Super Human Strength

When I was super-pregnant with Baba (like 8 and a half months about to pop any minutes pregnant), I decided that I could no longer live with the way our living room furniture was arranged. My loving husband watched from his computer as his wife, the newest super hero "Pregnant Girl" moved couches, end tables, entertainment centers, and a super heavy steamer trunk that came from the old country around the living room. His only comment was about the temperature of the house when I became warm and turned off the heat so I could open the front door for some air. I fail to see what his problem was, just because it was January in Minnesota.

Today "Pregnant Girl" and all her hormonal glory and strength made her return. I could no longer live with the current arrangement of furniture in the living room. The boy kept asking why I needed to rearrange the living room (he was watching Toy Story and got a ride on the couch and the recliner while I was moving them). Rather than explain hormones and the nesting instinct to him, I just told him I was tired of the way the furniture was arranged.

This time, Zippy helped. I'm not sure if he didn't want his pregnant wife rearranging alone or if he was afraid I would get overheated and freeze Baba to the couch. Either way, I had help.

Cleveland

Thursday, March 13:

Besides for the boy locking himself into a bathroom stall in a gas station in Wisconsin (my deepest apologies for anyone who desperately needed to use that stall, but I wasn't crawling under to unlock it) and his obsession with eating at "Talking Bell" the trip to Cleveland was uneventful. When we got to Zeagan's house, the boy announced he was hungry and she should cook him supper. Zeagan doesn't cook - she makes reservations, so he got an apple instead.

Friday, March 14:

We went to Mongolian BBQ for lunch - my child ate crab, baby corn, and 5 tortillas. He also taste tested everything that Zippy and I got, but that's not unusual. He is really into sharing - which means he eats everything you have.

After lunch, we went to the Children's Museum which had a Galapagos Island exhibit. It was basically a room filled with sand that the boy could dig in to his heart's content.

Saturday, March 15:

We went to Mama Santa's for lunch (yum) and then road the Rapid downtown to visit Zeagan at work. My child ate a butter sandwich and made Zeagan "Hot Cocoa" which was chunks of bread, spinach, and whatever else he could throw in his cup when we weren't watching.

Sunday, March 16:

We had lunch at Panini's (a panini, that is, a real panini, is a beautiful thing), wandered around Coventry, and then headed back to Zeagan's to play with Zabby. The boy impressed us with his mad verbal skillz:

Boy: (gives Zabby brown marker) You can color with this one.

Zabby: Thank you.

Boy: Do you like brown?

Zabby: Yes. Do you like brown?

Boy: I like making in the potty. Do you like making brown in the potty?

Zabby: Yes.

Zippy and I were rolling on the floor. Zabby is 5. I wish I would have had a video camera on those two.

Monday, March 17:

We drove to Wisc. Dells to spend the night at the Atlantis Water park. It is the perfect place for Baba to play - the deepest part of the kiddy pool is 1 foot. The boy runs around the pool (seriously) for a couple hours, goes to bed, wakes up and repeats.

Tuesday, March 18:

We get up and go to IHOP or the pancake store, depending on who you ask for breakfast. The boy "shares" breakfast with Zippy and I. We swim some more and return home.

The Cat

I believe Mr. Wili misses Baba. My mom said she sat in this position for 20 minutes last night.

Don't worry, Wili, we will be home soon and Baba can't wait to see you. He misses you, too.

(By the way, Wili, the back view is not flattering, you look very big furred. Remember, the paparazzi is always watching you)

The Farm Room in all its glory

The bed is revealed

Pa built Baba a wagon bed, complete with wheels and a hitch.

I wish I was almost three and got so excited about stuff that I forgot words.

Baba's New Room

Mr. and Mrs. Zooker came down to paint this weekend. We aren't finished, but this is the boy's reaction to what we've done so far (Pa built the barn).

Routine OB check

There is nothing routine about a routine OB check with an almost three year old. Baba has accompanied me on almost all of my appointments so he knows the routine. He knows how many receptionists are supposed to be working ("Where'd that other guy go?" I guess there were three "guys" last time, and only two today), how many nurses there are, how many lab techs are in the lab, and where the good toys are.

