We just got back from having fast food for our New Year's Eve dinner. As you can probably guess, that wasn't the original plan.
A couple of our friends invited us to meet them at a steakhouse, and we were excited. We hadn't had a chance to hang out with them in quite a while. Plus, they have a son who's only 3 months younger than Biscuit.
Jeff and I used the call-ahead seating option, thinking it would make things easier with the boys, as 2-year-olds aren't known for their patience.
We got to the restaurant, and our friends were already there. They didn't know we had called ahead, so they had put their name on the wait list. We met at 5 p.m., thinking that should ensure us a quick wait before being able to eat (or more accurately, a quick wait before we could feed our boys).
Our friends were told there was a 30-minute wait. And Jeff and I found out the call-ahead seating was baloney. All they did was move our name from the call-ahead list to the bottom of the wait list.
At 6 p.m., we were still waiting, and the hostesses were still telling people it would be 30 minutes as they walked in the door. One of our boys was on the verge of a meltdown, and the other was starting to whine about being hungry.
Our friend made a joke about just going to a fast food place, and the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Even if they had called our name next to take us to our table, we would still have had to wait for our server, then wait for our drinks, then wait for our food. And for toddlers, waiting for an hour to get to the table is bad enough, much less all the other stuff.
So we had some fast food and let the boys play, the adults were able to talk, and we had plenty of room to spread out. We were all getting pretty stressed out at the steakhouse, so I think the fast food place just allowed us to be more relaxed and at ease.
It wasn't exactly what we had planned for our New Year's Eve, but anyone who's had a toddler knows that 2-year-olds are unpredictable, and until they're not toddlers anymore, our lives will be unpredictable, too.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Merry Christmas (a little late)
Biscuit was in a singing mood today, and as we were packing up the Christmas decorations, he grabbed some jingle bells and started singing.
This song will be our official closing ceremonies of Christmas.
This song will be our official closing ceremonies of Christmas.
Happy Biscuit
Biscuit is happy. And that makes Mama happy.
And for those you who aren't familiar with kids' TV, first of all, you're very lucky! and secondly the song Biscuit is singing is the theme song to "Wonder Pets."
"Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we're on our way
To help a baby animal and save the day
We're not too strong, and we're not too tough
But when we work together, we've got the right stuff.
Goooooo Wonder Pets, Yaaaaayyyyy!"
And for those you who aren't familiar with kids' TV, first of all, you're very lucky! and secondly the song Biscuit is singing is the theme song to "Wonder Pets."
"Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we're on our way
To help a baby animal and save the day
We're not too strong, and we're not too tough
But when we work together, we've got the right stuff.
Goooooo Wonder Pets, Yaaaaayyyyy!"
Christmas extended
Biscuit was so overwhelmed (and we were, too) by everyone's generosity at Christmas. He got books and toys and clothes and musical instruments and ... you get the point.
So we decided to hold back a couple presents from Jeff's parents until today.
It was a good idea.
This "Cars"-themed helmet goes with ...
... this "Cars"-themed scooter." Biscuit tried to ride the scooter like we told him, but it didn't work quite right. So ...
He figured out his own way to do it. Either way, it was a great present, and he said, "Giffin happy."
So we decided to hold back a couple presents from Jeff's parents until today.
It was a good idea.
This "Cars"-themed helmet goes with ...
... this "Cars"-themed scooter." Biscuit tried to ride the scooter like we told him, but it didn't work quite right. So ...
He figured out his own way to do it. Either way, it was a great present, and he said, "Giffin happy."
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Speak up!
I won't beat around the bush when I say I think my son is really smart. But hey, don't all parents think their kids are smart?!?
But I would love to tell people out there in the world that we're not trying to impress anybody when we make our son say "hello" or "thank you" or "I want a sannich (sandwich), please." We're trying to teach him how to socialize with people, how to ask for what he wants and how to do both of those things without being a rude little snot.
I translate when it's needed (like when we're ordering at restaurants), but I encourage him to talk to people and ask for what he wants. When my brother and I were kids, our parents made us order at restaurants. They gave us a couple of choices, and when the server came, we told him or her what we wanted to eat.
By doing that, we learned early on that by looking people in the eyes and telling them what we want, they almost always gained some respect for our independence and social abilities, oh, and they gave us what we wanted!
At the time, I'm sure it was just an ego trip for us because someone was making a fuss over us. But now, I can talk to anyone, any time with no problem. And I relate it directly back to my parents teaching us how to do it when we were little.
So now we're working to do the same thing with Biscuit.
Last night, when we had dinner out, I ordered Biscuit's meal, then said to him, "Can you tell her what you'd like for dinner?"
"Sannich and fries," Biscuit said.
I put my hand up for a high-five and said, "Good job, little man!"
But I would love to tell people out there in the world that we're not trying to impress anybody when we make our son say "hello" or "thank you" or "I want a sannich (sandwich), please." We're trying to teach him how to socialize with people, how to ask for what he wants and how to do both of those things without being a rude little snot.
I translate when it's needed (like when we're ordering at restaurants), but I encourage him to talk to people and ask for what he wants. When my brother and I were kids, our parents made us order at restaurants. They gave us a couple of choices, and when the server came, we told him or her what we wanted to eat.
By doing that, we learned early on that by looking people in the eyes and telling them what we want, they almost always gained some respect for our independence and social abilities, oh, and they gave us what we wanted!
At the time, I'm sure it was just an ego trip for us because someone was making a fuss over us. But now, I can talk to anyone, any time with no problem. And I relate it directly back to my parents teaching us how to do it when we were little.
So now we're working to do the same thing with Biscuit.
Last night, when we had dinner out, I ordered Biscuit's meal, then said to him, "Can you tell her what you'd like for dinner?"
"Sannich and fries," Biscuit said.
I put my hand up for a high-five and said, "Good job, little man!"
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
I'm okay, you're okay
Conversation just now with Biscuit:
Biscuit: I okay. I fine.
Me: I'm glad you're fine and okay.
Biscuit: I happy.
Me: It makes me happy that you're happy, little man.
And it really, really does.
Biscuit: I okay. I fine.
Me: I'm glad you're fine and okay.
Biscuit: I happy.
Me: It makes me happy that you're happy, little man.
And it really, really does.
No more apples? CATASTROPHE!
For the past couple of weeks, Biscuit has had a cold and hasn't wanted much to eat. This week, however, he is making up for lost time.
He is requesting food by name, and woe is us if we don't have what he wants. He doesn't understand how we could possibly be out of something he wants to eat.
Tonight was a good example. We had stewed apples last night with dinner, and Biscuit loves him some stewed apples. He ate two pretty-good sized helpings, then asked for more.
Our friend's grandfather died, so we wanted to go to the funeral home for visitation tonight. I had to work late, so I called Jeff and asked if he could give Biscuit a snack that would hold him over until we could have dinner.
Upon opening the fridge, Jeff spied the leftover apples and figured that would be a good snack.
And it was.
Until they were all gone.
And Biscuit wanted more.
Mayhem ensued, and poor Jeff had the nerve to try to appease Biscuit with apple sauce. Nothing doing. Everybody knows stewed apples and apple sauce are nowhere near the same thing.
The sad part is that Jeff said Biscuit had been in a great mood before that. I felt bad for both of them.
We spent about 20 minutes at the funeral home, and I was really pleased with how good Biscuit was. Even when he got antsy and was ready to go, all he did was say to me, "Ready to go home, Mom." He spoke to all the ladies who fussed over him, and he gave hugs to our friends when we got ready to leave. Then he walked over, grabbed his stroller and pushed it to where we were standing.
After the funeral home, we stopped by a restaurant we like. I figured I'd just let Biscuit pick off of my plate. But he asked for a sannich and fries. I was hesitant because when he was sick, we ordered for him at a couple of restaurants, and he didn't even touch the food. But tonight, he chowed down.
When Biscuit moved into the 2-year-old class at daycare, the weekly rate went down $5. I thought that would be a $20 a month bonus, but if he keeps eating like he has this week, it looks like that cash will be redirected toward the grocery bill!
He is requesting food by name, and woe is us if we don't have what he wants. He doesn't understand how we could possibly be out of something he wants to eat.
Tonight was a good example. We had stewed apples last night with dinner, and Biscuit loves him some stewed apples. He ate two pretty-good sized helpings, then asked for more.
Our friend's grandfather died, so we wanted to go to the funeral home for visitation tonight. I had to work late, so I called Jeff and asked if he could give Biscuit a snack that would hold him over until we could have dinner.
