Moved. Again.

Because I can barely think straight...I have started doing personal posts on the photography blog, which you can find HERE.
See you there!

Here goes nothing...

I have always been one of those people that go on and on about how I will NEVER drive a minivan because ewww and shit. Who needs all that room? Who wants to look like a douchebag? I mean, minivans are for moms and old people with lots of grandchildren. "I won't give in!" I say. "I won't lose my cool!" There's "plenty of room in my Jetta!" "SUV's are totally enough!" You get the idea.

I 'pshawed' the car dealer when she suggested that I check out a Routan when I surprisingly declared how super tiny the Tiguan crossover was. "Nope. Never. Don't even talk to me about it" I said. After a little coaxing and a huge "what the hell!" I hopped up into the mom-mobile. "At least this will shut them up" I thought.

You know what? It wasn't so bad. The seats were leather...and soft. The touchscreen was FUN! I love touchscreens! It has how many DVD screens? You can watch 2 videos at once, you say? The doors do WHAT with the click of a button? Damn. Look at all that room! I could fit all of my photography equipment in here PLUS leave Mason's carseat and still have tons of room. There's plenty of space for another baby (when we have one) and a bigger stroller. It's comfortable. I don't feel like I am sitting on the dashboard and simultaniously smelling the backseat passenger's breath. It has a V6. It drives like a car.

Was I *gasp* losing my cool? Was I going to drive a minvan. Was I going to look like a mom? Wait.

Hold it.

I am a mom. I run a business that requires me to lug around all sorts of equipment and chairs and reflectors and props. What's the problem? Suddenly, I couldn't even tell you why I thought minivans were so bad? A "soccer mom" stigma? Maybe. But again, I am a mom. Doesn't everything have a stigma? You drive a 4 door sedan...you must be slow. And old. You drive an SUV? You must hate the environment. You drive a big truck? You must be overcompensating. You drive an expensive car? You must be snobby. Why do you need a HUGE SUV when you are a childless couple? Yadda yadda yadda.

No. I think you drive your car because you like it. Imagine that. My husband never bought a sportscar because he was going to take it somewhere and race it. My in-laws didn't buy Mini Coopers because they plan on re-enacting a scene from the Italian Job (that I know of). My mom didn't buy an SUV because she is short and couldn't see the road in a smaller car. Love you, mom! And your T-Rex arms!

I guess I never thought about all this before. I thought I knew what I liked. Maybe I was trying to hold on to someone that I am not. I am a mom, but I am still Tiff. Just because I drive a bigger car that has self-opening doors doesn't mean I am someone different. I still like to drink wine! I still like to dance and watch bad reality shows! I am the same boring, child-toting, vertically challenged, cackle-laughing person...I just drive a car that has more room for your judgemental ass. So hop on in! Pop in the Hangover and let's go out on the town! I will even let you take a nap in the back if you like!

September.

September was birthday month. It was lunch dates, dinner dates and good times with old and (kinda) new friends. A month of phone calls and bookings and "can I do this?". Hair cuts, suckers, new toys, new clothes and new shoes. September was also a month of tears, frustration, lonliness, hopes up and hopes down. September had 30 pretty much beautiful days, that quickly turned into darker evenings and cooler temperatures.


But September is gone. October is here, when I drink lots of beer, and a new month brings a new beginning. Sure, there will be more dates, bookings, lots of work, another haircut (hopefully no more new clothes or shoes or toys), even cooler-yet temps and even shorter days. But this is the point where I do raise my imaginary beer and say: Here's to October. Here's to zero tears, frustrations, minimal lonliness (Paul does have a little travel this month), and hopes turning into reality. Here's to 31 gorgeous fall days of nothing but happiness and rainbows and puppy dogs and shit. (Now, you didn't think I would really make it through a serious post did you?)

Have a great Scotch-tober my friends.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Remember way back when I would religiously post monthly letters to my son? Nah, me neither.

But hey! He turned TWO. And if you ask him, he will tell you that as well.

The Mom Who Does Not Do Character Themes decided that a Cars theme would be appropriate this year. There's a first for everything, right? Also, The Mom Would Said She Would Never Put Her Child on a Leash? Yeah, she kicked the bucket last week. I bought an Elmo leash in a mad dash to a big box baby store when I thought we would be accompanying my husband to California (child + LAX = I panic). Now that we are *not* going, going, back, back, to Cali, Cali? Now, I just have an Elmo leash. What the hell am I going to do with an Elmo leash?

 

Only child, much?

I am starting to think that Mason really doesn't want a new brother or sister. Example numero uno: He stole my thermometer, the one I use to take my temperature every morning and HID it. Luckily I spotted it under his toy shelf while I was laying on the floor in his toy room today. Good try kid.

