W.W. or duck crossing or spring is coming! or I heart the suburbs

is this a "boy" thing?

It's 7am, Saturday morning.  Noone is rushing out the door, we can lounge in our 1000 count Egyption cotton sheets, smell the coffee being automatically brewed, listen to the birds chirp their morning song, cats curled up by our feet...and a nearly 2 year old boy singing...

 WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! YaYaYaYaYaYaYaYa! Waaaaaaaaaa!!!!!

Anyhoosit, on days like this I wait until de Milo's volume is at CRITICAL -"I am going to PUKE if someone doesn't get ME THE HELL UP ON OUTTA HERE! HELLO! YaYaYa.  Aaaaahhhh.  I'm stiLL HERE. In MA CRIB! YoYoYo. KITTY!  DeeDeeDEE!"

And that is when I get up, do a quick face splash and teeth brushing, and do the cat walk to what used to be a sweet, angelic nursery quickly turned into a Chippendales Show featuring a Golden Shower...

what?

Yeah.  12 hours before I had a clothed, sweet smelling, babbling baby boy.

In his place?

A completely NAKED, and when I say NAKED, I mean NAKED -no shirt, no pants, no DIAPER and -let's not leave this out- PEEING onto his mattress.

Yeah.

"MILO!" with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. 

What does he do? Glances up and smiles as if to to say, "Oh, HI!  Good morning, mumsy! Did I wake you? Could you please hand me my shirt?  What's for breakfast?!"

Romantical, Naptime, and Mistakes

Today was all sorts of planned out.

1. catch up on sleep.  check!
2. go to yoga. check!
3. go to grocery store get romantical dinner supplies, buy potted plants for sad empty pots on porch. go through car wash, vaccum if so inspired, get a haircut, maybe an eyebrow wax, have dinner ready for family by 5pm...

So...what happened?

After yoga, I get in the car and check my phone.  Mistake #1.  Voicemail from daycare stating, "Your husband said you were going to pick up Milo after lunch.  He's already eatten lunch and ready for his nap.  Are you picking him up in the next few minutes or should I put him down?"

(enter guilt)


So I call back and say I'm on my way.  Mistake #2. Afterall, he'll get a better sleep in his own crib, right?

 (side note: I did, technically, tell the husband I would get Milo around noon this morning as they were walking out the door.  But that was only because I allowed the "I get shit done queen" ghost enter my body and talk before I had a chance to realize that that is just...silly...)

Let's fast foward nearly 3 hours.  I've showered, done miscelanneous chores, laundry, read a bunch of blogs,  talked to hubby and asked why he is sabotaging my day, he got all defensive and rude, hung up without saying I love you, listened to my aerobic and choir boy son in his crib, rocked him 3 times, 2 bottles (sue me), and now sitting here with a glass of wine (at 3:30 in afternoon. Yup.).

Huh.

It's quiet now.  The baby monitor is no longer vibrating off the counter with his antics.  You wanna guess how this day ends?

Pizza, beer, and a kid who doesn't want to go to bed until 9pm tonight due to a LATE ASS NAP. This is ROMANCE BABY!

Boo.

Next time?  Wait until AFTER THE NAP to EVER (unless there is an emergency of course) pick him up from daycare. Also? Leave the cell phone at home. And?  Have enough wine in the fridge for back up.

Wordless Wednesday or "Brothers and Sons"

Uh Oh

 What happened?

Marker in the cats water bowl.  It happens...

p.s. Needless to say, he's perfected the saying, "Uh Oh."

The Foot Appointment. Wasn't my best look.

So, about that foot.  That mother flippin' pediatric podiatrist appointment.  I'm now allowing it to rest in peace.  But FIRST, let's tell a story...

Why COME, on the eve of every doc appointment, the hubby and I get to hear the sweet whining sounds of our little loved one at 3 IN THE FREAKING MORNING?

I SAID WHY COME!!

So, as 6am comes rolling around and I begin the 45 minute process of "the snooze button dance" (side note: it's called a dance because I have to actually get out of bed, stumble and swerve across the room to press snooze. Brilliant, eh?) every 9 minutes, all the while thinking, "let's reschedule the appointment."  The appointment that *I* think is unnecessary.  What's another week? Or month even? Let's go to the park instead! Marshmellows! Toast! YAY!

But, alas, the day has been scheduled.  Work and daycare have been called off.  It just wouldn't be right to sleep in and blow it all off.  Right? This is one of those "I'm not interested in adulthood.  Not really interested. AT. ALL.  Not today. Nope."