We got to the doctor and checked in. Baba played with the toys until they called for our turn. As we walked back, he said, "Hi jelly man," to the ultrasound tech (he hasn't seen her since Jan, how does he recognize her?). Then, to his wonder, I got to be pee in a cup. He asked if he could pee in a cup. I said no. He asked if he could see my potty. I told him to look with his eyes. He said, "Wow, Mom! You made lots of potty." I felt like taking a bow.

We walked across the hall to the lab and waited for it to be 4:30 so they could draw blood for the glucose tolerance test (I passed, hooray!). Baba asked the tech why she didn't take blood out my arm and why she didn't take more blood.

Then we got to go to the "little room" and wait for the doctor. During our last trip, he was fascinated by the stirrups. I told him they were so the doctor could look at a patient's feet. Because he's almost three and I know everything, he believed me.

As soon as he finished his sucker (I was so prepared), the doctor came in. He said, "Doctor, why is there no little potty in the bathroom for me to go potty in?" I thought it was a fair question and the doctor said he didn't know why there was no little potty, but he would check into it.

The doctor had me hop (relative term) on the exam table. Baba asked, "Are you going to look at Mom's feet?" Luckily, my doctor has a sense of humor and remembered Baba from last time and said that he wasn't going to look at my feet today.

He put the fetoscope on my belly and asked if Baba knew what that sound was. Baba said, "Yes! That's Rudolphtherednosedreindeerfionna." The doctor looked at me and I explained that the boy is convinced that's his sister's name. He said he's heard a lot of unique names, but that is by far the most unique.

After playing with Baba's trucks for a few minutes, the doctor said he'd see us in four weeks. Baba asked, "Where are you going?"

The doctor said, "I've got to get back to work."

My child said, "Get to work, mister!"

Life is definetly more exciting with an almost three year old.

The most important thing I learned.....

I spent the past weekend painting. I spent the weekend before this weekend painting. I like painting. You see, I've come to the conclusion that the belly is not getting any smaller, and panicked. This house will be painted before Rudolph makes her appearance. Paiting around the toilet in our bathrooms (I've got one bathroom left!) is quickly becoming not an option.

I've discovered something during the hours I've spent high on paint fumes - the most important thing I've ever learned is to properly clean a paint brush.

A college degree, a brain brimming over with useless facts, working knowledge of Microsoft Office suites later and the most important thing I know is something I learned in 7th grade art. That and I love my paint brush. When Zippy told me that my little paint brush (stolen from the art room when I was a senior in high school) was "broken" I almost cried. I couldn't imagine having to replace that brush. It'd be like finding a new leg. The replacement might work, but it just wouldn't be the same.

I wonder what my parental units would have said had I told them I wasn't going to college - I had already learned the most important thing I could ever learn - how to clean a paintbrush.

What I did last night.....

My super exciting evening:

I got off of work and picked up the boy from day-care. Apparently, he had been standing at the window saying, "Want you here now, Mom. Hurry up," since he got up from his nap. Everyday it gets tougher and tougher to want to go to work. We went to 'Great-Donalds' to celebrate the day's potty success (can I help it if I wanted ice cream?).

Then we ran around Great-Donalds for a while. A local Great-Donalds used to have a gas station attached. The gas station went out of business, but the gas station part of it is still there - so basically its one big room. Lots of fun for running. Then Baba decided he wanted to go to the library and pick out a Thomas movie. We went but arrived at the library 6 minutes after it closed. No Thomas movie. Darn.

So we went home and watched Clifford instead. We had a lovely dinner of soup and grilled cheese (um, Zennie, I hate to admit it, but Patty-Lou was right, I totally got heartburn from soup. Of course, I get heartburn from breathing because I'm pregnant.....) when Zippy came home and then it was time for Baba to go to bed. Baba disagreed. We made a deal - if he went upstairs and got ready for bed, then we could watch one (1) Thomas story. We watched one (1) Thomas story and then Zippy shut off the TV. You would have though Zippy threw Baba's Pudgie (favoritest stuffed animal) out the window. Baba demanded justice - Dad needed to go in time out for shutting off the TV.

After the fit was over, we went upstairs to read books. I was invited to lay with the boy and accepted. I'm not sure who feel asleep first - me or him.

