving SO much!", she commented. "Look at your baby move all over the place!" Yes, I know. I could feel it. More prayers. Then I started sweating, imagining the outcome to my full bladder situation only ending very humbly. When I couldn't take it any more, I asked in a very calm voice if I could please, for the love of all that is holy, use the restroom. At one point I may have even cried for a second. Wetting yourself in front of your husband, a radiologist, and her trainee is serious (and unforgiving) stuff. I was so blinded by my discomfort and loss of muscle control that I didn't even hear her directions to the bathroom, and instead dropped my pants in a linen closet. Oops. My mistake.

All is well though. I am alive, and I'm never drinking water again. It's too risky. We did manage to get a few pictures though of Baby. And we aren't finding out what we are having. At one point, I was convinced I saw male genitilia, but everyone else insists it was the umbilical cord. Luckily, you can't tell anything from these pictures.

And Then There Were Four...

From two...

To Three...

To Four...

After 8 months of trying, a hopeless diagnosis from the Dr., and lots of prayer, we are beyond blessed as we await the arrival of our miracle baby. This entire experience has taught me that with God, ALL things are possible. When a Dr. tells you it can't happen, God has a different plan.  We went through blood test after blood test, medications that failed, and ultrasounds that the Dr. explained "proved"  that my body was not functioning as it should. Yet our God is a God of miracles...and surprises! During a routine blood draw, one of my results came back as abnormal. I was told it wasn't physically possible for me to get pregnant at the time, so I didn't even consider it as an option. Instead, with my hopeless attitude that had recently developed, I was convinced I had cancer. Thank goodness for Google which kindly explained what it meant if HCG came back as positive. It was a surprise that can only come from God. So as I start my 19th week and bust out of every pair of jeans I own, I have to stop and remember that God gifted us with this second pregnancy. We are blessed, and we can't wait to meet our precious baby.  

Mambo Italiano

We recently got back from spending two weeks in Italy. To summarize, here is everything I learned how to say: " Un gelato per favore. Grazie." That was all that was necessary. I have never eaten so much gelato in my life, which is why I chose to bring my skirt with the expandible waistband, instead of jeans.

Traveling that far was quite the experience, especially with an 18 month old. Thank you, United Airlines, for all the delays. I didn't think 15 hours on a plane was enough, so I appreciate the additional 7 you threw my way for free. My rambuctious child would like to thank you too.

Here are some things I learned while in Italy:
(1) They put Nutella in literally everything.

(2) You will get yelled at if you don't wear protective gloves while picking out fruit at the grocery store. Apparently I look like I have Hepatitis.

(3) Their streets were made for bicycles, not cars. We had a very scary Griswold European Vacation moment when we almost managed to wedge our car down one street. Thank God for moveable side mirrors.

(4) Their idea of a cup of coffee is smaller than a shot. How am I supposed to get energized for a day touring your ruins if you won't help me out?

(5) You have to pay for the toilet. I'm too stubborn to give in, so I spent a lot of my time in some extreme discomfort.

(6) There are no nuns over 5 feet tall.

(7) Wine is cheaper than milk.

(8) It is a criminal offense to put fruit on pizza. Potatoes, corn, zuchinni, crab, tuna, octopus, squid, and McDonalds special sauce are all viable options though.

(9) You can take your child halfway around the world, and the only thing that will hold his interest are the pigeons.

(10) If you want to get bumped to the front of the line anywhere, just show them your baby. I owe Tristan big time for all the free stuff he got me. Hope he didn't mind all the cheek pinching.

Told you they like Nutella

Even though Italy and I had our differences, it really is a beautiful place. It was a reminder of the luxuries that we as Americans take for granted. Their streets are small, their houses are smaller, and they don't need much to get by. They seem quite content with what they have. It was a good lesson for me.

Florence, Italy

Our room

The view from our room every morning

A random cat sleeping on a car

The tiniest police car I've ever seen

Sienna, Italy

The Vatican

A microscopic picture of the Pope

A much needed picture of my babe

Taking a break from sightseeing to lift weights with Grandpa

The Colosseum - you can see all the bullet holes from the war

It was a great experience, but I am so glad to be home. The language barrier and cultural differences really did make me miss home. And tv. Italy is beautiful, but they don't have Lost or Glee. This girl has some episodes to catch up on, so please excuse me while I go replace every historical fact I learned with the lyrics to "Don't Stop Believing." Priorities...it's all about priorities.

Old Joe

Boys are weird. Having grown up with four sisters, I am testosterone illerate. I do not understand the males need to conquer and dominate everything. Easter Sunday was a beautiful day. Old Joe, my in-laws horse, was grazing peacefully in the yard. And then the boys showed up...