Upon opening the fridge, Jeff spied the leftover apples and figured that would be a good snack.
And it was.
Until they were all gone.
And Biscuit wanted more.
Mayhem ensued, and poor Jeff had the nerve to try to appease Biscuit with apple sauce. Nothing doing. Everybody knows stewed apples and apple sauce are nowhere near the same thing.
The sad part is that Jeff said Biscuit had been in a great mood before that. I felt bad for both of them.
We spent about 20 minutes at the funeral home, and I was really pleased with how good Biscuit was. Even when he got antsy and was ready to go, all he did was say to me, "Ready to go home, Mom." He spoke to all the ladies who fussed over him, and he gave hugs to our friends when we got ready to leave. Then he walked over, grabbed his stroller and pushed it to where we were standing.
After the funeral home, we stopped by a restaurant we like. I figured I'd just let Biscuit pick off of my plate. But he asked for a sannich and fries. I was hesitant because when he was sick, we ordered for him at a couple of restaurants, and he didn't even touch the food. But tonight, he chowed down.
When Biscuit moved into the 2-year-old class at daycare, the weekly rate went down $5. I thought that would be a $20 a month bonus, but if he keeps eating like he has this week, it looks like that cash will be redirected toward the grocery bill!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Who is this child?
We've had several instances lately of the stereotypical 2-year-old behavior. Tantrums here and there, picky eating (he used to eat anything you put in front of him), not wanting to do the daily routine things, such as getting a bath, getting dressed or going to bed. None of those things has ever been a problem before.
We had a couple of those instances during the Christmas weekend. He asked for apple sauce then wouldn't eat it. He wanted to watch TV then got up and started playing instead. He wanted his coat on, even though we had no plans to go outside. Just ornery, stubborn, 2-year-old behavior.
Saturday night, we were at my Mama's house. Biscuit woke up about 4 a.m. and started calling my name. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "Want go home, Mom."
Biscuit has a really nice mattress on his bed. Believe it or not, it has the same back support as the mattress on mine and Jeff's bed. So I'm sure that sleeping in a playpen in a room that wasn't his own was not the most desirable way for him to spend a night.
We found out this morning how glad he was to have spent the night in his own bed in his own room.
When Biscuit got up this morning, he was the most cooperative child you could ever imagine. Jeff asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he said he wanted oatmeal. Then he proceeded to eat the entire bowl, non-stop.
After Biscuit finished eating, Jeff took him into our bedroom to strip him down for a bath. Biscuit then walked on his own into our bathroom, climbed over the side of the tub grabbing his duckie on the way and sat down, even though there wasn't any water in the tub yet.
Biscuit allowed Jeff to dress him with no drama. He got his shoes and coat on with no problem. Then he went off to day care as happy as a clam.
Jeff did have to deal with a couple of issues when he went to pick Biscuit up this evening. Apparently, Biscuit was mad that Jeff didn't pick him up in Grandpa's car. Jeff was off last week, so he took his parents around town to do some Christmas shopping. Their car is bigger than Jeff's, so they moved Biscuit's car seat to the back seat of Grandpa's car. I guess Biscuit enjoyed the ride.
The other issue was that Biscuit told Jeff that wanted to go see his Mama. I know that wasn't fun for Jeff, but I have to say, it made me kinda happy. I'll never get tired of hearing that my baby boy wants his Mama.
The sweetness continued into this evening. He cleared his plate at dinner and asked for seconds. Then he was actually excited about taking a bath. He sat with us in the living room for a while.
Then Jeff asked, "Are you ready to go to bed, Biscuit?"
"Yes," Biscuit said. "I ready."
And off to bed he went. Let's hope we have that same sweet kid when Biscuit wakes up tomorrow morning!
We had a couple of those instances during the Christmas weekend. He asked for apple sauce then wouldn't eat it. He wanted to watch TV then got up and started playing instead. He wanted his coat on, even though we had no plans to go outside. Just ornery, stubborn, 2-year-old behavior.
Saturday night, we were at my Mama's house. Biscuit woke up about 4 a.m. and started calling my name. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "Want go home, Mom."
Biscuit has a really nice mattress on his bed. Believe it or not, it has the same back support as the mattress on mine and Jeff's bed. So I'm sure that sleeping in a playpen in a room that wasn't his own was not the most desirable way for him to spend a night.
We found out this morning how glad he was to have spent the night in his own bed in his own room.
When Biscuit got up this morning, he was the most cooperative child you could ever imagine. Jeff asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he said he wanted oatmeal. Then he proceeded to eat the entire bowl, non-stop.
After Biscuit finished eating, Jeff took him into our bedroom to strip him down for a bath. Biscuit then walked on his own into our bathroom, climbed over the side of the tub grabbing his duckie on the way and sat down, even though there wasn't any water in the tub yet.
Biscuit allowed Jeff to dress him with no drama. He got his shoes and coat on with no problem. Then he went off to day care as happy as a clam.
Jeff did have to deal with a couple of issues when he went to pick Biscuit up this evening. Apparently, Biscuit was mad that Jeff didn't pick him up in Grandpa's car. Jeff was off last week, so he took his parents around town to do some Christmas shopping. Their car is bigger than Jeff's, so they moved Biscuit's car seat to the back seat of Grandpa's car. I guess Biscuit enjoyed the ride.
The other issue was that Biscuit told Jeff that wanted to go see his Mama. I know that wasn't fun for Jeff, but I have to say, it made me kinda happy. I'll never get tired of hearing that my baby boy wants his Mama.
The sweetness continued into this evening. He cleared his plate at dinner and asked for seconds. Then he was actually excited about taking a bath. He sat with us in the living room for a while.
Then Jeff asked, "Are you ready to go to bed, Biscuit?"
"Yes," Biscuit said. "I ready."
And off to bed he went. Let's hope we have that same sweet kid when Biscuit wakes up tomorrow morning!
Who ya gonna call?
Biscuit got his very own cell phone and key fob. And of course, they both make noise. The key fob has a cranking car noise, a car alarm and the beep-beep you hear when the doors lock. The phone makes dialing noises and believe it or not, makes clicking noises like you're taking a picture.
Biscuit picked his phone up and started pushing buttons.
"Who are you calling, Biscuit?" I asked.
"Santa Caus," he said.
"What are you going to say to him?" I asked.
"Hey-ho (hello). Santa came see Giffin," Biscuit said into the phone. "Thank you, Santa Caus."
Biscuit picked his phone up and started pushing buttons.
"Who are you calling, Biscuit?" I asked.
"Santa Caus," he said.
"What are you going to say to him?" I asked.
"Hey-ho (hello). Santa came see Giffin," Biscuit said into the phone. "Thank you, Santa Caus."
Christmas morning
We made our usual rounds this Christmas to make sure we spent some time with everybody. We were with Jeff's family on Christmas Eve, home for Christmas morning, then with my family Christmas evening.
I was worried that we would be rushing Biscuit's Christmas time by spending time away from home on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but he seemed to have a good time with everybody and went right along with whatever we were doing.
We took Biscuit to see Santa, and he also has several Christmas-related books, so when Christmas morning came, he sorta got it.
The first problem we had was that he slept late ... really late for him. Biscuit is usually up by 7:30 a.m. at the latest. Even on Saturdays and Sundays. He doesn't understand the sleeping-late-on-weekends thing yet. So I got up, got some things ready for our trip later that day, and waited ... and waited ... and waited. Jeff got up, and I made him some coffee.
"He's not awake," I said.
"That's okay. Let him sleep as long as he wants to," Jeff said.
"WHAT?!? It's Christmas morning. He needs to be awake. Santa came! Go poke him," I said to Jeff.
"I'm not going to poke him," Jeff said.
Luckily, I heard Biscuit start stirring upstairs. Then he started yelling for Jeff to come get him.
When you step out of Biscuit's room, you can look over the loft railing down into the living room. Jeff went up to get Biscuit, and when they stepped out to the railing, I got his attention from downstairs. Biscuit's eye immediately went to a big red dump truck. "Need dump truck, Dad. Need dump truck."
Jeff brought Biscuit downstairs, and he went straight for the truck. Then he sorta staggered back and started to take it all in. "Got books, Mom. Oooo. Guitar." He grabbed the guitar and started pushing buttons. The guitar has buttons and levers instead of strings and each one plays a different snippet of a song. And luckily, it has an off button, too.