Next? He likes to jump on me and bounce on my stomach as if to say, "Take that evil potential-sibling-eggs". He also getting really, really close to 2 which means him screaming, "MINE" a lot and throwing himself to the ground, whining and going on food strikes, much to my displeasure and really making me rethink the whole 2-child scenario.

But of course there are the times where he cuddles, tell me to "try it mommy" and gives me that cute little grin that makes me really want to have another one. I really feel like I missed a lot of beginning stuff with Mason because of all the anxiety and crazy. It might be selfish, but I think I deserve it. I think I deserve another chance.

A little piddle diddy.

We are still in the deep depths of hell potty training. Actually, that's not fair. Mason has been doing wonderful with telling me when he has to go. Just not every time. He only tells me when he feels like it. So behold. The Potty Training watch. He loves it. It plays music. He dances. It helps my fried brain remember to take him to the potty. He knows it means he gets a gummy bear (or three! If he goes).

The other day, I was making lunch and talking on the phone when he told me "Mommy, potty! Let's go! Alright!" and starting running for the bathroom. I can't tell him no, so I followed, leaving lunch on the stove and continuing my conversation. I helped him with his pants and diaper, handed him a book and headed back to the stove. Of course I heard an "UH OH!" so I ran in only to find a huge puddle on the floor and Mason splashing around in it. Then, OMG you guys. He stood up and stomped in it. I hung up the phone. Stood there and squeeled a little bit, told him to sit back down and did what any totally equipped, grade-A mom would do. I yelled for Paul. I could barely speak, let alone tell him that no, his child was NOT bleeding and no, nothing horrible had happened.

It was worse than horrible.

There was pee. On the floor! And he was standing! and playing! Squeeeeeeee.

Paul basically looked at me, raised an eyebrow and told me to just take care of the burning lunch on the stove. Mason was placed in tub. The floor was mopped up. Crises over. It's all good.

Oh, and he PEED! Errrr Yay!? Biggie boy!? Here's a gummy.

::hides from flying objects::

So basically if I was trying to run a once-a-month blog I would pretty much be the most awesome-est (deal with the grammar) blogger in the universe. In the last two months we have packed our lives, three times, had birth control removed, attended two weddings that I was a bridesmaid in, traveled to the beach and back, cleaned, packed again, moved, unpacked, cleaned some more, ripped out landscaping, bought new landscaping, organized, shopped, yadda yadda yadda. What? Did you catch something in there? Yes. Normally I think that one's trying for more little people is a private thing...well...you have one and then you realize that all secrets, dignity, etc. go flying out of the window at lightening speed. What am I afraid of? The questions every month, maybe. But knowing the amazing people I have surrounded myself with, that won't happen. So people know. Big deal, I tell myself. Did it take me a while to get used to this? Yes. Did I cringe when the "secret" was let out without me doing it myself? A little. Now? Now we wait. Well, we do more than that, but we mostly wait. One thing I have learned? It's really freaking hard to not lunge at the cabinet in the bathroom with the pregnancy tests in it. I pride myself of being an all-knowing master of fertility. Okay, just kidding, but I know what's up with my lady-business, yo. I know how to chart, temp, look for signs, etc. And I damn-well know when I should and should not test. Still? Still it is hard to not pee on stuff just to see if it turns colors.

Don't look at me. You did not just catch me eyeing the Water-Temperature Color Changing Super Duper Awesome Lightning McQueen Hot Wheels.

A whole month, huh?!

Remember me? Hi! Just sitting here watching Cars for the eighty-millionth time with my sweet almost- 22 month old boy. The sweet part may be a little bit of an exaggeration seeing as he has become quite the little independent toddler which means lots of fit-throwing and screaming matches and NO! Although these days we here a lot more than no. Sentences. Full sentences. Also, singing of songs. Usher and Taio Cruz to be exact. And Elmo too, but mostly Usher. We know colors, letters, every single children's character - even ones that I never taught him, like Shrek. What the hell? We have never watched Shrek and he knows him enough to pick him out on a new grocery tote. We have been swimming a lot in the last couple weeks - enough that I tried those old-school arm floaty things and he LOVES them. He despises life vests (too restricting, imagine that) but love love loves the arm floats. He has gotten really good at going under and swallowing a minimum amount of water. A HUGE improvement to the gallons he was drinking at the beginning of the summer.

Next up? We have some weddings  happening in the next couple weeks and then MOVING DAY! To say that I am excited would be a GIANT understatement. My own space, furniture, schedule. I just cannot wait! Although I do get some beach time right before the big move, sans Mason so that will be nice. You would think I would be pumped about that, and I am, but moving? That, my friends is where it's at! Not much more to update on, I think I have it covered. Instead of reading my boring dialogue, look at some photos!