So, it's pretty clear that whatever the day brings, I'm not going to "roll with the punches." I'm not going to "grin and bear it." I"m not going to "Shut my face noone wants to deal with you and the psychoticism that eventually explodes in all kinds of green shades out of your ears."

So we buckle up and head north to what should be an hour and 15 minute or so drive.  As the rain pours down harder, the wheels on the car go slower...2 hours later we arrive to the CAMPUS that I totally underestimated.  And even though you can't really miss this hospital, I thought it wise to drive RIGHT PAST IT because THE DIRECTIONS IN MY HEAD TOLD ME SO.  BECAUSE I LOVE DOING THINGS THE HARD WAY.  So we turned around and the tension thickens...So, then, of course, we pick a random parking garage because we have NO IDEA WTF ANYTHING.  And  I need to get OUT of the car.

Then we find out we're in the wrong building.  Then we find out we need to take a shuttle. Then we find out the shuttle just left and it'll be another 15 minutes.  NO, I'm NOT walking.  And, NO, Milo won't stay in his stroller unless it is being strolled....

So stroll away I do as the wind is whipping and the rain is falling. Milo is still with the cranky whine and being a jerk face jerking movements. (we were under a covered awning, btw)

Oh, we've only JUST BEGUN...

So fast forward to check-in.  They have a lovely waiting area that is entirely child appropriate.  Meaning they have toys, art supplies, tv with cartoons flashing, wall art, wall games...ALL of which Milo really enjoyed for all. of. 3. minutes.

What does he prefer?  Elevators, random doors, water fountains, other kids faces, whining, flopping, kicking, hitting, biting, flailing, running, random hallways, DON'T YOU DARE PICK ME UP AND SHUSH ME, time out?  HAHA -AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN PEOPLE...

for 2 hours.  2 hours? 2 hours.  Really? 2 HOURS? Yeah. Yeah....yeah....

Those that follow me on Twitter or FB got to witness:

*no sleep. 2 hour drive. wrong parking deck. shuttle with screaming baby. 1 hour wait so far with said cranky baby. FML

11:03 AM 
 
*dear johns hopkins: a $10 gift cert to the gift shp does not make up for an hour and a half wait with an OfF THE WALL child!!

11:23 AM 
 
*peaceful calm blue ocean waves...peaceful calm blue...GoD DAMIT Johns!

11:32 AM

*did i mention my appt was at 10am? STILL WAITING

11:37 AM

So our number gets called at OH, I DON'T KNOW, NOON or so...and let's just skip to the point here and I quote,

"One foot is inverted 15 degrees and the other is in 30 degrees.  You're sons feet are fine.  In past generations, they would prescribe braces or special shoes.  But they found out that there wasn't enough evidence that they really worked.  So, just keep an eye on it, but his feet should straighten out on their own."

Blink, Blink.

"Any questions?"

I reply, "So nothing wrong with how he walks?  The x-rays looked good?"

"We're not seeing any issues at this time.  Feel free to come back if anything changes."

Blink. Blink.

So, in no time, we are out of there.  On one hand greatful for the peachy keen feet of our son, on the other hand....just SO DONE with the whole thing.

On the elevator down a bit of perspective hits me in the face: a young girl maybe 7 or so is on the elevator with her parents.  She's bald, frail, and very pale.  So things could be way, way worse.  I glance at my active, cranky, but healthy son, and I mentally write this in my gratitude journal...

So we find our way back to the shuttle stop.  And wait. For 15 minutes.  In the rain.  Awesome.
Milo quickly falls asleep on the ride home and I'm thinking: the only thing that will make this better is sushi.  So we drive to a restaurant just off the highway...

Guess what restaurant doesn't open for another 2 hours?  At this point, I was so tired, so hungry, and so wanting to blame the whole day on Hubby McParanoid because this whole "we need to get his foot checked out" was his Dr. McDreamy idea. But I am all done with conflict. There may have been some tears. Perhaps.

You know what makes someone even angrier?  Tell them to stop crying.  It took all my amazing coping and effective communication skills to tell him, "THIS IS HOW I'M CHOOSING TO DEAL WITH MY FRUSTRATION AND ANGER WITHOUT HURTING SOMEBODY.  MmmK?"

So then guess who woke up after a mere 30 minutes of napping? And then would not go back down once we got home?

Yeah. Yeah.  Yeah...

The End.

St. Pat's Comparative or Mood Disorder

Hi! I'm 8 months old!  I'm cute! I'm happy! Hi!

WHAT!? I'm 20 months old! Why did you put me in this onesie?! AGAIN?! This is stupid! 

*sigh*