Easter Excitement

On Good Friday our local library hosted an Easter animal petting zoo. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I figured even if they just had bunnies (or "hops," as G calls them) that would be enough.

We walked in and there were not only "hops," but chickens, goats a lamb, ducks and guinea pigs. G nearly had a heart attack!

  

 

 

We came home for lunch and nap, and then I decided to continue the fun of the day and dye our Easter Eggs since Erik was home to join us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After that was done, Erik suggested we add some vinegar to our dye cups and scoop in some of the baking soda from the fridge I was about to throw out. To be honest, I had never seen the vinegar/baking soda reaction myself, so I was totally game.

G wasn't so sure at first.

But then he got a little more into it.

And then decided it was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life!

I think we've found ourselves a new Easter tradition!

 

Afterward, G and Erik decided to "do stickers" while I cooked supper.

The next day, with my judgment clouded by a mani/pedi, I went to WalMart for some groceries. The day before Easter, people. I'm an idiot.

 

But I came home and was feeling like Super Woman for beating back the crowds at Wally World and decided we'd do some prep work for Easter dinner.

G and I made cupcakes, my traditional Pink Fluff, as well as some Devilled Eggs for our supper that night. Here he is mixing the orange jello, cottage cheese and pineapple for the Fluff. Yeah, I know it doesn't look so appetizing yet, though Sam sure was hoping for a morsel there in the background!

 

The next day the Easter "Hop" came for a visit and left G a basket full of books - all on the same topic (being a big brother). Apparently the Easter Hop is as forgetful as sweet G's dear mom, who meant to tell the "hop" to include books on potty training. At least he remembered her request to include at least one book about manners. And a goofy mask.

Like the outfit? We had some diaper issues the night before. I was obviously not thinking of photo-ops when I got him re-dressed at 1AM.

Here's G reading (one of) his big brother books. Erik and I both got this Little Critter book when we were getting our little sisters.

 

After Easter Service and a breakfast at the church (where G swiped a powdered donut from the buffet table and then ran around the gymnasium like a nutbar), we came home and had naps and our Easter Egg hunt! We had to do it inside because it was raining :(

 

G is a great hunter of eggs but doesn't quite get the "hurry" of it all. After he found an egg he brought it to us at the ottoman so we could help him inspect his findings. Here he is finding some sidewalk chalk.

And a "truck."

And probably some more chalk - over our couch. Nice thinking Mom.

And then I forced him in to a photo shoot. He's so stinking cute.

Notice his bright red lips from the jelly bean juice he didn't swallow fast enough.

And another new "truck!" It's a good week to be G!
 

Little Things

I caught Grant in a lie the other day. He's been having issues with dry eye and when he wakes up in pain, I have to give him drops. The other day he woke up for his milk and while I was changing him, he kept his hand over his eye. I said "Does your eye hurt? Do you need your drops?" and he said "No," and 5 minutes later started whining about his eye. "Does your eye hurt? Do you need drops?" I asked, "Nope," he replied, still holding his eye. I didn't realize it then, but I'm pretty sure it was his first lie. Either way, pretty smart on his part, but don't tell him I said that.

Speaking of G's morning milk, on all the mornings Erik has to get up before us (for PT or whatever he has going on) he always fills a sippy of milk for G and leaves it in the fridge so I just have to stumble downstairs, grab it and head back up. Man I appreciate that.

Lately there has been chatter among my military friends about an article recently published on the Huffington Post's website which grossly misrepresenting our lifestyle and claiming we live (seriously) in the lap of luxury. At first I was infuriated, but as time went on, I decided that I truly just don't care. For two reasons: 1. I really doubt the people who read the Huffington Post regularly are going to be swayed by a huge uprising. What's that old saying? Oh yeah, "haters gonna hate," and two, the only chatter I've heard has been from those in my military circle, so I'm not sure "outsiders" have even picked up on it. The article is full of inaccuracies, FULL, but I just don't care enough to refute them. As I said, haters gonna hate.

