Thursday, February 25, 2010

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!

Monday, February 22, 2010

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.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

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 me.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010


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

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

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.