Lots of excite-ment-ness-ed.

We bought a house. Yep. In my hometown. Which means we are no longer building, well not for another 5 years probably. We just found a deal that we couldn't pass up. The house is gorgeous and I am sooooo excited to move in. In July. Boo. Hello, June? Can you hurry please? Then I can at least say we are moving in "next month". I would feel much better.

Mason has been absolutely hysterical lately with all of putting-together of words. "I wanna watch choo-choo" and "I want more pancakes" are some of his favorites. He also recently starting screaming "FRIES! FRIES!" as soon as we walked into a Rocknes. I mean, how did he even know they had fries there?

Two of my friends are getting married this summer, and I am a bridesmaid for both of them. You know what that means: continuous shit show a lot of parties! One of the weddings is at the beach, so Paul and I are going to go sans Mason for a little one-on-one time and relaxation. This should help pass some time until move-in day and will be really fun as well. I love friend time!

As if I wasn't busy enough, I decided to start a little photography business. It has always been a hobby of mine and since having Mason, I have really become more interested in it. Then people started asking if I could take pictures for them. One thing led to another and T Luc. photography + design was born. If anything, it will give me an outlet to get some of my bottled up creativity out. I had two photos published in a local newpaper this morning and I am pretty proud of that. This is something that makes me very happy and I need that.

So, needless to say, I am going to have a VERY busy summer. I say BRING IT ON!

pooH

I think he took the whole saying "poo goes in the potty" a little too seriously.

Oh hey there.

There is so much I want to tell you. Really. Everytime I write something, and go to hit 'publish', I stop. X out the window, move on to reading more Perez. There are some really BIG, exciting (or not) things going on around here, but I just can't tell you yet. I promise I will soon though. This summer should be an adventure-filled one with lots of Mason and poop, and the usual of course.

We are still living with my family - which surprisingly, isn't quite as bad as you would think. I am still attempting to potty-train, but not pushing it quite yet. There is too much going on that I don't think potty training would fair well with. Hopefully I will be back in full force with lots of news and surprises and DETAILS that aren't so creepy and suspicious. Sorry about that. Until then, enjoy the usual photo of the son.

Do you see what I have to deal with?! All the cuteness! My brain can't handle this!

Pee has consumed my life.

That's right, internets. Potty training has commenced. Sadly, we are having to re-train the cats also. First Mason. He really started showing interest in his potty, telling us when he pooped, etc. So imagine my surprise when one day I decided to put him on his potty and HE PEED. I cannot tell you how vigerous my happy dance was that day! THEN, THEN INTERNETS, he did it again, and again! He doesn't quite grasp the whole tell mommy BEFORE you have to go rather than telling me after he has already done it, but I am not pushing it. One day, he told me he had to poop. We put him on the potty and I left Paul to keep an eye on him while I was blow drying my hair. Paul got a phone call and was pacing (per usual) while Mason sat on the potty (he usually doesn't move until we tell him to). At one point I looked up and saw him walking around naked (Mason, not Paul) and I thought he was probably done and continued to dry my hair. Next thing I know, Paul is flailing arms, and yelling NO NO NO!!! and I see a little nugget laying on the floor about 6 inches away from the potty with Mason squatting over it. He had pooped on the floor. A for effort, little man.

The cats. Oh the cats. I woke up one morning to find pee. Everywhere in the house. The cats had started their battle for dominance and we were living on the battle field. So I basically have been cleaning up pee, human and feline, for the last two weeks. I am proud of all of my little potty trainers as they are all making strides. If I ask Mason if he wants to sit on the potty and he says "no" I say okay, and go about my life. If I ask the cats if they are getting along and they say "no" I spray more Feliway. It's going really well!

Thank you mista Easter Bunny

We liked Easter A LOT around here. Mason colored his first eggs, which was more like dropping bombs into what he thought was some new delicous concoction that I was going to start feeding him. Too funny. Who knew vinegar and water was so yummy? Not me.

The Easter bunny was wonderful to Mason. He almost riveled Santa. But alas, Mason has NO CLUE what I am talking about. What bunny? Don't see a bunny? Hrmph. That would be me, mother of the year, who has yet to get a photo of her son screaming smiling on the lap of some smelly dude the Easter bunny. It was in the plans for Saturday, but there was too much going on and HAMS! to pick up. Maybe next year!

Hope you all had a wonderful Easter!

Not again.

