Sleeping with the Enemy

Justin is not much of a talker, which bodes well for our relationship as I never shut up. 


Justin simply isn't a chatty fellow - that is, until his head hits the pillow. Justin just doesn't talk in his sleep, he delivers full-fledged monologues. He'll also answer questions and has entire conversations with me that he doesn't remember

I've watched him conduct meetings, host a radio show, and lately, he's been dodging arrows that he believes are being shot through our window.


Its amusing and exhausting. Between Justin's performances, his snoring, and the kids, I don't think I've gotten a full night's sleep in years.

Since I don't sleep much in our bedroom, I've decided that it should at least be pretty - so when I'm staring at the walls listening to the beast roar beside me, I've got a nice room to look at.


I purchased an old armoire and spent a few days sanding and repainting it before I enlisted Justin and his father to haul it upstairs.


Though I had measured the space in the room, I didn't account for getting it into the bedroom. The armoire couldn't make the turn in the hallway - it was just too big. 


After a lot of time, a lot of discussion and many failed attempts, it was called a loss - it just wasn't going to fit.


I was upset, but there was nothing to do done. 


That is until my brilliant father-in-law went home and fetched my kid's toy wooden blocks. He made a mock-up of the hallway/bedroom and worked out a plan to work my armoire into my bedroom.


The next day, my armoire was nestled comfortably in the bedroom and I was filled with joy.


Apparently, my husband was filled with rage.


That night, I awoke to him shouting into his pillow.


"Stupid armoire," he snarled. "It's not going with us when we move...Stupid heavy piece of junk."


I usually ignore sleep-talking but this got my full attention.


"Justin," I said. "Why are you talking about the armoire?"


He turned his back to me, nuzzled down into pillow and said calmly, "Because...Tomorrow -I'm going to burn it."

Scary Baby Buys - Part II

Its been over a year since I wrote Scary Baby Buys and since then I've come across a few more products that make me laugh, gag, or shake my head in wonder - I hope you do the same. Enjoy!

1. The Snot Sucker

I love my children and will do anything to help them when they're sick, but I draw the line at sucking their snot out with a straw. Um, gross. Plus, I'm pretty sure no child is going to sit so serenely while something is shoved up his/her nose. The baby below is clearly drugged...that lady is stoned - her modeling career didn't exactly go as planned. 

2. Sleep Sack

How old is this kid?? Twelve? What in the world is he still doing in a sleep sack??? If your kid can walk and is still in a sleep sack, you might have gone wrong somewhere in the sleep training process...maybe time to review and see if you missed a step.

3. Sucker Dust
Guess what this is? Give up? It's personalized fairy dust. Guess how much it cost? $68. Really....there are no words.

5. Birthing Gown

This isn't just an ugly maternity dress. It is a designer hospital gown. Yep, because you can't just give birth and bleed all over the gown that's provided - that would be be unsightly. For $60 you can bleed all over this one.

6. Hmmmm 
I got a catalog in the mail yesterday pedaling mismatched socks. I have to admit it took me a few minutes to figure it out...but the gist is this: You give them $16 - they give you three socks that don't match! Apparently there is a market for such a thing. Why is it that I always miss out on those million dollar ideas?

7. Probably My Mother's Day Present

I'm a breast-feeding advocate. I breast-fed all three of my children with varying degrees of success. However, this necklace is just every degree of wrong...

8. Baby Cadaver Pajamas 

This is gross Old Navy! My son is made of frogs, snail and puppy dog tails  - not grody organs. Who wants to see their sweet little baby laying in his crib with his internal organs  drawn on the outside. I don't want to imagine my baby as a cadaver!

9. The Suggestive Baby Book

Jack got this book for Christmas, and I know it's supposed to be a finger puppet baby  - but COME ON - that thing looks like a creepy penis. We don't really like wiggling this "baby" at our son.

Mountain Doo-Doo

I love to shop for the kids. I'll shop for them anywhere - whether I'm browsing through racks at a high-end department store or digging through tubs at a garage sale - if I'm shopping for the kids, I'm in my element. 

One of my favorite shopping activities includes taking myself to the GAP  - filling my arms with as much as I can carry, sitting in a corner - huddled in the back of the store - and sorting through my finds as I decide what to purchase. This is obviously done sans kids as this process can be quite time consuming - and heavenly. 


