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.