I woke up to the worst heartburn in the world, took a couple tums, and then got to do my favoritest thing of all: BALANCE MY CHECKBOOK!!!!!! It took me longer than it should have because I pulled the number I was supposed to be balancing to out of my arse. It balanced perfectly once I realized that. Then I went to bed.

The End

Most exciting evening ever?

My quest

Maybe its the hormones talking, but I have decided that Rudolph will not be happy unless she is sleeping in a lime green crib...

And my crib needs to be cheap. I'm not spending a ton of money on something that the child will be sleeping in for maybe 3 years (Baba lasted a year. Apparently, scaling the wall of the crib, balancing on the edge, yelling "Baba jump!" is more fun than sleeping. I suppose hearing/seeing Mom and Dad run into your room after each crash would be amusing).





I mean, really, I've spent at least 5 minutes looking. If they can make a crib like the above, why can't I get a simple, lime green crib. And, its kind of creepy that you would put your child in the belly of a horse to sleep. Of course, Rudolph will be sleeping in the roar room, but still.

Side note. Baba still insists we should name his sister "RudolphtherednosedreindeerFionna." I'm all for unique names and Rudolph is unique, especially for a girl. But can you imagine learning to write that in Kindergarten? The other kids are Joe, Jane, Bob, Kayla, and your name is RudolphtherednosedreindeerFionna.

The Apple and other quick stories

Zippy heard Baba singing "Old McDonald" (always a favorite) in his room tonight when he was supposed to be sleeping. Zippy went in to check on him and found Baba sitting under his nightlight reading one of his farm books.

I so used to do that. When my sister and I used to share a room, we would take turns reading under the night light. And take turns tattling on the other for reading under the night light when we were supposed to be sleeping. Sometimes, he is so much like me, it scares me.

Baba mentioned tonight that he would like his Bob birthday party, please. I asked who he was inviting to the party - Ma, Pa, Mr. & Mrs. Zooker, Ziz, Zicah, Harvard Zosh, and Wili (the cat). It's going to be one heck of a party!

And, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Fionna is still, by far, Baba's favorite name for his baby sister. We have until May to convince him otherwise.

Baba's Rocking Chair

Baba has a rocking chair, which used to be my sister's rocking chair. There is a picture of my sister sitting in what used to be her rocking chair on the wall at my parents house. Baba didn't really notice it until Christmas. And then became obsessed with why Mrs. Zucher was in her rocking chair and "what can we do to get her out my rocking chair?"

The other highlight of Christmas was my handsome little man in his suit (refused to wear the tie - wonder where he gets that from) and him tearing the paper off every present at my parents house and then carrying it over to Great Pa to show him.

Survey Says

I take a lot of online surveys. Its a great way to earn some extra cash, but please stop asking me if I would be friends with a certain brand if it came to life. I honestly don't know if I would like Target the person as much as I like Target the store.

An update on the plastic hot dog....

When we were in the bathroom getting ready for bed tonight, Baba noticed the plastic hot dog and said, "That don't belong in the bathroom. The bathroom is for people, not for hot dogs."

The hot dog has safely been relocated to Baba's room.

In my bathroom.....

The following items have taken up residence in my bathroom. If they are yours, please claim them.

1. One red tractor.
2. One green tractor with dual rear wheels.
3. One watch that is 1 hour and 15 minutes fast (it is 15 minutes fast so you think you are running 15 minutes behind and don't dally in the morning. It is an hour fast because we got the watch a couple years ago in a Happy Meal and can't figure out how to change it. In a couple months, it will only be 15 minutes fast).
4. One puzzle book.
5. One hardcover copy of John Gresham's the Rainmaker.
6. One green step stool.
7. One plastic hot dog.
8. One copy of "Let's Build."
9. One blue cup.
10. One super old copy of Fortune magazine.

Haircuts

Zippy and I had been thinking Baba needed a haircut for a while. But its so hit and miss with that one - he either screams the entire time or is as good as gold, so we put off the hair cut as long as possible (I trim the back when it starts looking mulletish - no child (or husband) of mine is leaving the house with a mullet).

Last Saturday, out of the blue, Baba announced he wanted Mrs. Mooker (he has taken to calling my sister Mrs. Mooker and nothing else) to cut his hair. I called up Mrs. Mooker and told her to bring her clippers.