A few weeks ago Erik and I attended the ROTC ball for the university he works at. While it's never fun to find a maternity ball gown (and feel good in it), we had a pretty good time. Here's what though: Those things are way more fun when you get to partake in alcoholic beverages. And when you're not surrounded by beautiful college girls who aren't yet haggard by motherhood. On a different note, while we were there a retired COL that works at one of the schools in the ROTC BN and knows Erik well told me that he was impressed when he was reading The Outpost and saw Erik's name. He asked me if I knew I was married to a "legend". Is 30 old enough to be legendary? I hope so. ;)

Last weekend, the high got up to 57* (but I already posted about that, didn't I?) and all the snow melted off. Today, it's nearly a white-out outside. Oh Spring, please hurry.

Locking your dogs in a crate when you leave is rendered pointless when your two year old has unlocked the other door to their crate, unbeknownst to you. Thankfully, there was no poop on the rug, as is their usual calling card.

Ah! I can't believe I almost forgot this one! Last week we found out Erik is being promoted to Major! It will be a few months before he actually pins on the rank, but it's very exciting news none the less. They selected far fewer Soldiers this time because of the draw down overseas, and we know several (at least a dozen) GOOD Soldiers who weren't selected, so we are definitely happy. He will be taking his ILE course online, so that will keep us here a little longer, but it is better in the long run because if were had to move to KS for 9 months in a few years we would likely be interrupting G's first year of school, which I'll happily avoid.

Life Skills

I remember when I was helping G learn to walk that I kept thinking how amazing it was that I was teaching him something he was going to use every single day for the rest of his life (God willing), it really moved me to get to have that kind of impact on a person (yes, I realize that's a weird thing to say as his mother, hopefully that's not the only impact I'll have, but you catch my meaning).

But now that he is really in the thick of learning to speak, I find myself having those thoughts again. To hear him sounding out words that he's trying to say for the first time, the grin on his face when we understand, his patience as Erik and I try to decipher what exactly he's trying to say when it sounds like he's being inappropriate:

Cock = Clock
Fuack = Rock
Pain = Plane (which = Grandma - because my mother comes on a plane to visit us)

The other morning he was dipping his blackberries in yogurt and said "Diiiippping berries!" I was so proud. I think it's his first sensical collection of words. He's been putting words together for awhile - forming what I call "toddler sentences", and they make sense to us because we communicate with him regularly, but they aren't full-fledged sentences. Anyway, I definitely had a proud mom moment.

It's so much fun to teach him new words. He understands SO much - he can identify about 12 colors by matching, or if you say "find the white fish" on a page full of fish, but if you ask him what color something is the answer is always blue.

I always find myself eager to see what he says next! I've decided to start journaling (separately from this for the sake of my readership) his vocabulary monthly. I don't want to forget the things he says that will only be in our family vernacular for awhile, like "shause" (sauce), and "cheese peas!" (cheese please), as well as "yee-haw" for horse - a favorite of mine.

For all it's struggles, the twos have brought a lot of fun as well. I know that within this year those tiny "toddler sentences" will work their way out and full-on sentences will take their place. And soon he'll wonder why Erik and I say "shank shoo" to each other or refer to Milk as "muck". I hope we never stop, though.

In Defense of Pinterest Moms

Disclaimer: I am in no way, form, or fashion a Pinterest mom. I would LOVE to be. LOVE. But I am not even a little bit creative.  However, my status as a not-so-Pinterest mom is not by choice. Well now wait a minute, maybe I am the quintessential Pinterest mom because I depend on the website to get the wheels in my head turning. Yes. Okay, I'm a Pinterest mom. But not one with actual ideas, who could pin her own things. Haha! Moving on...

There is an article floating around from a blogger with the Huffington Post, written by a mom sick of other moms trying to make holidays fun for their kids because it's making her look bad. Okay, so that's a bit of a dramatization, but she's all up in arms about moms who (specifically) hide gold coins for their kids to find on St. Patrick's day, because now here kids are asking for it and she finds that irritating. She goes on to say that St. Patrick's Day is a "phone-it-in holiday," that we really shouldn't be bothering with at all, especially since she's still recovering from Valentines Day when instead of a card like everyone used to give, kids are showing up with whole goodie bags for their classmates as though it were the "new Halloween". Which seriously, I'm good with. The less importance on Halloween in my life, the better. But I digress.

She complains about giving gifts in lieu of an advent calendar, 100 days of school celebrations, Pi Day celebrations, Dr. Seuss Day celebrations, the list goes on and on before she "beseech"es all of us to "take it down a notch" because she doesn't like disappointing her kids.