Biscuit almost looked over a red bucket of vehicles. They're very simply made, and they all link to each other. The bucket includes cars, trucks, boats, airplanes, trains and helicopters. He took one of each out and named them and made their appropriate noises. "Chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga, choo-choooooo."
All in all, it was a fun morning. Here are a couple of pictures.
I was worried that we would be rushing Biscuit's Christmas time by spending time away from home on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but he seemed to have a good time with everybody and went right along with whatever we were doing.
We took Biscuit to see Santa, and he also has several Christmas-related books, so when Christmas morning came, he sorta got it.
The first problem we had was that he slept late ... really late for him. Biscuit is usually up by 7:30 a.m. at the latest. Even on Saturdays and Sundays. He doesn't understand the sleeping-late-on-weekends thing yet. So I got up, got some things ready for our trip later that day, and waited ... and waited ... and waited. Jeff got up, and I made him some coffee.
"He's not awake," I said.
"That's okay. Let him sleep as long as he wants to," Jeff said.
"WHAT?!? It's Christmas morning. He needs to be awake. Santa came! Go poke him," I said to Jeff.
"I'm not going to poke him," Jeff said.
Luckily, I heard Biscuit start stirring upstairs. Then he started yelling for Jeff to come get him.
When you step out of Biscuit's room, you can look over the loft railing down into the living room. Jeff went up to get Biscuit, and when they stepped out to the railing, I got his attention from downstairs. Biscuit's eye immediately went to a big red dump truck. "Need dump truck, Dad. Need dump truck."
Jeff brought Biscuit downstairs, and he went straight for the truck. Then he sorta staggered back and started to take it all in. "Got books, Mom. Oooo. Guitar." He grabbed the guitar and started pushing buttons. The guitar has buttons and levers instead of strings and each one plays a different snippet of a song. And luckily, it has an off button, too.
Biscuit almost looked over a red bucket of vehicles. They're very simply made, and they all link to each other. The bucket includes cars, trucks, boats, airplanes, trains and helicopters. He took one of each out and named them and made their appropriate noises. "Chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga, choo-choooooo."
All in all, it was a fun morning. Here are a couple of pictures.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
One tired Biscuit
I think my Biscuit baby was tired. What do you think?
He's had a nasty cold and hasn't been eating much of anything. So even though it was 10 p.m. when he asked for toast, Jeff made him a piece on the off chance that he just might eat it. And he did eat most of it ... until he fell asleep ... with the toast hanging out of his mouth.
He's had a nasty cold and hasn't been eating much of anything. So even though it was 10 p.m. when he asked for toast, Jeff made him a piece on the off chance that he just might eat it. And he did eat most of it ... until he fell asleep ... with the toast hanging out of his mouth.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
I don't need no stinkin' bed
Biscuit has a cold and just hasn't been himself for the past few days ... including not wanting to go to bed at his usual time.
Here's the conversation that just took place:
Jeff (at 10:40 p.m.): Why don't you like to go to bed anymore, Biscuit?
Biscuit: I don't know.
Jeff: Isn't going to bed fun?
Biscuit: No way, Dad. Want to watch "Wonderpets."
Here's the conversation that just took place:
Jeff (at 10:40 p.m.): Why don't you like to go to bed anymore, Biscuit?
Biscuit: I don't know.
Jeff: Isn't going to bed fun?
Biscuit: No way, Dad. Want to watch "Wonderpets."
Missing out
Besides marrying Jeff, having Biscuit is the best thing I've even done. No question.
But ... there are times when I feel like I'm missing out.
Jeff and I love movies. We used to see at least one movie per weekend, sometimes two. In the past two years, I think I've seen about 10 movies total at the theater. We get DVDs and watch TV, but it's not the same.
We also used to see a good many music shows around our area. I took Jeff to a concert last week as part of his Christmas present. Other than that, the last music show we saw together was when I was pregnant, more than 2 years ago.
But the thing that has bothered me most lately is that I don't get to keep up with friends as much anymore. I have a regularly scheduled gathering with three girlfriends, but with conflicting schedules lately, that meeting hasn't happened as often. Friends' lives are continuing as usual, but I'm out of the loop.
I don't have time to keep up with the social networks. I don't text. Cell phone calls are usually kept to a few short minutes. And spur-of-the-moment coffee dates, all-day shopping trips or scheduled spa treatments are almost non-existent.
Need proof? Two of my friends went together and got me a gift card for an "ultimate pedicure" for my birthday. My birthday is in July. I got the spa treatment last week ... by taking a vacation day. But boy was it worth it. My toes are the shiny red of the glass Christmas balls on our tree!
But ultimately, the disappointment I occasionally feel about my lack of social interaction is no comparison to how I feel when I look at Biscuit's sleeping face or when he hugs my leg and says, "I love you, Mom."
It's a trade off, but it's absolutely one I'd make over and over again.
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I just had this conversation with Jeff after reading him this post:
Jeff: What worries you about the post?
Me: It sounds like a pity party. And I hate pity parties.
Jeff: I don't think it sounds that way. It just says how you feel.
Me: Well, I guess the ending is the important party. It isn't just about me anymore. Life is different now, but it's good.
But ... there are times when I feel like I'm missing out.
Jeff and I love movies. We used to see at least one movie per weekend, sometimes two. In the past two years, I think I've seen about 10 movies total at the theater. We get DVDs and watch TV, but it's not the same.
We also used to see a good many music shows around our area. I took Jeff to a concert last week as part of his Christmas present. Other than that, the last music show we saw together was when I was pregnant, more than 2 years ago.
But the thing that has bothered me most lately is that I don't get to keep up with friends as much anymore. I have a regularly scheduled gathering with three girlfriends, but with conflicting schedules lately, that meeting hasn't happened as often. Friends' lives are continuing as usual, but I'm out of the loop.
I don't have time to keep up with the social networks. I don't text. Cell phone calls are usually kept to a few short minutes. And spur-of-the-moment coffee dates, all-day shopping trips or scheduled spa treatments are almost non-existent.
Need proof? Two of my friends went together and got me a gift card for an "ultimate pedicure" for my birthday. My birthday is in July. I got the spa treatment last week ... by taking a vacation day. But boy was it worth it. My toes are the shiny red of the glass Christmas balls on our tree!
But ultimately, the disappointment I occasionally feel about my lack of social interaction is no comparison to how I feel when I look at Biscuit's sleeping face or when he hugs my leg and says, "I love you, Mom."
It's a trade off, but it's absolutely one I'd make over and over again.
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I just had this conversation with Jeff after reading him this post:
Jeff: What worries you about the post?
Me: It sounds like a pity party. And I hate pity parties.
Jeff: I don't think it sounds that way. It just says how you feel.
Me: Well, I guess the ending is the important party. It isn't just about me anymore. Life is different now, but it's good.
Patience is a virtue
I've always thought I was lacking in the patience department. But as I've grown older, I've figured out that it's not that I don't have any patience, it's that I don't have patience with certain situations. I guess I the old saying is true for me ... I don't suffer fools lightly.
I get really riled up in traffic. I get incredibly frustrated with people who don't work hard at their jobs. I get so mad at people who don't show common courtesies to others.
But when it comes to my son, my patience seems to be exponentially greater. Sometimes, much like his father, he is soooooo slow. Some mornings it takes him 5 minutes to get from the house, down the steps and to the car. But it's important to him that he gets to do it himself. Therefore, it's important to me, and my usual speed decreases to match his slow-pokey-ness.
It happens at meal-time, too. It's important for Biscuit to use his fork and spoon and feed himself. He's pretty good at it, too. But oh, how I have to hold myself back. Sometimes it takes him FOR-ever to eat. And he spills food. And he gets excited and waves his fork back and forth, flinging food on the table and floor. And he gets some bites alllll-most to his mouth before the food falls off the fork. But instead of grabbing the food and shoving it in his mouth, he puts it back on his plate and starts all over again. (There is documented stubborn-ness on both sides of Biscuit's family.)
And it happens when he's playing, too. He stacks his blocks together as high as they'll go, then they all fall over, and he has to start again. Sometimes I'll explain to him that if he'll build a more solid foundation for his blocks, he can build higher. But I have to walk that fine line between explaining/helping/teaching and taking over/doing it for him/not letting him figure it out on his own.