After a few minutes, Baba decided he no longer wanted Mrs. Mooker to cut his hair. I asked if Pa could cut his hair. He said no. I asked if Ma could cut his hair. He said no. I asked if Mom or Dad or Mr. Mooker or Pudgie (my parent's dog) could cut his hair. He said no to all of the above.

I asked who could cut his hair.

He thought for a while and then said Harvard Zosh.

In the end, he settled for Mrs. Mooker (who's haircutting name is Dalia, by the way. I think she's adopted).

Swedish Cooking for the Sophisticated Urbanite

Ziz, who fries everything (seriously, fish, zucchini, green tomatoes) in butter flavored Crisco has been insisting that us Swedes are weird since she arrived. We are weird because we eat lefsa (technically, that's Norwegian, but its still darn good), Lutefisk (what's wrong with cod soaked in lye with some nice white sauce? And boiled potatoes, can't forget the boiled potatoes), and pankakor (egg pancakes - they are delicious).

But we throw down tonight. Zippy used my great grandma's recipe and made Swedish meatballs. Yeah, she's coming around. Lutefisk here we come!

Waiting for Christmas

We put up the Christmas tree at our house Saturday night. We were snowed in and had nothing better to do. Since then, Baba has been trying to convince us it is Christmas and it is time to open his presents. Every night he says, "We porgot to open our presents." We take turns telling he we didn't "porget" and he has to wait until Christmas.

Tonight we were talking about why he needs to learn all the letters in his name - so he can "read" the packages on Christmas and pick out which are his. I told him that he would have presents at Great Ma's house, Ma and Pa's house, Grandmy and Grandpy's house, and Baba's new house.

He said, "Wow."

He paused and then asked, "Will Harvard Zosh have presents for me at his house too?"

I told him he can hop on a plane and find out. :-)

Heartbreaking Woogies

The boy has mom/dad cycles. For a couple weeks Zippy will be his best friend and Dad has to do everything. Best of luck to you if you try to serve him breakfast in the morning and you aren't Dad. "Want Dad to pour my cereal." "Want Dad put me in my car seat"

Currently, he is on his Mom cycle. Which means I can do no wrong and Dad can do nothing. He wakes up in the middle of the night and Zippy, being a good husband/father goes to check on him. Baba yells, "No Dad! Don't want you. Me want Mom!"

There are plus sides of being his current favorite. He literally dances for joy when I come home from work, or down the stairs, or leave a room and come back. And he has an abundance of kisses, hugs, and woogies for me.

My child is the inventor of the Woogie. A woogie is a pinch to the cheek done while saying, "Woogie, woogie, woogie." Not really sure where that came from. But, since woogies are rather painful (especially when his sharp little claws get involved), I like to sic him on Zippy. "Go Woogie Dad, Baba." And, since I'm the current favorite, he complies.

Tonight we were watching "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" for the 97th time this weekend (okay, so realistically, it was only the fifth time (which is 5 hours of Christmas fun) since Saturday morning, but my tolerance for bad late 60's Christmas cartoons is waning. The "classic" Christmas shows are shows you watch once a year, not once an hour, but I digress. At least we've moved on from Frosty the Snowman. That sucker is only 20 minutes long. That's three times an hour. You do the math). Baba turned around and said, "Me want to watch backwards so I can look at you Mom."

Yeah, just about made me cry. Little stinker makes it so hard for me to leave him.

Christmas Tree Decorating

Every year we put up the Christmas tree Thanksgiving weekend. It used to be Thanksgiving day as soon as we got home from Grandma and Grandpa whoever's house, but now we have a 7 PM bedtime to think about. We'd pull the tree out of the box (artificial all the way), throw on the ugliest ornaments we could find (you know, the crap you made in kindergarten), and then crawl under the tree and scream Christmas carols at the top of our lungs. Silver bells has always been a favorite.





Not much has changed. We are our all older, but we still come home to put up my parent's tree on or about Thanksgiving day. We still crawl under the tree and scream (last year, Baba was terrified of our, um, singing. This year he thought it was hilarious). And we still find the ugliest kindergarten crap we can find. Pickings were slim this year as my stinking mother has started to throw away/hide some of our "best" work. We'll make up for it throughout the Christmas season by putting various crap (empty beer cans is always a favorite) on the tree.





Nothing like a family tradition to put in you in the holiday spirit.