And I get it. I do. People have things to do other than beautifully paint eggs, or make a pie on 3.15 (and just what happened to the Ides of March, BTW?), but seriously, if I want to pump my kid full of asparagus on March 16 so he pees green all day on the 17th, that's my damn prerogative. I DO have time for that - in large part because I WANT to have time for that. There are people who don't celebrate Christmas or who don't have Santa in their home every year - do you think those people are writing blogs telling those of us who do to lay off so they don't look bad? No. And if they were, there would be a serious uprising. So what makes this any different? It's all personal preference.

Now, I'm not a mom who is going to spend a grand on a birthday party, or move the Elf on the Shelf 600x a Christmas season (mostly because I'm cheap, less-than-creative and I'll forget to move the darn thing), and I'm not making Santa tracks, or bunny prints or "trapping leprechauns" as is referenced in the article -whatever the hell that is - but I am trying like the dickens to make life exciting for my kid and to give him some traditions to look forward to and carry with him.

My mom and bio dad were married for nearly 10 years before they had me. In those 10 years my mom babysat all my cousins, and mothered many of them in many ways, and by the time we came along I think she was out of fun-mom energy. Well, maybe not out, per say, but I don't really have a ton of memories of interactive fun with her. I have great memories, don't get me wrong, but I'm not bringing any traditions to the table. My mom was and is a great mom - one of the best I know, and she worked her butt off both for us and raising us - but I just want my kid to have things that bring his heart home every year on special days. I want him to have a mom who made ordinary days special, and often, and was sometimes pretty silly about it. Especially in our transient military lifestyle - I want my kid to always feel like he has certain things to count on and expect, things that won't change when we switch posts or time-zones or countries. And yes, St. Patrick's Day is a "phone-it-in holiday," and all we did around was dye some yogurt green for parfaits and read a book, but my kid thought that green yogurt was about the best damn thing he'd ever had.

I'm not saying I'll ever be the birthday party planner of the century like my friend Meghan, or the chef/hostess extraordinaire like my friend Maria, or the creative genius that is my friend Mandy, but I'm darn sure going to try. If that means baking a pie on Pi Day (which I think is an AWESOME idea, BTW) then so be it.

The Not-So-Terrific Twos

I am not maternal. I thought for a few minutes that I might be, after a lifetime of knowing full well that I'm not. But then February came and brought with it the terrible twos and I haven't taken in even one breath of reprieve since.

I feel as helpless as I did with a newborn, and somehow even more clueless than I did back in those days.

It's a constant power struggle around here. I try to be firm, I try to punish without emotion, I try so, so, so hard not to yell. I'm from a family of yellers and I'm a yeller, people. But I don't want Grant to be. I don't want him to know this feeling of being out of control of your feelings or your voice - to feel that the only outlet is to yell. When I was a kid, I can remember getting in trouble a few times and my biological father would yell, and point, and chastise and then he'd say "Okay?!" and I was expected to look him in the eye and say "okay," after just having had my ass reamed. It was humiliating. But man alive, sometimes I think it's all I know. My mom used to yell "What's the big idea?!" and I knew a storm was brewing. Not that I didn't deserve it, but ugh, the yelling. I'm sure it's because I didn't listen the first 4 times someone said something, but still. The yelling is what I carry.

Tonight, from 5:00 to 5:30, G and I went back and forth on picking up his toys. "G, pick up your toys please." "NO!" "Well, firstly, that should be 'No, thank you,' but second, if you aren't going to pick up, you need to go to the time-out chair," Queue screaming tantrum. 2 minutes later, "G, are you ready to pick up?" "NO!" "Okay, then you need to stay in the chair." 2 minutes pass "Are you ready to pick up?" "Yes!" "Okay, get down and let's clean up!" Insert dawdling here. "If you aren't going to pick up, you need to go to time-out again." Shampoo, rinse, repeat. I tried explaining, I hugged, I demonstrated, I even bargained. No dice,

And no, I don't think I'm expecting too much. He knows how to pick up, he JUMPS to pick up when we're in music class, and I swear to God I DUMP praise on the child when he does it, and yet, no clean up for G.