I don't know where this patience comes from. I've tried to rationalize that if I can have this kind of patience with Biscuit, I can have it for that little-bittty lady in that big ol' SUV with the cell phone pressed against her ear who has no clue how to drive. But then I realized, I have a vested interest in my son. I want him to learn and grow and become his own little person. As far as that little-bitty lady in the SUV, it's better if I just keep those thoughts to myself.
I get really riled up in traffic. I get incredibly frustrated with people who don't work hard at their jobs. I get so mad at people who don't show common courtesies to others.
But when it comes to my son, my patience seems to be exponentially greater. Sometimes, much like his father, he is soooooo slow. Some mornings it takes him 5 minutes to get from the house, down the steps and to the car. But it's important to him that he gets to do it himself. Therefore, it's important to me, and my usual speed decreases to match his slow-pokey-ness.
It happens at meal-time, too. It's important for Biscuit to use his fork and spoon and feed himself. He's pretty good at it, too. But oh, how I have to hold myself back. Sometimes it takes him FOR-ever to eat. And he spills food. And he gets excited and waves his fork back and forth, flinging food on the table and floor. And he gets some bites alllll-most to his mouth before the food falls off the fork. But instead of grabbing the food and shoving it in his mouth, he puts it back on his plate and starts all over again. (There is documented stubborn-ness on both sides of Biscuit's family.)
And it happens when he's playing, too. He stacks his blocks together as high as they'll go, then they all fall over, and he has to start again. Sometimes I'll explain to him that if he'll build a more solid foundation for his blocks, he can build higher. But I have to walk that fine line between explaining/helping/teaching and taking over/doing it for him/not letting him figure it out on his own.
I don't know where this patience comes from. I've tried to rationalize that if I can have this kind of patience with Biscuit, I can have it for that little-bittty lady in that big ol' SUV with the cell phone pressed against her ear who has no clue how to drive. But then I realized, I have a vested interest in my son. I want him to learn and grow and become his own little person. As far as that little-bitty lady in the SUV, it's better if I just keep those thoughts to myself.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Dancing Santa
Who needs one of those battery-operated dancing Santas when you can have a real-live one?!?
Recipe for Real-Live Dancing Santa
Ingredients:
1 little boy who likes to get down
1 hand-me-down Santa suit
1 Ho-hos hat (what Biscuit calls his Santa hat)
Mix them all together with a little funky holiday music.
Yield: One groovin' little Santa man
Recipe for Real-Live Dancing Santa
Ingredients:
1 little boy who likes to get down
1 hand-me-down Santa suit
1 Ho-hos hat (what Biscuit calls his Santa hat)
Mix them all together with a little funky holiday music.
Yield: One groovin' little Santa man
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thank you for letting me know
I was in the laundry room just now, loading clothes in the washer, and Biscuit walked up behind me and was trying to tell me something.
I couldn't understand what he was saying over the noise of the washing machine. So we walked into the kitchen, and then it all became clear.
He held his index finger up in the air and said, "Get boogah, Mom?"
He had picked his nose and a sizable, gooey prize was balancing on the top of his finger.
So I grabbed a tissue, and we got things cleaned up.
He said, "Thanks, Mom. Get boogah out."
"Thank YOU for telling me about it," I said back to him.
I figured if I encouraged him, he might tell me again instead of me having to find that prize on the coffee table or the couch or some other place.
I know they have to learn everything ... from how to eat to ABCs to getting dressed ... EVERYthing. But I honestly never thought about needing to teach him what to do with things he found in his nose!
Oh well. One more lesson learned!
I couldn't understand what he was saying over the noise of the washing machine. So we walked into the kitchen, and then it all became clear.
He held his index finger up in the air and said, "Get boogah, Mom?"
He had picked his nose and a sizable, gooey prize was balancing on the top of his finger.
So I grabbed a tissue, and we got things cleaned up.
He said, "Thanks, Mom. Get boogah out."
"Thank YOU for telling me about it," I said back to him.
I figured if I encouraged him, he might tell me again instead of me having to find that prize on the coffee table or the couch or some other place.
I know they have to learn everything ... from how to eat to ABCs to getting dressed ... EVERYthing. But I honestly never thought about needing to teach him what to do with things he found in his nose!
Oh well. One more lesson learned!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Bad Mama.
I sent Biscuit so day care with his shoes on the wrong feet this morning.
I really wish I had an excuse. But I don't.
Jeff loves a scene in "The Blues Brothers" where Jake is trying to get himself off the hook for doing something dumb. He says, "It wasn't my fault. Honest! I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car! There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault!!!"
Yeah, that's what happened.
I really wish I had an excuse. But I don't.
Jeff loves a scene in "The Blues Brothers" where Jake is trying to get himself off the hook for doing something dumb. He says, "It wasn't my fault. Honest! I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car! There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault!!!"
Yeah, that's what happened.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
SHE CUT MY BABY!!!
That hateful woman cut my baby! She made my baby BLEED!!!
Okay, she's not actually a hateful woman. And he only bled a few drops.
Jeff took Biscuit to get a haircut this evening while I was running errands. Biscuit wanted to sit in the stylist's chair by himself. The stylist put a drape around him, and he just sat there looking around.
The stylist seemed to like Biscuit. He talked a lot to her, he liked the doorbell that rang when customers came in, and when her telephone rang, he said, "Telephone!" just to make sure she heard it.
Finally, the stylist started snipping. When she was almost finished cutting Biscuit's hair, she leaned in to cut close around his right ear. I guess it must have tickled Biscuit because he jumped, and the stylist nipped his ear with the scissors.
SHE CUT MY BABY!!!
Jeff said that Biscuit didn't even cry. He said his eyebrows furrowed together and he frowned like he couldn't figure out what happened, but then he just sat there.
The stylist, however, was pretty upset. Jeff said she started to freak out.
"Relax," Jeff said. "It's barely bleeding, and Biscuit isn't even crying."
Jeff was afraid that if she freaked out, Biscuit would freak out. So, he told her just to keep going ... and she did.
She didn't charge full price for the cut and seemed surprised when Jeff wanted to leave her a tip.
Biscuit has a tiny mark on the top of his ear and a cute, new haircut. I think everyone will be just fine.
Okay, she's not actually a hateful woman. And he only bled a few drops.
Jeff took Biscuit to get a haircut this evening while I was running errands. Biscuit wanted to sit in the stylist's chair by himself. The stylist put a drape around him, and he just sat there looking around.
The stylist seemed to like Biscuit. He talked a lot to her, he liked the doorbell that rang when customers came in, and when her telephone rang, he said, "Telephone!" just to make sure she heard it.
Finally, the stylist started snipping. When she was almost finished cutting Biscuit's hair, she leaned in to cut close around his right ear. I guess it must have tickled Biscuit because he jumped, and the stylist nipped his ear with the scissors.
SHE CUT MY BABY!!!
Jeff said that Biscuit didn't even cry. He said his eyebrows furrowed together and he frowned like he couldn't figure out what happened, but then he just sat there.
The stylist, however, was pretty upset. Jeff said she started to freak out.
"Relax," Jeff said. "It's barely bleeding, and Biscuit isn't even crying."
Jeff was afraid that if she freaked out, Biscuit would freak out. So, he told her just to keep going ... and she did.
She didn't charge full price for the cut and seemed surprised when Jeff wanted to leave her a tip.
Biscuit has a tiny mark on the top of his ear and a cute, new haircut. I think everyone will be just fine.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Mills, Dad Mills
A post from The Daddy Man:
Biscuit and I were sitting on the couch reading books, when he looked up and said, "Dad Mills."
"Is that my name?" I asked.
"Yep. Dad Mills," Biscuit said.
So from now on, you can refer to me as "Mills. Dad Mills."
Biscuit and I were sitting on the couch reading books, when he looked up and said, "Dad Mills."
"Is that my name?" I asked.
"Yep. Dad Mills," Biscuit said.
So from now on, you can refer to me as "Mills. Dad Mills."
Playing in the snow
Jeff was warm and comfy in his sweats and slippers. The last thing he wanted was to do was bundle up and take Biscuit outside in the snow. After all, when he was a kid, he dealt with snow from late October until April. But after I reminded him that this would be the first time Biscuit played in the snow, and what with my whooping cough and all, Jeff begrudgingly got dressed and took Biscuit outside.
And yes, you read correctly. I have whooping cough! Can you believe that? It sounds like something out of the 1890s. I got three shots and two types of medicine. It's been pretty rough, but hopefully, I'm on the upswing.
Luckily, Biscuit has had enough of his pertussis vaccinations that he was able to fend it off. And unlike mine, Jeff's titer was still effective, so he didn't get the cough, either.