As I was running on a treadmill at my "new" gym today, I happen to glance up from the timer on the machine (where I usually STARE, hoping the time will suddenly jump from 25mins to 5mins) and focus directly on the flat screen in front of me that was tuned to CNN. I like news. I like to generally keep up with what is going on because I think it is important. I mean, yes. Jesse James is an asshole and all but there are pretty substantial things going on in this world that are a teeny bit more important. Just then, I saw it. Another teen had committed suicide from the effects of school bullying. Gah. My heart started aching, my stomach dropped. And then it happened. That feeling. The one I felt sososo many times before: anxiety. The racing heart, butterflies, sweaty palms, sickness...you name it. It was there. It all started coming back like a bad movie montage. My adolesence. My experiences.

For some reason, and I don't know if it has to do with technology or what, there has been a lot more attention being focused on school bullying. First the girl and the whole Myspace ordeal. Now this. Of course, there have been way more in between there that have fallen through the media cracks. There have been TONS before then. And there will be more.

I know what you are thinking: get over it, Tiff. Everyone is bullied at one point or another, and it usually sticks with you, causing some irreputible damage. Yes. To some extent, I agree. On the other hand, I would be willing to challenge the majority that what I dealt with was a little more serious. I won't go into tremendous detail about what was done and said to me during mostly 2 years of middle school because I would run out of space. But that's it. TWO YEARS. That is all it took to change me forever. I hated school. I hated social functions. I got through it though- which is more than Phoebe Prince will never get to say. I think I grew from it. I also think there was some damage done that can never be un-done. Damage that causes many issues in my adult life.

You see, I second-guess everyone. I look extremely deep into people's words. Are they taking a jab at me? Is this person's intentions not right? Are they trying to hurt me? I twist words around to make sure that people are doing these things. These horrible things. I don't trust people. This is what I was taught at a very crucial age. The majority of people cannot be trusted. Everyone is out to get me.

Sound's crazy, right? It is. Of course therapy has helped me calm this anxiety. These thoughts. But they still linger. Unfortunately, when you are that special age (somewhere around puberty/middle school/beginnings of high school) and you are becoming the beginnings of an adult, taking in everything, learning about relationships...this is when this shit happens. A lot of adults look at it and say, "Oh, they're just kids. It will make them stronger". Yes, maybe. Eventually. If they make it that long.

I think what frustrates me the most is that nobody tries to do anything. They think they are, but they obviously just aren't doing enough. My mom went to school authorities many times. Tried to make something happen. Of course, my bully was the daughter of a teacher, so you must know how that would play out. Little things happened here and there, and I commend my school district for trying a little. It didn't change anything. Not until it was almost time to move to high school. The clique started dissolving. People started maturing, but that does not mean that it didn't continue on some level.

I guess I could go on and on and if you have stuck with me this long, I thank you. Most of the time, this has to do with jealousy. These girls (mostly) are jealous of someone and just ruthlessly go after them. If you know someone going through this, or if you are a teacher, please TRY to do something. Waiting it out is not the answer. It may be okay, but as in Phoebe Prince's story, it wasn't. Here is a great article to read if you have time. If not, just keep your eyes open and if you see or hear of something going on, try to help.

I promise I will try to be more funny in my next post, but that story really got to me this morning and there has to be something I can do to help. I figured maybe this was a good place to start!

The one where I clog the toilet. Again.

We are being forced to make some very difficult decisions for the new house. We are often asked to get in the car, drive somewhere that sometimes looks like an abandoned crack den, and pick out things. Important things. Like sinks and toilets and lighting fixtures and stone, oh my. Recently, we drove, sans child of course (because an 18 month-old + lighting fixtures/unsecured sinks does not = a good time, or rational decisions) about 30 miles away to pick out the plumbing fixtures for our new house. It wasn't in the best part of town, and after seeing the building, our conversation went something like this:
Me: This is a little scary.
Paul: Well, they are wholesalers.
Me: Wholesalers, as in, we steal this stuff and sell it to you for a reasonable price?
Paul: Possibly.

As I said before, this building somewhat resembled an abandoned crack den. This was not par for our contractor - he usually sends us to really nice showrooms because he lacks the ability to do anything half-assed. Or cheap. Ahem. Anywho, I had a feeling that we were going to stumble upon a.) a syringe-toting drug lord that would rob us of everything we have - including my mom's car (that's right, we live with them AND drive their vehicles) or b.) the land of Oz-like showroom. Luckily for us, it turned out to be the latter. Sort of. It was definitely very un-assuming on the outside, let's just leave it at that.