Erik walks through the door. G is bawling because he's in time-out again. All Erik has to say is "Let's clean up!" and off G goes, cleaning like a maniac. I burst into tears while finishing supper in the kitchen.

There were days last year that I used to think "This is a piece of cake," and now look at me. How the heck am I supposed to have this struggle again with a second child? And presumably a third? I clearly haven't learned a lick of anything yet. I keep praying for patience and it's seriously just getting worse. I remember the scene from Evan Almighty (I think it was), where Morgan Freeman plays God and he was talking to someone about how when people pray for things God doesn't just give it, he teaches it. Which I suppose makes sense, but now I feel like the more I ask for it, the more I'm going to be broken in and things will just get worse before they get better.

Imagine. Of all the things that have made me somewhat question God's motives, it's a child. Not death, not war, not abandonment by a parent, but my child. The person I love more than anything. Doesn't make any sense to me.

And seriously, where the crap is spring-time? We need to play outdoors!!!

Yes.

“When asked if my cup is half-full or half-empty, my only response is that I am thankful I have a cup.” -Sam Lefkowitz

I Need a Hobby

For years, I've tried to live by the mantra "Bloom Where You Are Planted," and it's served me well until now. I'm trying to bloom, damnit! I'm trying, but I'm just not. Could be the perpetual winter...

I never understood wives who complained when we lived in Hawaii. Believe it or not, people HATED it there. H-A-T-E-D. While I always thought there was no better to place to be brought and then left behind (by your husband who went to war). I made friends, I worked, I volunteered, I scrap booked, I ran into people I knew nearly everywhere I went, I just generally did whatever I wanted and had fun doing it.

And now... I don't work because I chose to stay home with my kiddo. I don't have any new friends really, because turns out, it's pretty hard to make friends when you don't work, you don't have the Army to lean on, and the guys in your husbands office aren't really married. I don't volunteer because I can't justify hiring a babysitter to go do it (though I'm getting closer and closer to biting the bullet), and I can't do whatever I want because of the kid thing and the fact that we're pretty much in the middle of no where and it's colder than well diggers mud bucket outside. I'm worried I'm retreating into a shell. But more than that, I want to be really, really excited about something.

So I need a hobby. Here's what though, I'm not creative, I'm not crafty and I'm not patient. And I don't want a hobby that ends up causing just another mess to clean up. So seriously, I'm left with writing. Which is fine, but I am rapidly running out of things to write about because I don't really do anything. I wish I had a stellar idea for a novel.

A few years ago, a close friend of Erik's told me that most stay at home moms are "monumentally uninteresting," and he couldn't be more right. Of course, he's a bartender, the epitome of interesting, so he'd know. He made me promise not to become such a woman, and I fear that I am.

So, I'm in the market for a hobby. If you have one you like, send it my way.

How Quickly I've Forgotten

Yesterday it was 57.7 degrees outside (according to the clock in my kitchen), and I had recently gotten a pedicure.

I gave serious (SERIOUS) consideration to wearing flip flops.

There was a time in my (not so distant) history that 57.7* was nothing but a cruel joke played by the island gods. And now I'm considering sandals.

My blood must be thickening after all.

Is That Really Helpful?

The other day, while getting ready for a trip to New Hampshire (for which I was responsible to pack myself, G, the car, the dogs, the dogs things, the stuff to drop off on the way to pick Erik up from work, prep the house and get out the door in the middle of G's regular nap time - which by the way, seemed a lot more daunting than it would have this time last year now that I'm used to having a co-parent around - I'm weakening, Haha!) I posted on FB about how my patience was running thin and how my child might be better off with Attila the Hun for a parent - a thought I have quite often, by the way - and someone took it upon them self to say "Wait until you have two!" Um, do you think I don't know that? You think I don't know my patience will be even more thin and my frustration level will be even higher? Do you really think it's necessary to say that? Surely you can't think that I've had that very same thought about 6,782 times since finding out I'm expecting? Howsabout you try to be a little bit more encouraging and uplifting?

Well, I had another extraordinarily bad day today with my tot, but I didn't even bother seeking support. What's the point? So someone could provide me with a not-so-gentile reminder that my life is about to get exponentially worse?!