Anyway, back to the snow fun ...
I had already put Biscuit's snow hat on. But he decided he needed his baseball cap on, too.
This hat makes it look like Biscuit has pigtails! Those overalls are great. They are waterproof and lined with fleece, so Biscuit was toasty warm while he played.
Did I bundle him up enough? I felt kinda bad because the mittens I put on him didn't have thumbs. Plus, I put them on before I put on his coat, so they were tucked under his sleeves, and he couldn't have gotten them off it he had wanted to. He did manage to pick up a stick without using thumbs, but he couldn't make a snowball. Jeff had to make them for him.
And yes, you read correctly. I have whooping cough! Can you believe that? It sounds like something out of the 1890s. I got three shots and two types of medicine. It's been pretty rough, but hopefully, I'm on the upswing.
Luckily, Biscuit has had enough of his pertussis vaccinations that he was able to fend it off. And unlike mine, Jeff's titer was still effective, so he didn't get the cough, either.
Anyway, back to the snow fun ...
I had already put Biscuit's snow hat on. But he decided he needed his baseball cap on, too.
This hat makes it look like Biscuit has pigtails! Those overalls are great. They are waterproof and lined with fleece, so Biscuit was toasty warm while he played.
Did I bundle him up enough? I felt kinda bad because the mittens I put on him didn't have thumbs. Plus, I put them on before I put on his coat, so they were tucked under his sleeves, and he couldn't have gotten them off it he had wanted to. He did manage to pick up a stick without using thumbs, but he couldn't make a snowball. Jeff had to make them for him.
Snow 2010 - The Movie
I took a couple of short videos of Biscuit in the snow. He didn't like it at all in the beginning, but then, as you can probably guess, after about 10 minutes, he didn't want to come inside. He was telling me that he liked the snowses (he's still figuring out plurals), but it sounded like, "Like noses, Mom."
And to whoever handed down the red, waterproof, fleece-lined overalls, thank you, thank you, thank you. They were PERFECT in the snow. Biscuit's legs were toasty warm when he came back inside.
And to whoever handed down the red, waterproof, fleece-lined overalls, thank you, thank you, thank you. They were PERFECT in the snow. Biscuit's legs were toasty warm when he came back inside.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Snow, snow, snow
Biscuit got a kick out of the snow we got today. He kept walking to the kitchen door to watch it.
"Look. No. It nowing. It nowing." No = snow.
So I asked him if he'd like to go outside and touch the snow.
"NO WAY, Mom!" he said to me.
So we watched it from the comfort of our warm house.
"Look. No. It nowing. It nowing." No = snow.
So I asked him if he'd like to go outside and touch the snow.
"NO WAY, Mom!" he said to me.
So we watched it from the comfort of our warm house.
Dinnertime drama
I just left dirty dishes on the kitchen table, but I had to write this down RIGHT NOW to make sure I remembered all the details.
Biscuit has a high chair that mounts in a kitchen chair. And for the past little while, we've just been pulling it up to the table instead of putting the tray on it. He seems to enjoy eating at the table with us. Plus, it makes him closer to us so we can help him eat.
The problem, though, is that there's a crossbeam under the table that Biscuit has found, and he spends a good part of dinner with his feet propped there. That was fine until he started pushing off from the beam, using it as a lever to lift the front two legs of his chair off the floor.
Of course we've tried the logical approach of telling him that if he pushes too far, he'll fall. But he doesn't get it.
So Jeff and I tried putting a foot on either side of the chair to hold it down, but not only was that not comfortable for us, as soon as we moved our feet, he would do it again.
And sometimes, he'll even push the high chair back then put his feet on top of the table. Needless to say, THAT is not acceptable, either.
So tonight, Jeff had had enough. Biscuit pushed his chair into the air and got scolded. Then he put his feet up on the table. So Jeff grabbed the arm of the chair and spun him 90 degrees away from the table. Oh, but didn't THAT get his attention!
Biscuit burst into tears. He started talking, but we couldn't understand what he was saying. We didn't want to ask him to repeat himself because we were ignoring the whole tantrum thing.
Finally, as the tears were streaming down his little cheeks, Biscuit said, "I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad. Mom and Dad, I'm mad. I cying. I cying, Mom and Dad. I cying."
It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.
So Jeff said, "Biscuit, do you know why I pushed you away from the table?" "Yeeessss," Biscuit said, still crying.
"Tell me you're sorry for putting your feet on the table," Jeff said.
"Sowwy, put feet table, Daaaaaad," Biscuit said, still crying. "Down, pease, Dad?"
So Jeff took Biscuit out of the high chair, and Biscuit said, "Thank you, Dad." Then he took off running into the living room, crying the whole way.
Jeff and I just looked at each other. We didn't have to say a word because we were both feeling the same way ... frustrated, amused, mad and hoping we did the right thing.
A couple of minutes later, Biscuit came walking back into the kitchen, STILL crying, saying, "I cying. I cying. I cying."
So Jeff said, "Come here, Biscuit," then he picked him up and hugged him, then they headed to for bathtime.
It truly breaks my heart to see Biscuit so upset, but at the same time, we have to back up what we say to him or he won't learn. This parenting stuff is hard!
Biscuit has a high chair that mounts in a kitchen chair. And for the past little while, we've just been pulling it up to the table instead of putting the tray on it. He seems to enjoy eating at the table with us. Plus, it makes him closer to us so we can help him eat.
The problem, though, is that there's a crossbeam under the table that Biscuit has found, and he spends a good part of dinner with his feet propped there. That was fine until he started pushing off from the beam, using it as a lever to lift the front two legs of his chair off the floor.
Of course we've tried the logical approach of telling him that if he pushes too far, he'll fall. But he doesn't get it.
So Jeff and I tried putting a foot on either side of the chair to hold it down, but not only was that not comfortable for us, as soon as we moved our feet, he would do it again.
And sometimes, he'll even push the high chair back then put his feet on top of the table. Needless to say, THAT is not acceptable, either.
So tonight, Jeff had had enough. Biscuit pushed his chair into the air and got scolded. Then he put his feet up on the table. So Jeff grabbed the arm of the chair and spun him 90 degrees away from the table. Oh, but didn't THAT get his attention!
Biscuit burst into tears. He started talking, but we couldn't understand what he was saying. We didn't want to ask him to repeat himself because we were ignoring the whole tantrum thing.
Finally, as the tears were streaming down his little cheeks, Biscuit said, "I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad. Mom and Dad, I'm mad. I cying. I cying, Mom and Dad. I cying."
It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.
So Jeff said, "Biscuit, do you know why I pushed you away from the table?" "Yeeessss," Biscuit said, still crying.
"Tell me you're sorry for putting your feet on the table," Jeff said.
"Sowwy, put feet table, Daaaaaad," Biscuit said, still crying. "Down, pease, Dad?"
So Jeff took Biscuit out of the high chair, and Biscuit said, "Thank you, Dad." Then he took off running into the living room, crying the whole way.
Jeff and I just looked at each other. We didn't have to say a word because we were both feeling the same way ... frustrated, amused, mad and hoping we did the right thing.
A couple of minutes later, Biscuit came walking back into the kitchen, STILL crying, saying, "I cying. I cying. I cying."
So Jeff said, "Come here, Biscuit," then he picked him up and hugged him, then they headed to for bathtime.
It truly breaks my heart to see Biscuit so upset, but at the same time, we have to back up what we say to him or he won't learn. This parenting stuff is hard!
Funny words
Here are a few funny things Biscuit is saying right now:
For words that begin with the letters "sn," he doesn't pronounce the "s." So that wet white stuff we got today isn't "snow," it's "no." He also sees pictures of "nakes" and asks for a "nack."
If he sees an animal and doesn't know what sound it really makes, he assumes it roars. "Biscuit, what does a zebra say?" "ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!!!!"
Motorcycles are "Go-go," so quite logically, bicycle is "bi-go-go."
When he holds his little baseball bat, he says he has a bat. When he holds a ball, he says he has a ball. But when he's holding both at the same time, he says, "Got ballgame, Mom."
As far as his accent goes, it ain't Southern, that's for sure. Well, all except when he says "fire." I turned the gas logs on in the living room, and Biscuit said, "Oooo, far." Nice. Not only does he have a one-word Southern accent. It's even more country-fied than mine!