We met a very nice lady, who made sure to make it very clear that she was the only one who was working there and that they closed at 4:30 (instead of the 5 o'clock that was posted on the door) and that she no longer worked Saturdays. We started in on the kitchen sinks and she had to run into her office to look something up when the feeling came over me: I had to poop. Now. I told Paul that I needed to use the restroom and he directed me toward the back of the showroom. When I got in there, I was totally expecting to be blown away by the coolest fixtures they had to offer. Letdown. Then I noticed a sign beside the toilet: PLEASE RETURN THE SEAT TO THE CLOSED POSITION AS THIS IS A WORKING EXHIBIT. Nice. So, what they were trying to tell me is, if I really liked that particular toilet, the lady would say, "Oh, sure. Come with me into the ladies room. We have a working exhibit!" Eww. Just as I was reading the sign I thought to myself, "Gee, self. It would really suck to clog this bitch up". I finished my business and flushed....

DAMNIT. ShitshitshitSHIT! Clogged. I swear, for such a small person I can really drop some logs. I panicked and looked around. No plunger. Not behind the toilet, not under the sink. Nothing. Men's room. If there is one thing I know it is that men always have the plunger. I ran over and peeked in. Nothing. I was going to have to do the unthinkable: reach in and pull that turd out go ask for a plunger. I arrived before the saleswoman returned and whispered to Paul that I had clogged the toilet. No, there is not plunger. No, not even in the men's room. Then he told me to reach in. F that! When the lady came back I said, "This is really embarrassing, but do you have a plunger?" she ignored me so I spoke up, "DO YOU HAVE AH PLUNGER?!" she looked up at my red face and said, "Uh, no. Don't think so. Don't worry about it hun. I'll call the guy." Oh Jesus. Great. She was going to have to call someone who was going to have to plung out my shit probably a good 3 hours later. Poor soul. We SOOoooo weren't going to get their best prices.

As you can imagine, moving on from that conversation and back to the task at hand was kind of akward. For me at least. She seemed to not skip a beat and went about showing us the options for soaking tubs. Sure. Whatever. Got any of those around? I am sure I can somehow clog the drain with hair or something gross. Needless to say, it was an awesome day. I was pretty proud of myself as that was my first real public clogging. If the quote that we recieved for the plumbing fixtures is any indication of the impression I made on the saleslady, it was rich. Priceless even.

Just a little sleepy.

There isn't too much going on over here. We are dealing with allergies now, because the other sickness has moved on, so you know, there has to be something new. We can't ever just be healthy. Not until at least May...Anyways, here is kind of what has been going on:
Just your typical Luc narcolepsy.


Hope everyone else is doing better than the bubble family!

Slow down, you're moving too fast.

I guess I can update my blog now that we are officially moved in with my parents. I know, freeloaders. I am not going to lie and say this was totally easy for all of us. I mean, with the pouring rain on moving day, the croup outbreak, missing the old house, old gym, friends, family, life, etc. but it is for the best and I know it will get easier. Mason is having a great time...well, minus the croup. Did I mention he has croup? Yeah. Something that we had to go to an urgent care facility to get perscriptions for considering we are now an hour away from his pediatrician. It was in that same urgent care facility that he had a major meltdown after skipping a nap and refusing to follow the NO EATING, NO DRINKING, & NO CELL PHONE rules...okay, I broke the last one.

I went and got a gym membership today at a place that I used to belong to...in high school. It is still the same, which almost made me cry because I realized how spoiled I had become and how instead of trying to catch up with a new, faster life, I must now learn how to slow down, minimize, and relax. Perhaps even find my happiness again. Now, before you go getting all confused, it is not that I am unhappy, but  I have certainly become hardened with life, age and responsibility. I am hoping that returning to my roots will find me in the same mindset that I had before college, cheating boyfriends, bad job experience and post-partum depression. I am also hoping that being within walking distance to family members and friends will help me drop the guilt of not being close to them, and them not getting to watch Mason grow up.

I think we will all be fine. I can do this. It just takes time and patience - which I am pretty bad at, but I can do this.

Therapy with Tiff

Two posts in two days! I know, right? It's like the old me is back.

You know how people who work in post offices are always incredibly unhappy? You do. Don't lie. Unless you work in a post office ::waves:: then YOU my friend, are the most delightful person I have ever met. No, wait! Don't leave!! Anywho, so these people. They are always soooo miserable. I have always wondered why. Why oh why USPS peeps, are you so down on life? I have a plan. Let's talk it out, I will give you some talking points, you let me know if I am right.