Call me a junky, but babyGAP is like a shot of the good stuff in my veins. But like I said, I'm not all that picky - I'll take a cheap hit from a garage sale whenever I can find it....and that is where I recently picked up a new T-Shirt for Hadley.

Hadley is a messy girl. I'm pretty sure that if I didn't insist, she would still eat all foods - including her favorites (mac & cheese and yogurt) with her hands. There aren't a whole lot of hand-me-downs for Cameron because Hadley manages to stain nearly everything she wears. I like to get T-shirts at garage sales so she can bask in all her messy glory without me having a stroke.

My latest yard sale find for Hadley was a green T-Shirt that said Mountain Dew across the front. I paid fifty cents for it, and I thought she'd love it because her favorite color is green. Now, while I don't relish the idea of using my daughter to promote a sugary, calorie-latent, teeth-rotting soft drink, I do relish the idea of her having an inexpensive play shirt that she'll like wearing because it is her favorite color.

I showed her my yard sale find to which she exclaimed, "Mountain Dew? I'm never wearing that!"

"Why?" I asked. "It's your favorite color."

"Mountain Dew?" she relied. "Like Mountain Doo-Doo? You want me to wear a shirt that says Mountain Poop?"

"Hadley," I said in an exasperated tone. "Dew is like the wet stuff on the grass in the morning. This is like dew on a mountain. Its nature - its kind of a pretty thought."

"Mom," she said. "Its Mountain Doo-Doo like Poop."

I gave up. If she didn't want to wear the fifty cent T-shirt, I certainly wasn't going to fight that battle.

A few days later, however, we were going to the park and then to Rural King (a farming superstore) to look at the baby chickens, and I handed her her Mountain Doo-Doo T-Shirt to wear. She put it on but told me that it was an ugly shirt and that she never wanted to wear it again.

Fine. Fine. And off we went to Rural King. Yes, my red-neck daughter was wearing a Mountain Dew T-Shirt at the Rural King.

However, as we were leaving it became apparent that she fit right in.  We walked across the parking lot only to find an older man with a big belly wearing the EXACT same Mountain Doo-Doo T-Shirt. 

Perfect.

Hadley's face grew red and her eyes blazed at me. 

"YOU HAVE DRESSED LIKE THAT OLD GUY!!!!!!!" she screamed quite loud enough for him to hear.

"Okay, okay," I whispered to her. "You never have to wear it again. Just be quiet."

She wasn't quiet. 

The poor man in his Mountain Doo-Doo T-Shirt made his way over to us, and I wanted to make a run for it to the mini-van, but I stood politely and smiled.

He said to Hadley, "Mountain Dew - huh? That's some good stuff."

To which Hadley replied, "Its disgusting. Like poop."

I politely smiled at the man and then took their picture together. Hadley and her Mountain-Doo Doo Twin. 

For taking this picture - I owe Hadley one goldfish.

Jack Update

Jack is now 18 months old and I couldn't be more proud of him. He's a super sweet little boy and doesn't make anything all that difficult - aside from going anywhere or doing much of anything of course.


That being said, he's a bit of a brute. I'm pretty sure he could tackle and kill a wild boar with his bare hands, and I'm also quite certain that if thrown into a Hunger Games arena the kid would emerge the victor. He's a bulldozer.


However, he doesn't speak. He doesn't have time. He has shit to destroy - such as our home and everything in it.


Although I can't be certain as to why my child isn't speaking. I do have some ideas. Remember this? 

If you need a reminder - Click Here: Baby 101

While I'm proud that he can nearly climb a tree, I would appreciate if he could ask for milk rather than screeching while I guess what he needs.


True to his inner-neandrathal he primarily communicates through a grunting and pointing. And when very frustrated, he screams until my ears are bleeding and my eyes are crying.


"Jack - what do you want? Do you want that toy? A bow and arrow to shoot that squirrel? Another bat to beat your sister with? No? Oh!! Oh!!! Milk....You just want milk. Fine. Okay - Here. Please stop screaming now. Go back to hitting your sister."


Because his speaking skills aren't quite up to par with his physical skills, Jack will begin working with a speech therapist today....That is if she can lure him down from the roof.

Jack at his first Speech Therapy Session.