For words that begin with the letters "sn," he doesn't pronounce the "s." So that wet white stuff we got today isn't "snow," it's "no." He also sees pictures of "nakes" and asks for a "nack."
If he sees an animal and doesn't know what sound it really makes, he assumes it roars. "Biscuit, what does a zebra say?" "ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!!!!"
Motorcycles are "Go-go," so quite logically, bicycle is "bi-go-go."
When he holds his little baseball bat, he says he has a bat. When he holds a ball, he says he has a ball. But when he's holding both at the same time, he says, "Got ballgame, Mom."
As far as his accent goes, it ain't Southern, that's for sure. Well, all except when he says "fire." I turned the gas logs on in the living room, and Biscuit said, "Oooo, far." Nice. Not only does he have a one-word Southern accent. It's even more country-fied than mine!
The Daddy Man broke it
Biscuit was excited to see me come in from the grocery store last week with a crate of orange balls. I guess he assumed he would get to play with them.
Little did he know that they were clementines (from Spain, of course, according to The Daddy Man, we can't have those nasty California clementines).
So the first time Jeff started peeling one to eat it, Biscuit lost it.
He burst into tears and started yelling, "Boke it, Dad. Boke it." Poor thing though Jeff was ruining the orange balls I brought home.
Jeff tried to explain to him that it was fruit to eat, so Biscuit grabbed one and tried to take a bite out of it ... peeling still intact.
I think our boy has many food lessons to learn. I don't even want to think about the chicken, cow and pig conversation.
Little did he know that they were clementines (from Spain, of course, according to The Daddy Man, we can't have those nasty California clementines).
So the first time Jeff started peeling one to eat it, Biscuit lost it.
He burst into tears and started yelling, "Boke it, Dad. Boke it." Poor thing though Jeff was ruining the orange balls I brought home.
Jeff tried to explain to him that it was fruit to eat, so Biscuit grabbed one and tried to take a bite out of it ... peeling still intact.
I think our boy has many food lessons to learn. I don't even want to think about the chicken, cow and pig conversation.
Friday, December 3, 2010
And then came superlatives
Remember all that stuff I was excited about Biscuit learning in the 2-year-old class? Well ... let's just say there are drawbacks, too.
Now, instead of saying, "Mom, I hungy," it goes like this:
Biscuit: "Mom, I hungy."
Me: "Okay, let's go to the kitchen."
Biscuit: "No. I REAWY hungy."
Same goes with "reawy seepy," "reawy tired and "reawy happy."
Oh, and we also now hear, "NO WAY, Mom" about dang-near everything.
"Are you ready for dinner?" "NO WAY, Mom."
"Let's get your shoes on." "NO WAY, Mom."
Wonder how he's gonna feel next time he wants to go outside to play, and I say, "NO WAY, Biscuit!" ??
Now, instead of saying, "Mom, I hungy," it goes like this:
Biscuit: "Mom, I hungy."
Me: "Okay, let's go to the kitchen."
Biscuit: "No. I REAWY hungy."
Same goes with "reawy seepy," "reawy tired and "reawy happy."
Oh, and we also now hear, "NO WAY, Mom" about dang-near everything.
"Are you ready for dinner?" "NO WAY, Mom."
"Let's get your shoes on." "NO WAY, Mom."
Wonder how he's gonna feel next time he wants to go outside to play, and I say, "NO WAY, Biscuit!" ??
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Two-year-old class
Biscuit has only been in the 2-year-old class for a few weeks now, but we have really noticed his progress. I don't know if it's the teachers, the curriculum, the other kids in the class or just that our baby is an incredible genius (I vote for this one!), but he's really turning into his own little person.
The other morning, Jeff and Biscuit were having breakfast. Jeff had put one of Biscuit's CDs in as their dining music. I walked into the kitchen to find Jeff doing some kind of funny little dance, while Biscuit chanted, "Go Dada. Go Dada. Go Dada." After asking one of his teachers, I found out that's how they encourage the kids when they have dance time at day care. But he seems to be remembering that stuff enough now to come home and share it with us.
He's also getting into routines. When I get him from his crib every morning, I ask, "Did you sleep well?" He used to just say, "Yeah, Mama." Lately, he says, "Yeah, Mama. I seep well." And if I forget to ask, now, he volunteers the information on his own. "I seep well, Mom. I seep well."
Jeff usually gives Biscuit his bath after dinner. As he's taking Biscuit out of the bathtub, lately, Biscuit has been saying, "Brush teeth, Dad? Brush teeth?" He also has to have the same couple of toys in the tub with him (even though he has about 10). Biscuit also expects the same routine for post-bath. He and Jeff make all kind of weird noises at each other, then Biscuit gets a diaper and jammies. They have to talk about whatever critter or vehicle is on the jammies, too.
I need to interrupt this post to tell you about the scene on my couch right now. Jeff and Biscuit are reading "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" and when they got to the part about the white dog, both of them started barking and howling. Here's Biscuit's howl: "Ah ah ah oooooo!" And he says it just like I typed it, as four separate words.
Anyway, back to his progress ... Biscuit is also understanding more lately about emotions. He heard a baby crying in a store the other day and said, "Baby sad, Mom. Baby cying." Or a little boy threw a little tantrum in the store, and when Biscuit saw him, he said, "Boy mad, Mom." He often walks up to me and asks, "Okay, Mom?" To which I have to reply, "I'm okay. Are YOU okay?" Then he says, "I fine."
His self-awareness has also increased. He has told me at different times in the last week that he's hungry and that he's sleepy and ready to go to bed. "Seepy, Mom. Giffin go bed?" I couldn't believe my ears on that one, so I quickly took him upstairs to his crib, where he rolled right over onto his side and closed his eyes. Let's see how long that one lasts! As for the hungry part, he's also been telling us more often what he wants to eat, mainly at dinner time. Sometimes he gets it (pizza, fruit, milk), and sometimes he doesn't (cookies, ice ceam, cackas).
Oh, and I'd just like to say that I do know how to spell. I just try to type Biscuit's quotes the way he says them, i.e. seepy = sleepy, cackas = crackers.
The other morning, Jeff and Biscuit were having breakfast. Jeff had put one of Biscuit's CDs in as their dining music. I walked into the kitchen to find Jeff doing some kind of funny little dance, while Biscuit chanted, "Go Dada. Go Dada. Go Dada." After asking one of his teachers, I found out that's how they encourage the kids when they have dance time at day care. But he seems to be remembering that stuff enough now to come home and share it with us.
He's also getting into routines. When I get him from his crib every morning, I ask, "Did you sleep well?" He used to just say, "Yeah, Mama." Lately, he says, "Yeah, Mama. I seep well." And if I forget to ask, now, he volunteers the information on his own. "I seep well, Mom. I seep well."
Jeff usually gives Biscuit his bath after dinner. As he's taking Biscuit out of the bathtub, lately, Biscuit has been saying, "Brush teeth, Dad? Brush teeth?" He also has to have the same couple of toys in the tub with him (even though he has about 10). Biscuit also expects the same routine for post-bath. He and Jeff make all kind of weird noises at each other, then Biscuit gets a diaper and jammies. They have to talk about whatever critter or vehicle is on the jammies, too.
I need to interrupt this post to tell you about the scene on my couch right now. Jeff and Biscuit are reading "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" and when they got to the part about the white dog, both of them started barking and howling. Here's Biscuit's howl: "Ah ah ah oooooo!" And he says it just like I typed it, as four separate words.
Anyway, back to his progress ... Biscuit is also understanding more lately about emotions. He heard a baby crying in a store the other day and said, "Baby sad, Mom. Baby cying." Or a little boy threw a little tantrum in the store, and when Biscuit saw him, he said, "Boy mad, Mom." He often walks up to me and asks, "Okay, Mom?" To which I have to reply, "I'm okay. Are YOU okay?" Then he says, "I fine."
His self-awareness has also increased. He has told me at different times in the last week that he's hungry and that he's sleepy and ready to go to bed. "Seepy, Mom. Giffin go bed?" I couldn't believe my ears on that one, so I quickly took him upstairs to his crib, where he rolled right over onto his side and closed his eyes. Let's see how long that one lasts! As for the hungry part, he's also been telling us more often what he wants to eat, mainly at dinner time. Sometimes he gets it (pizza, fruit, milk), and sometimes he doesn't (cookies, ice ceam, cackas).