1. Those lights. They are YELLOW. And not "happy sunshine" yellow. God-awful pee-stained carpet yellow. I would probably lose the happy as well.
2. The most exciting part of your job is when a new line of stamps come out. And you get first dibs. Star Wars, anyone?
3. You repeat words like "perishable" and "liquid" all day.
4. It smells of carbon-copy paper in there. Ick.
5. You cannot accept credit cards without a valid signature. No, you cannot even accept cards with "PLEASE ID" on the back accompanied with the correct identification.
6. Every piece of paperwork you encounter is overly complicated. And the people filling them out are stooopid.
7. Your place of employment always has a dusty and dingy feel to it.
8. You are the only person that can work the counter. EVER. There is never anyone there to help you dwindle down that line that is now out the door. And if there is a second worker that day, it's Maude. The 80-something bored lady that smells of moth balls and applied for this job just to bug you and operate in the SLOWEST fashion EVER. ::big breath::
9. There will no doubt be a line that extends out the door at 5pm.
10. People bring their car-obsessed, super-tantrum throwing 18 month-old children with them and procede to keep asking you to repeat yourself as you try to explain how the PO Boxes work. This person also has to keep running away to chase said child as he darts for the parking lot.

Now. Why would you ever hate your job so much that you would make every person that comes into contact with you want to swerve into oncoming traffic after visiting you? I guess I will never know.

Dear Mason - 18 Months

18 Months

Dear Mason,

I know. I am behind. You must understand though, that I have been very busy packing up our lives. Our big, crowded, hoarder lives. How does a family of barely three completely fill a 2,000 square foot house? GREAT question. I will refer that one to you, little man. It seems I cannot take a step with hearing Elmo's voice, or one of the Yo Gabba Gabba characters, or the annoying children and adults that record all of the Fisher Price toy sounds. No matter how sneaky I am about putting your toys away, you will stop what you are doing, walk over to the closet and throw them all over the house. The only time you do not is at night, before bed. I tell you it is time to put your toys away, and you oblige me. Thank you for that.

At your 18 month appointment, you weighed 24 pounds, 14 ounces. A true testament to your wonderful eating habits. Just this morning, you knocked down 3 adult sized pancakes, a pear cup and an entire cup of milk. Well done. Now, you will smell of maple syrup until your next bath.

The weather has been really warm, well above 50 degrees for the past two days. We have been taking walks, our last walks, through the neighborhood. You scream, and flap your arms like a bird every time you see another child, or dog. Your true joy brings a smile to my face every time. I know you don't know how to fake happiness and I hope you never have to learn how. That is my mission: Mission Happy. My mission always fails though, when it is time to go inside. You scream bloody murder and somehow dislocate your shoulders so that you slide right out of my arms.

Your doctor and I had a little chat about the tantrums you love to throw lately. I have pretty much tried it all: yelling, ignoring, time outs, putting you in your crib and shutting the door, threatening day care...none of it was really working BUT a combination of time outs/ignoring you. I guess it slipped my mind that you wanted a reaction out of me. You were WINNING. I am smarter now, son. I know this game. Bring it on.

You recently started calling your toy school bus a BUS instead of a CAR. Maybe you really are listening to us when we tell you, "That's a bus/truck/etc." every time you say "CAR!". Maybe someday you will even make your Papa happy and say "Porsche" instead of just car. You will learn. Porsche's are way more than just cars.

We are moving soon. I think you are going to have a blast living with family for the next...forever. No, I promise it won't be forever. Maybe close to it though. And after forever, you will have a new house. And hopefully still-married parents. I'M KIDDING! DON'T CRY! Mommy and Daddy love eachother very much...yes, even when he elbows her in the head in her sleep.

I always say I don't know how you can get any cuter, funnier, or smarter. You keep blowing my mind every day. Slow down a little bit, okay?

So you're going to move. With a child...

We sold our house recently and since we are going to be building a new one, we will have to live with parents in the meantime. I am one of those crazy people that loves to move. I love new experiences, rearranging things, putting everything in it's new place, packing, etc. Of course the actual moving part is never fun, but the end result is like heaven for me. I have moved 13 times (if I counted correctly) in my lifetime so I am pretty much a pro at it by now, but this is the first time that I will actually be moving MY FAMILY with Mason. I am going to move with an 18 month old.

So far, I have learned to plan ahead (which is basically the story of my life, and something I am very good at). When we learned that we would only have a mere 3 weeks to pack up our life, find storage, and be out of our house I didn't panic. No. Instead I kind of squeeled inside. I know, I'm sick. I immediately started making lists. Things to to, people to call, what goes where, WHEN. I also immediately started packing. Since we do still have to endure the inspections, appraisals, etc. I had to walk a fine packing line. I started with the "decor" items - the things that we don't use every day, but rather look at. Pictures, shelves, candles, vases, books, misc. items. Things that could easily be put back if something should happen.

