Showing posts from February, 2015

Do you ever?

Do you ever think back to those treats of your youth and remember how good they were? Or do you remember that person being so tall when you were so short? Or that place that had the coolest things?

And you revisit that person who isn't quite so tall anymore and those cool things in that place? Not so cool. Not like Neverland and Michael Jackson kind of uncool, but just uncool. A Twinkee? It's just not so good anymore- they're oily, more oily than you remember, and the satisfaction does not last the way it once did. Don't get me started on Little Debbie Cakes. Tucked in the back of my mother's pantry, there might be a box still hidden and those perfect little cakes wrapped in their cellophane wrapper probably look like they did twenty five years ago. Fortunately, my mother stays on top of her pantry much better than my father does with his garage.

The garage has 32 hammers. I digress.
64 screwdrivers. 25 of which are flat head. Must... quit... digressing...

The othe…

Fuzzy at one month

Hair... still red.
Tears... often and regular.
Eating... a lot.
Gaining weight... proficiently.
Diaper rash... waxing and waning.

He's small- albeit his sister's best efforts to help him gain weight... neither he nor I were really impressed with Bennie the other day when she gave him eggs. In his mouth. As he cried. Good job, Bennie. Thanks for your help. Mental note: don't leave children alone. Ever.

On a good night- he wakes up twice, once about 1:30 and again about 5:30. On a bad night, it's 1:30, 2:15, 3:37, 4:10, 5:45, 6:30... and then he sleeps until noon. Those nights aren't my favorite.

Here he is... one month on the outside:

Boxes of Wine

At this moment, this exact moment, I have a glass of red wine the size of Texas next to me. Leenie is back in Bennie's room throwing stuffed animals at her. Literally.

To make the odds a little more in Leenie's favor, Bennie is trapped in her crib. Leenie jumps on the twin bed across the room and slings whatever animal she can reach in the basket at her sister. Half of them have hit the chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. The monkey with long arms has caught itself on the chandelier and precariously hangs by a velcro thread.

Bennie laughs.

I cringe.

Fuzzy screams from the bassinet in my bedroom.

Where was I when this debacle stared? Not sitting next to a glass red wine the size of Texas, I can say that much. One clue...


Strapped to the plastic cones, I let my head fall back against the chair as the BZZZZZt continues. Bennie laughs. Leenie screams. Fuzzy cries.

Husband is on call.

I have mastitis. How is the word "t*t…

Almost There

We have to get the tiny baby back up to his birth weight. I have mentioned this before. To track his progress, we put him on the kitchen scale:

He is really not a fan of this process. Can you blame him? He fits in a bowl, for Pete's sake.

And what am I doing? Ohhh... taking pictures of him crying.

A few moments of thought and I remember an acrylic tray in our pantry. He seems to like this much better:

I like that he is 6 pounds 12 ounces and is within shouting distance of those last two ounces he needs. Grow, Fuzzy, GROW!

Two sleeping children

I currently have two sleeping children in this house and one at school.
I have had a shower- my hair is still wet, but I have had a shower.

Husband was on call last night and I kept the two youngest while Mom had the oldest. We went to bed early, but I still felt a bit like a rockstar.

Slowly- very slowly... okay, maybe not- it's barely been two weeks... but, slowly for me- I am starting to grasp parenting three. And let's be perfectly clear: I could not do half of what I have done without my mom. I have only had to manage two while she picks up one of the girls- if not both- more often then I should admit. Yesterday, Bennie was quite pleased with herself about most everything. Husband was actually the one who called mom and asked if she wanted to adopt a middle child for a few hours in order to save her life. She readily agreed.

I feel like I am constantly neglecting at least one child. The one that should take up the least amount of time as he is currently a glorified paperw…

We bought a freezer

Husband likes projects. He doesn't sit still all that well. Neither of us do. Constantly, he is moving and working on something. Recently, he picked up brewing beer. It's a developing hobby and something that I find entertaining to watch.

In brewing beer, supplies are needed. A big jug, a little jug, beakers, stirring plates- the kitchen turns into the lair of a mad scientist and his nerdy-ness comes to light. As he cooks, the house starts to smell like an old bakery as the yeast does what it does.

About a week ago, Husband was playing on the computer and started laughing.

"What's so funny?" I ask, thinking there would be a conversation about Facebook in our immediate future.

"I bought a freezer."

"You what?"

"I bought a freezer."

"Off of Craigslist?"

"No... eBay."

"You bought a freezer off of eBay? Is it local?"

"No. Columbia."


"South Carolina."

"Oh...." I paus…

The Past Few

The kid is 8 days old. We are working on a semblance of a pattern. Some might call it a schedule, but  I am smarter than to say such. Just when I think I have it down (eating every three hours, for instance)- I get a curve ball.

"He's hungry."
"I just fed him."
"Tell that to the fingers he is trying to get milk from."
"Dangit." Only, I'm not saying dangit. And the parable of getting honey from the rock is coming to mind.

No milk in the fingers.
No honey in the rock.

There is, however, nourishment found at the bottom of a ready-made Enfamil bottle.

It's the one place where you will find my sensitivity very, very vulnerable. "He's hungry" sometimes makes me want to cry.

It's for a good reason Husband worries about his intake. He lost weight after he was born. A lot. More than anyone was really pleased with. Born at six pounds 13 ounces- he came home at six pounds on the dot and weighed 5 lb. 14 oz at his one week chec…