Oh, and I'd just like to say that I do know how to spell. I just try to type Biscuit's quotes the way he says them, i.e. seepy = sleepy, cackas = crackers.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Thanksgiving, Black Friday and Santa
We had a nice, calm Thanksgiving. My parents were the only visitors we had. They came into town Wednesday and left Saturday morning, so the whole long weekend has been pretty low-key.
I accidentally took some non-drowsy cold medicine at 2:15 a.m. Friday morning. So when I was still awake at 3:40, I thought, "Hey, why don't I go to Target?" It was 3:40, I wasn't thinking clearly!
I brushed my teeth and threw on some slouchy clothes, then I got in the car and drove the 10 minutes to Target. I saw a few other cars on the highway and wondered whether they were going to work or going shopping. But as I rounded the corner into the shopping center parking lot, my jaw dropped.
The Target parking lot was full. FULL - as in there wasn't a single parking space left. The parking lot next to the Target one was full, too. I honestly thought when I saw that many cars that other stores were open, too. Nope, just Target.
They had a path cordoned off out the side door, down the side of the building, past four small shops, across the front of Bed, Bath and Beyond and almost to where the door of Michael's is. And the line wasn't single-file, either. It was about three or four people wide in most spots.
I got there at 3:58 and decided there was no way I was going to walk to the end of that line. So I sat in this little courtyard at the side of the building and waiting until the doors opened and the hoards of people started filing into the store. I stepped into the back of the line and made my way into the store. It was crazy. I only wanted a couple of things, so I didn't get a buggy.
I was heading back to the electronics department, so I was really, really glad I didn't have a buggy. It was worse than any traffic jam I've ever seen. People were running over the ankles of the people in front of them. Luckily, the only incidents of that I saw were accidents.
They had a whole separate line for the big fancy TVs. That wasn't what I was after, so I just kept on walking.
I grabbed the things I needed and headed to the checkout. Boy was I surprised when I saw the checkout line stretching down the main aisle of the store then turning down the aisle where the food is. It stretched all the way back to candy aisle.
I almost put my stuff down and walked out, but I realized that the line wasn't standing still. It was moving slowly, but it was moving.
I made it to the checkout area, and there was a Target employee directing each person to a cashier. Every single cash register was open. I asked my cashier if she was ready to go home yet. "Not yet," she said, "but come back about 10 a.m. and see how it's going." The employees had to be there at 3:45 a.m.
I grabbed my bags and headed to the car. It was 4:38 a.m. All of that hooplah, and it only took me 38 minutes to get done.
I have to say, they have clearly done that drill before because everything was so organized and all the employees were so nice and cheerful. I hope the shoppers returned that favor!
I headed back home and caught a couple more hours of sleep before I had to head in to work. Then I met Jeff, Biscuit and my parents for lunch, then drove over to see Santa.
A friend at work had told me about this great Santa last year, and we were really pleased with him when we took Biscuit there. The man was soft-spoken and very attentive to each child. He took some time with the kids and made them feel really comfortable. We didn't get a head-on photo of Biscuit last year. He was too busy staring at Santa's face and beard.
This year, he was a little more freaked out. Biscuit is either crying or not crying, but for the first time ever, he was doing that almost-cry thing where his bottom lip was quivering, his eyes were darting back and forth, and he was sort of wringing his hands. It was freaking me out.
I've held Biscuit while a nurse gave him shots. I've stepped right over him when he was having a little crying fit while lying in the floor. But for some reason, seeing his response to sitting in Santa's lap, not sure of whether he wanted to be there or not, looking back and forth between the girls operating the camera and me, like he was wondering what he should do. I'll admit it. I teared up.
Santa talked to him and let him hold his sleigh bells, and Biscuit seemed to get a little more comfortable. Then Santa sang "Jingle Bells" to him and asked him what songs he knew. Then after about 10 minutes, Jeff asked Biscuit if he was ready to get out of Santa's lap. "Nope," Biscuit said.
Here's the photo evidence:
I accidentally took some non-drowsy cold medicine at 2:15 a.m. Friday morning. So when I was still awake at 3:40, I thought, "Hey, why don't I go to Target?" It was 3:40, I wasn't thinking clearly!
I brushed my teeth and threw on some slouchy clothes, then I got in the car and drove the 10 minutes to Target. I saw a few other cars on the highway and wondered whether they were going to work or going shopping. But as I rounded the corner into the shopping center parking lot, my jaw dropped.
The Target parking lot was full. FULL - as in there wasn't a single parking space left. The parking lot next to the Target one was full, too. I honestly thought when I saw that many cars that other stores were open, too. Nope, just Target.
They had a path cordoned off out the side door, down the side of the building, past four small shops, across the front of Bed, Bath and Beyond and almost to where the door of Michael's is. And the line wasn't single-file, either. It was about three or four people wide in most spots.
I got there at 3:58 and decided there was no way I was going to walk to the end of that line. So I sat in this little courtyard at the side of the building and waiting until the doors opened and the hoards of people started filing into the store. I stepped into the back of the line and made my way into the store. It was crazy. I only wanted a couple of things, so I didn't get a buggy.
I was heading back to the electronics department, so I was really, really glad I didn't have a buggy. It was worse than any traffic jam I've ever seen. People were running over the ankles of the people in front of them. Luckily, the only incidents of that I saw were accidents.
They had a whole separate line for the big fancy TVs. That wasn't what I was after, so I just kept on walking.
I grabbed the things I needed and headed to the checkout. Boy was I surprised when I saw the checkout line stretching down the main aisle of the store then turning down the aisle where the food is. It stretched all the way back to candy aisle.
I almost put my stuff down and walked out, but I realized that the line wasn't standing still. It was moving slowly, but it was moving.
I made it to the checkout area, and there was a Target employee directing each person to a cashier. Every single cash register was open. I asked my cashier if she was ready to go home yet. "Not yet," she said, "but come back about 10 a.m. and see how it's going." The employees had to be there at 3:45 a.m.
I grabbed my bags and headed to the car. It was 4:38 a.m. All of that hooplah, and it only took me 38 minutes to get done.
I have to say, they have clearly done that drill before because everything was so organized and all the employees were so nice and cheerful. I hope the shoppers returned that favor!
I headed back home and caught a couple more hours of sleep before I had to head in to work. Then I met Jeff, Biscuit and my parents for lunch, then drove over to see Santa.
A friend at work had told me about this great Santa last year, and we were really pleased with him when we took Biscuit there. The man was soft-spoken and very attentive to each child. He took some time with the kids and made them feel really comfortable. We didn't get a head-on photo of Biscuit last year. He was too busy staring at Santa's face and beard.
This year, he was a little more freaked out. Biscuit is either crying or not crying, but for the first time ever, he was doing that almost-cry thing where his bottom lip was quivering, his eyes were darting back and forth, and he was sort of wringing his hands. It was freaking me out.
I've held Biscuit while a nurse gave him shots. I've stepped right over him when he was having a little crying fit while lying in the floor. But for some reason, seeing his response to sitting in Santa's lap, not sure of whether he wanted to be there or not, looking back and forth between the girls operating the camera and me, like he was wondering what he should do. I'll admit it. I teared up.
Santa talked to him and let him hold his sleigh bells, and Biscuit seemed to get a little more comfortable. Then Santa sang "Jingle Bells" to him and asked him what songs he knew. Then after about 10 minutes, Jeff asked Biscuit if he was ready to get out of Santa's lap. "Nope," Biscuit said.
Here's the photo evidence:
Monday, November 22, 2010
He's cracking us up!
Some things Biscuit has said today:
When we see the moon, I say to Biscuit, "I see the moon. The moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me." Well, this morning, we saw a dog on the way to day care. I said to Biscuit, "See the dog?" Biscuit said, "See dog, Mom. See dog. God bess dog. Bess me."
Jeff: "Biscuit, what do you want for dinner?"
Biscuit: "COOKIES!"
Jeff: "You want cookies for dinner?"
Biscuit: "Yeah, okay. Have cookies."
Just now, a Bojangle's restaurant commercial came on. Their slogan is "It's Bo time." Apparently, Biscuit liked that. "BO TIME! BO TIME!" he said as the commercial went off. He's never even eaten at a Bojangle's.
When we see the moon, I say to Biscuit, "I see the moon. The moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me." Well, this morning, we saw a dog on the way to day care. I said to Biscuit, "See the dog?" Biscuit said, "See dog, Mom. See dog. God bess dog. Bess me."
Jeff: "Biscuit, what do you want for dinner?"
Biscuit: "COOKIES!"