Next week I will packing what I think is the most difficult room: the kitchen. I will pack all of the things I don't use every day: extra place settings, crock pot, blender, toaster, mixer and misc. items. I am going to leave enough plates, glasses and silverware to last us that week and part of the next before we will ultimately result to paper and takeout. I will also have meals planned out so that I can pack up unparishable items from the pantry and figure out which pots and pans to leave until the last cooking moment.

My mom and I were discussing Mason and his adjusting and came to the conclusion that he will be fine. He will have his toys, bed, clothes, everything he is used to (including us). The saddest part is that he won't remember this house. He won't remember the place that he lived the first year and a half of his life. The place we brought him home from the hospital to. At the same time, he probably won't remember the moving, living with family, etc. He will remember the new house of course since we pretty much plan to die there. And hopefully he will realize how hard we have worked to get him there. How much we loved him and wanted to provide the best life possible for him. It's all part of the sacrifices we have to make. I need to keep telling myself that!

I don't want my kid to be a pussaye.

I am trying not to raise a puss of a son. So when I don't immediately run to him and coddle him when he trips over a piece of dust and either says "WHOA!" or starts to whine-ish/cry a little, please don't look at me like I am the poster mother of child abuse and neglect. How's THAT for a run-on sentence?

Toddlers fall. I think that's kind of where the whole "toddle" part of toddler comes from. But I'm not latin. Or an English major, so I'm not positive. Mason falls A LOT. He is my child, I am clumsy. Yeah, a clumsy former-ballerina. Since he falls at least 12 times a day, I try not to exert too much effort to run to him as soon as I hear a thud. I mean, that would constitute me putting down my Bonbons, pausing Oprah and lifting my fat ass up off of the couch, which is tiring and way too much work.

I can tell if a fall is bad. If it is, I will go to him, scoop him up, kiss his booboo and tell him it's okay. I haven't encountered bloody stumps, stitches, or gaping wounds yet (I am sure that is coming...minus the stump part?). I am not completely heartless. He usually only cries for a minute or two, then continues on his quest to end world hunger with a bruise. News flash people: bruises are okay, and if this child is anything like me (YES) he will bruise easily. Again, not abusing him. Don't look at me like that.

Back to my point: I don't want my son to be a pussaye. I don't want him to cry at every little trip. I know this is working because half the time he yells "WHOA!" when he falls, gets up and keeps going. There are those couple times where he may be tired, hungry or just in a bad mood and completely loses it at that tiniest fall. I casually tell him to shake it off and he usually does. This is when the judging begins. Judgy-judgers always give me "those looks" like I am ruining my child. Trust me, he is just fine. I won't let him flip out forever. Usually all it takes is me saying "You're okay!" and then he is. We all are. We are all fine.

Too many margaritas?

**So I started writing this like, a month ago and never finished. Since I am such a super blog writer, I thought I should just go ahead and post it, albeit unfinished.**

Sometimes when Mason does something spectacular (like, every day pshh) I think to myself. "OOOooh write that down! Get a pad and pen and write that down! You will never remember all of these AWESOME things! You have had one too many margaritas and it has hurt your brain and your memory GAH you are getting old and will never rememberrrrrr!"

Do I write anything down? No. Of course not.

Here are some things I want to remember at this point in Mason's life: (17.5 months)
-He still loves cars.
-He climbs on everything. The table, the bed, the couch, the media tower, the stairs.
-He recently started going up and down the stairs by holding the spindles instead on on his hands and knees.
-He can use a fork and spoon to eat.
-His favorite snacks are Goldfish or "shhhs" and fruit.
-He loves to give kisses, say byebye to everyone and play "Nigh-nigh!"
-His favorite shows are Yo Gabba Gabba and Chuggington.
-His favorite meals (although he is on a food strike right now) are usually Pasta Pick-ups and Pizza. Or carbs. Anything with carbs. High five, kid.
-He loves to read/be read to.
-He wears a size 4 diaper, 18 month pants and 12-18 month shirts.
-He says probably more than 40 words at this point and some two-word phrases.
-He loves to play pat-a-cake and will make the rolling, patting and clapping motions.
-Loves snow, bath time, going byebyes, other kids, grocery stores, Target (who doesn't?), malls, any kind of outing, really.
-He has 4 molars thus allowing him to sufficiantly chew food like a big kid.
-He is very imaginitive and would play by himself forever if we would let him. But I just can't resist those blocks.
-He also loves computers and typing...and now, a word from the man himself:

hghjhoioipoiiuuyygfokhmkjj  gtrfrdrffhjjkmnmn yjh nhjgnjml bonkj njkrt

DID YOU CATCH THE "bonk" in there. That's right MIT...call me.

Derrr.