It's just like people saying "Sleep while you can!" when they hear that you're pregnant. Is there some kind of sleep bank that I'm not aware of? The only time sleeping while you can is actually effective is literally the night before you give birth - and how many of us can predict that? I was lucky(-ish) and got an epidural about 11PM the night before I had G, and got a full nights sleep before I was awakened at 6AM. That was the best nights sleep I'd gotten in 3 months, and definitely the best since. But I digress.

Anyway, point is: I've always kind of held myself to the philosophy of "If you don't have anything nice to say about any body, come sit next to me," but after having been a single parent for a year, that philosophy absolutely doesn't apply to parents. If a mom needs support, give it. You older (and perhaps wiser) moms may not remember vividly enough the struggle that is toddler-hood. If you do, support those of us going through it with a kind word. If you don't remember it vividly enough, please just keep your mouth shut.

That's What She Said

Someone (that I'm not related to!) asked me why my blog is called what it's called. So... hold your breath, people!
Thee blog used to be entitled Don't Hog Your Journey (thus the web address), a line I heard from Hoda Kotb (of The Today Show). She was telling the story of how she met and was chatting with a man on a plane and somehow it came up that she had cancer, and then she said "But please, when you think of me, don't let cancer be what you think of," and he turned to her and said "Don't hog your journey, it's not just for you." And while my journey is no where near what hers has been, it's still mine, and maybe it's not just for me.

I changed the title to Just Another Day in Paradise when we lived tin Hawaii and the Phil Vassar song by the same name kept sticking in my head. The lyrics are about life being hectic and it's still paradise for him. I don't know, it just sort of stuck, even though we are most decidedly in a different kind of paradise now.

I'm pretty sure we're close enough to Buffalo for this to be applicable.

I like them both, they both stick with me, but honestly, I felt a little poser-ish using the "don't hog your journey" line when it wasn't meant to be about every day life, and has since become such a battle cry for Hoda Kotb and other breast cancer survivors. So, paradise it is!

Things I *Really* Don't Think I Can Live Without

1. My hair straightener. Call me shallow, but I'm not, nor do I ever plan to be, the girl who walks out of the house with wet hair. Some people can pull it off, some people can't and do it anyway, and some people just do their damn hair. I'm the latter.

2. Tweezers/Razors. I'm not hairy (well, my brows are a little nuts if not carefully groomed) and I don't plan to be. End of story.

3. Computer/Internet. Man alive is the internet amazing! I think this so often, especially during deployments. How lucky Erik and I were to email daily or Skype or whatever! I thought often about the military families of yesteryear who waited weeks for a letter, and there I was Skyping with my husband in Iraq, who was so far away it was literally the next day where he was! Not to mention facebook, which has almost completely solved my Need to Keep in Touch vs. I Hate Talking On The Phone quandary as it applies to my far-away friends.

4. Books, electronic or otherwise. Surely this does not require a descriptive sentence. But I really do like my Kindle.

5. Perfume/Cologne. I am a very scent-sensitive person. I attach scents to memories (I am also moved to nausea very easily by some smells), and I love it (not the nausea part, but you get my meaning). Tommy Boy cologne makes me think of this guy I knew in 9th grade. Literally the most conceited person I've ever met in my life, but of course, 9th grade Sheena thought he was the bees knees. Halston 7-14 will always remind me of my biological father. I bet money he STILL wears that stuff. The Liz Claborn perfume in the yellow triangle bottle is what my mom wore when I was young enough to still sit on her lap and breathe her in. It still seems foreign to me that she would wear something else. And, for some reason, the air in summertime evening always takes me back to the summer of 2002. Well, I know the reason, but that's a story for another time.

6. My cell phone. This coincides with item number 3. Aside from the communication it provides during deployments, as someone who has lived thousands of miles away from her family, getting to talk as much as I want for one low monthly fee pretty much rocks.

7. G's music machine. Man those 4 songs haunt my dreams, but I'm pretty sure that's his lovey, and as such has provided me with many more hours of sleep than I'd have gotten otherwise. Erik thinks we should break him, but I slept with a radio on until college! We will have to devise a plan regarding the next child's music machine. The only thing more annoying than one playing all night long, will be two.

Well, 7 is one of my favorite numbers, so I think I'll stop there. I wonder how many of these guys I'll be living without come next year.