I saw four grown men suddenly transform into 10 year old boys as they all gathered round plotting different ways to jump on Old Joe's back. The women stood by giggling and secretly praying that Joe would buck them off or kick them in a sensitive place. I know it's not nice, but it's funny.

They tried unsuccessfully a few times. They got close, and then ran back screaming. I didn't have the heart to point out that Old Joe is named OLD for a reason. He wasn't putting up much of a fight, but don't tell them that.

I've never seen my cousin more serious. How many men does it take to get on a horse? Apparently too many. What would he have done without all that moral support?

And now he's a cowboy. Old Joe literally did not move; I don't even think he knew what was going on. My other cousin squealed with delight, quickly gaining confidence after seeing that this wild and crazy horse could actually be tamed. He decided he needed to go for a ride too. And when I say "ride", I really mean "sitting on the horse proudly getting his picture taken."

Hang on tight boys! Horses are unstable and violent creatures.

Yes, everyone is watching. Yes, we are all very proud of you. Yes, you are big boy's now.

At one point, I'm pretty sure they started talking about how impressed the ladies would be if they knew these strong men had riden a wild horse. Except Old Joe's not wild, but that will be our little secret. 

Once they conquered riding the horse, they were quickly distracted by my one year old son blowing bubbles. Off to another adventure. And I still don't understand men.  

Men At Work

One rule in my house...

You make the mess...

You clean it up.

Pronto

Oh Peter

We have finally decided to sponsor a child through Compassion International. It is something we have wanted to do for so long, and yet always found a reason to put it off. I tried two years ago. Even called and gave my credit card information. And yet, somehow, it didn't work. We never were signed up.

I talk about it every now and then, but always come up with a reason not to. After reading several blogs about trips to Kenya and meeting these kids for real, it confirmed for me that this is legite. These beautiful babies suffer. My baby boy was just blessed to be born into a family that could support him. What about these amazing kids born under poverty? Into circumstances they could not have prevented? What if my precious boy had been born in to poverty? Would I not want someone who could help, to do everything possible to ensure the best life possible for him?

Matt and I prayed before sponsoring a child. We looked through all the photos, and both our hearts rested on Peter. He reminds me so much of our Tristan. We don't know anything about him, except that he is a gift from God, and a beautiful creation. I do not know him. I have never met him. He is a stranger to me. But I know he is a gift. He is blessed. And my heart already loves him.

I cannot WAIT until we can send him our first letter. I will tell him about the love of Jesus Christ and how special he is. Why have I not done this sooner?

I am excited for this blessed boy. What a beautiful, blessed boy. Peter.

Here's To You...Multitasker

A woman at the gym this morning was doing cardio, talking on her cell phone, and eating breakfast...at the same time. It made me realize that I have not been taking full advantage of my workouts. I'm thinking about bringing my laundry tomorrow...or maybe playing some Sudoku.

Meat & Potatoes Kind of Gal

Yesterday was my friend KK's birthday. I won't tell you how old she is - I do not want to die. Let's just say I have a few more years until I'll be celebrating that one. There's something about birthday's that just make me a happy camper.

I spent three hours making these chocolate cake balls on a stick. Martha Stewart I am not. I saw the picture, thought, 'that looks delicious' and decided to waste my entire afternoon burning stuff in the kitchen. What a treat. But I would do anything for a birthday celebration. So instead of giving up like I wanted to, I perserved and made the ugliest looking things I ever had the good fortune of creating. God gives us many gifts, and I need to learn that mine is not baking. Taste great, look hideous. How can you go wrong with chocolate, sugar, butter and cream cheese? Those are my four food groups.

To celebrate her big day, I carried on with a tradition started last year, and made a shirt for Tristan. Since KK was raised Jewish and I was raised Catholic, we love to ruffle eachothers "religious" feathers. I felt I needed to explain so the next sentence doesn't make me sound like a Nazi. Tristan walked in wearing a shirt that said "Roses are Red, Jews are Frugal, I Heard Your Mom, Makes a Mean Noodle Kugel". It was the only thing that rhymed, and I figured it was less threatening coming from a 15 month old. The shirt did also say "Happy Birthday". I'm exploiting my child...that can't be good.

Forgive him...he knows not what he does

They were supposed to look like flowers. Didn't quite work.

We went to a restaurant of her choice to celebrate. Last year we celebrated at a hippie organic vegetarian restaurant in Boulder. I had the pleasure of eating Yak butter, Baba Ganoush, and steamed beets. I was hoping for something different this year. Instead, she told me we were going to eat at a sketchy Indian restaurant. I couldn't wait for my mouth and stomach to turn in to lava.

Buddha was staring me in the face when we walked in, pictures of Nepal covered every square inch of wall space, and fourteen different kinds of incense threatened the stability of my stomach. It was delightful.