I have nothing to write about. Yeah, that's right. My life is THAT exciting.
Look at some pictures.

Take your pick.

What's worse? A sick child, or....a sick child husband?

Paul has been sick for a week now and I think it is causing more problems than when Mason gets sick. Let's weigh both sides, shall we?

A sick Mason does not typically sleep through the night. Neither does a sick Paul.
A sick Mason makes for a very tired Tiff. A sick Paul makes for a very tired Tiff as well.
Mason whines all day when he is sick. So does Paul.
I constantly have to chase Mason around with the booger sucker. I actually used the booger sucker on Paul last night.
Being sick makes Mason extremely grumpy. You guessed it.
Paul can help me with a sick Mason. Mason does not help with a sick Paul.
And when they are BOTH sick. Look out.

I guess Paul being sick doesn't completely outweigh Mason being sick, but either way. No fun.
This is where I would usually go into how big of a baby Paul is when he's sick and suckitupdude I was in labor for 30 hours, the last 5 being extremely painful. Shit, I was PREGNANT for nine months. You wanna talk about not being able to sleep? Try sleeping with an extra 25 pounds awkwardly strapped to your stomach. And don't forget to try to roll around with the lump everytime you need to go pee, which is every hour.
But I won't go there. I love my poor, sick husband too much.

27 can blow me.

I went to Boston for my 27th birthday, like I mentioned in my last post, decades ago. Not before what was supposed to be a family birthday dinner turned into a party for my sister only. I'll bill my therapist for that one.Whatever, I guess FORTY is a big deal that should totally be told to THE WHOLE INTERNETand perhaps shouted from rooftops and plastered on billboards? No? Oops. Boston was fun and all and I love the city but I am still debating on whether 27 is awesome or not. For example, my last day in Boston I got a phone call that I had a gyno appointment the next day. Well HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO ME YEEEEHAWWWWW!

If that wasn't bad enough, I came home to a penis laceration, diaper rash, 103 degree fever and the saddest (and most cuddly) little boy ever. So not only did I have to visit my lady-business doctor, but we decided to make a day of it and wander on over to Mason's pediatrician as well.

Turns out the laceration was from a number of things including (but not limited to) improper cleaning, and a juice overload (which just sat on his poor wang and BURNED). He cried, I cried. It was bad news. Luckily, the fever seemed to be a complete ca-winkydink and was most likely caused by a virus (still, boo) and was not linked to any sort of infection of the junk. I know this because I had to sit in the doctors office while Mason laid on me with a pee-catching bag on him WAITING for 3-ish hours for pee. None? And you're closing? Sweet, we will meander on home now where you will leave this medical procedure to me. I will conquer. Friday was AWESOME.

We watched UP, which was sad. Almost as sad as my little boy, who usually is running around breaking everything in sight. Instead, on this night, he just layed on me and watched to the movie.

Saturday was better. Sunday was way better. Today is just fine. All parts are still attached and have returned to their normal color. 27 better get it's ass in gear because I am still looking for a cave to hibernate in.

Oh and just because I am not already having the BEST year ever I have decided to do this to myself. Enjoy.

Nonononono

I would post more. If I could.

If I wasn't chasing a small person around all day yelling NO NO nonononononono.

If I had time. If I wasn't stretching myself too thin*.

If I didn't need to clear off my memory card because of my upcoming trip to Boston.**

If I wasn't preparing my child for bike rides in the Spring, which is what, 27 months away?

Or teaching him how to take himself for walks in the snow.

Or cleaning up after things like this:

Or watching him meticulously line up the little car parts that he perfectly matches MATCHES every.time. He iz genius.

Or catching him climbing the coffee table cliff-hanger style. So this is why my table will never be clean.

Or giving him more presents. And watching him do his best Forest Gump impressions.

Or clapping along while he holds ho-downs with Papa to the tune of Old MacDonald.

Or just simply loving the shit out of him at all hours of the day.

*I have lost 6 pounds since 12.28.09 (I like to put it that way because it seems SOOoooo long ago). Check out my journey, and the journey of 3 other bad-ass chicks here.

**I am going to Boston, BOSTON soon. Never been. So excited. Packing snow suit.

Written With Earplugs In

Why oh why won't you nap? Why for you scream in your crib like someone is murdering you? Is this payback? I am told at least once a month about how I NEVER napped and OMG. Halp. If you see the Sandman, Sandwoman, Tranquilizer Dart-seller Man. Send them my way.

**edited for answer to the questions I so desperately needed answered**

EFFING MOLARS, that's why. I was really brave and stuck my fingers in his mouth and there they were. Culprits one, two, THREE?! FOUR?!?! No wonder you can't sleep.