She used to be a vegetarian until a few months ago, so now she is being gutsy and trying anything and everything. We had all different kinds of meat hidden in colorful sauces. I. Was. Terrified. I asked someone to pass the sweet potatoes, only to get several odd looks. No potatoes here, just spare animal parts in hot orange sauce. My mistake.

The safest thing I ate was Naan. It was actually delicious, given that it was plain bread. I asked for honey to make it taste like a sopapilla, and was given three discouraging looks from the table and one under the breath remark by the waiter. I asked for coffee. He said they didn't serve it. I asked for tea. He said they didn't serve it. I asked what they do serve, and he walked away. It was not my night. I tried to be brave and sampled a few of the dishes. I spent the rest of the night regretting it. My mouth was on fire for four hours courtesy to one fiery little dish. Needless to say, I left hungry, and $60 poorer.

Thank you for the lovely evening India. It won't soon be forgotten - given that my eyes haven't stopped watering and I still can't taste anything. Let's just hope that next year we get to eat somewhere normal, or this girl is going to pack her own dinner.

Randomness

I just found out they invented a sarcastic symbol that you can now enter into your emails and texts. It's called a sarc mark and costs $2 to buy. A very wise investment (sarc mark). If you can't tell, I'm too cheap to buy it. I am in desperate need of it, but still too cheap. As someone in my life reminds me constantly, 'sarcasm is the lowest form of anger and you should stop using it so much'. Never.

I had my first date today with my son. I paid, of course. We were out and about and needed lunch. I decided we would sit down at a nice restaurant that, coincidentally, serves my favorite meal. It kind of reminded me of my first date with Matt...I told lots of jokes...and he didnt laugh. You know its bad when a 14 month old looks at you like you've lost your marbles. He better get used to it. After conditioning the carpet with a nice layer of juice, saltine crumbs, oranges and cheerios, I'm almost positive we are not invited back. Bummer.

We just got a new bed. We downsized from a California King (which is ginormous) to a Queen. My mattress is entirely too comfortable now. Instead of waking up before the alarm like I used to, I now wake up to a series of panicked questions. My alarm goes off, and I have no idea what day it is, where I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to be doing, or how long I have to do it all in. I spend at least 5 minutes staring accusingly at my alarm clock like it's trying to mess with me. I know it's not her fault, but someone needs to be blamed for this.

I saw an old man driving on the interstate smoking his pipe with a forgotten Venti Starbucks clinging for life to the top of his Cadillac. I tried to take a picture but decided one accident a year was enough for me, and I've already filled my quota.

And thats about it. I feel like this is one of those "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" moments. Only none of my thoughts are deep right now. I'll save that for another time.

Lions & Tigers & Bears...You Know the Rest

Tristan's first trip to the zoo. I think he was more interested in watching the people than the animals. Although if you saw some of the people there that day, you would understand. Is it kosher to wear a shirt with the F bomb clearly printed on it while spending some quality time with your family? Thank you, angry man by the spider monkey's.

We really did have fun though. Tristan loved the tiger's, apes and fish. A few slimy creatures actually came right up to the glass & entertained him for a few minutes. And thank goodness he's too young to realize that the crocodile didn't stare at him because they were buddies, but because it wanted to eat him.

I think I might have enjoyed it more than he did. I was so fascinated with the monkey's that I lost track of time. I listened to a Denver Zoo volunteer explain all about evolution & how we evolved from the large gorilla's who were currently eating the straw they had just slept in and, uh, used for a restroom. In my mind, I had a very clever & intelligent speech prepared against evolution and was going to wow the crowd teaching about GOD and the miracle of creation (thank you to my 2nd grade Sunday School teacher). I was going to stand up for Jesus, and eyes were going to be opened.

Here is actually how my encounter went: I stare at ape's playing in mud, I listen to a nice lady explain evolution, I decide I am an idiot, I keep staring at ape's playing in mud. The "me" in my head is proud of her faith and speaks Truth. The "me" in real life is too afraid to offend. A sad lesson learned that cold day at the zoo.

Here are a few pictures from our family day. And it was so much more enjoyable knowing I didn't pay anything for it. Which was why we went after to a chocolate shop & spent way too much money on things I shouldn't be eating. My excuse? Walking around the zoo works up an appetite... for dark chocolate truffles.

Getting all bundled up

Tell me this doesn't look like an Alfred Hitchcock movie

I wonder if T knows there is a bear behind him

Hello Monkey! Yes, you can come home with me. I will love you forever.

Look out, Tarzan!

This colorful friend has a bird-like beak. Fish freak me out.

Apparently, Tristan is the only one that knows where the camera is at.