Jeff: "You want cookies for dinner?"
Biscuit: "Yeah, okay. Have cookies."
Just now, a Bojangle's restaurant commercial came on. Their slogan is "It's Bo time." Apparently, Biscuit liked that. "BO TIME! BO TIME!" he said as the commercial went off. He's never even eaten at a Bojangle's.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
They don't fall down
I didn't know they still made Weebles ... much less that they could be so much fun!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Home
I grew up in the woods. We didn't have neighbors or traffic. My brother and I could ride our bikes whenever and wherever we wanted without fear of getting run over or snatched up.
But now, I like living in a city.
Growing up in the country, we never started making a recipe until we had checked to make sure we had all the ingredients. The nearest grocery store was 20 minutes away. Where I live now, I have a grocery store exactly 1 mile from my house. Our town has two malls, three Targets, three Walmarts and all kinds of local and chain stores. There's a children's museum. There's a zoo within 45 minutes. There's a science center a few miles away. We have library branches all over the place and parks and playgrounds scattered all over the city. I think all of that stuff will be really good while we're raising Biscuit.
But I have to say, there are a lot of times that I feel sad that he won't have the freedom that I had growing up. We live on a cul-de-sac, but there are teenagers with new driver's licenses, which means riding a bike on and around our driveway can only be done under strict supervision. We have trees in our yard, but not really any that are right for climbing. There's nowhere for Biscuit to explore.
Luckily, it's only a 2 1/2-hour drive to get back to where I grew up. My parents still live there. So does my brother, his wife and three kids. So even though Biscuit won't get to be there every day, he'll still get to have some of the same experiences I had as a kid ... the creek, tractors, dirt bikes, bonfires, walking in the woods, four-wheelers, the dune buggy, the tree house.
We visited my parents last weekend for Biscuit's second birthday, and I stole a little bit of time away to take a walk around the pond. There was no wind that day. You couldn't hear cars on the far-away highway. If airplanes ever do come over, they're so high up that you can barely hear them. On that walk, I heard something I hadn't heard in a while ... complete silence.
It was so quiet that it hurt my ears. I'm used to a busy newsroom, a TV, a playful toddler, traffic, whatever noises are constantly around. But to hear that utter silence really reminded me to make a commitment to share that experience with Biscuit.
Here's a picture I took of the pond on my walk. The water was so still that it looked like a mirror. Can you imagine waking up to see that our your window every morning?
But now, I like living in a city.
Growing up in the country, we never started making a recipe until we had checked to make sure we had all the ingredients. The nearest grocery store was 20 minutes away. Where I live now, I have a grocery store exactly 1 mile from my house. Our town has two malls, three Targets, three Walmarts and all kinds of local and chain stores. There's a children's museum. There's a zoo within 45 minutes. There's a science center a few miles away. We have library branches all over the place and parks and playgrounds scattered all over the city. I think all of that stuff will be really good while we're raising Biscuit.
But I have to say, there are a lot of times that I feel sad that he won't have the freedom that I had growing up. We live on a cul-de-sac, but there are teenagers with new driver's licenses, which means riding a bike on and around our driveway can only be done under strict supervision. We have trees in our yard, but not really any that are right for climbing. There's nowhere for Biscuit to explore.
Luckily, it's only a 2 1/2-hour drive to get back to where I grew up. My parents still live there. So does my brother, his wife and three kids. So even though Biscuit won't get to be there every day, he'll still get to have some of the same experiences I had as a kid ... the creek, tractors, dirt bikes, bonfires, walking in the woods, four-wheelers, the dune buggy, the tree house.
We visited my parents last weekend for Biscuit's second birthday, and I stole a little bit of time away to take a walk around the pond. There was no wind that day. You couldn't hear cars on the far-away highway. If airplanes ever do come over, they're so high up that you can barely hear them. On that walk, I heard something I hadn't heard in a while ... complete silence.
It was so quiet that it hurt my ears. I'm used to a busy newsroom, a TV, a playful toddler, traffic, whatever noises are constantly around. But to hear that utter silence really reminded me to make a commitment to share that experience with Biscuit.
Here's a picture I took of the pond on my walk. The water was so still that it looked like a mirror. Can you imagine waking up to see that our your window every morning?
I feel your pain
I gave Biscuit a choice of a grilled cheese sandwich or a peanut butter sandwich for dinner tonight. I'm still sick and didn't feel like cooking, and Jeff was still at work. He chose peanut butter and seemed pretty excited about it.
Biscuit isn't opposed to the crusts on the bread, but sometimes he has a hard time biting them. So I cut his sandwich in half for him. That was fine. But then I tore one of those halves in half, thinking it would help him eat around the crusts.
Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. "No break, Mom! No break!" Then he wanted me to put the two pieces of the sandwich back together.
I held the two pieces together so the edges matched, but that apparently wasn't right. "Other side, Mom. Other side."
I tried to explain to him that the other sides didn't fit together, but I think it would've been easier explaining a whale lying in my front yard.
I was sharing this story just now with Jeff, and his only comment was, "Now you can feel my broken fruit pain."
Yes. Yes I can.
Biscuit isn't opposed to the crusts on the bread, but sometimes he has a hard time biting them. So I cut his sandwich in half for him. That was fine. But then I tore one of those halves in half, thinking it would help him eat around the crusts.
Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. "No break, Mom! No break!" Then he wanted me to put the two pieces of the sandwich back together.
I held the two pieces together so the edges matched, but that apparently wasn't right. "Other side, Mom. Other side."
I tried to explain to him that the other sides didn't fit together, but I think it would've been easier explaining a whale lying in my front yard.
I was sharing this story just now with Jeff, and his only comment was, "Now you can feel my broken fruit pain."
Yes. Yes I can.
School pictures
Biscuit got his fall school pictures taken today. All three poses turned out so cute that I can't decide between them.
Check him out:
Biscuit's class was full and without a spare teacher, so I took him down the hall to have his pictures done. The photographer was really good with the kids. He told Biscuit to say "monkey." Then when Biscuit said it, the photographer said, "What did you call me?" and made Biscuit laugh.
The first time we took Biscuit to see Santa, I was standing off to the side, and when they started taking pictures, Biscuit was distracted by me and wouldn't look at them. I started calling his name and trying to get him to smile and look at the photographer. Then I realized that I was sticking my nose in where it didn't belong. Those people were professionals who take pictures of kids all day long, so I realized I should butt out and let them work.
I remembered that lesson today, so when the photographer would pose Biscuit, I would step behind the big camera setup to hide. The photographer looked at me as if to ask what I was doing. I told him that I was trying to hide so Biscuit would look at him and not me. You would've thought I handed this guy a gold brick or something. He said, "Thank you SO much. That is such a huge help."
I guess it worked. The pictures were really cute.
Check him out:
Biscuit's class was full and without a spare teacher, so I took him down the hall to have his pictures done. The photographer was really good with the kids. He told Biscuit to say "monkey." Then when Biscuit said it, the photographer said, "What did you call me?" and made Biscuit laugh.
The first time we took Biscuit to see Santa, I was standing off to the side, and when they started taking pictures, Biscuit was distracted by me and wouldn't look at them. I started calling his name and trying to get him to smile and look at the photographer. Then I realized that I was sticking my nose in where it didn't belong. Those people were professionals who take pictures of kids all day long, so I realized I should butt out and let them work.
I remembered that lesson today, so when the photographer would pose Biscuit, I would step behind the big camera setup to hide. The photographer looked at me as if to ask what I was doing. I told him that I was trying to hide so Biscuit would look at him and not me. You would've thought I handed this guy a gold brick or something. He said, "Thank you SO much. That is such a huge help."
I guess it worked. The pictures were really cute.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Bad advertising
We would like to file a formal complaint with those people who make the lavender-chamomile, relaxing, bubbling, sleepy-time bath stuff.
They lied.
That stuff doesn't relax our Biscuit and make him ready for bed. It winds him up, gives him a second wind and makes him run around the house like a little crazy man.
Does he have to have a bath EVERY day?
They lied.
That stuff doesn't relax our Biscuit and make him ready for bed. It winds him up, gives him a second wind and makes him run around the house like a little crazy man.
Does he have to have a bath EVERY day?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
TV invasion
I don't know whether to think this is funny or to be horrified, but TV has invaded Biscuit's real life.
One of his favorite shows on Nick Jr. is "Ni Hao, Kai-lan." It's about a little Chinese girl named Kai-lan, her friends and grandfather. The other words in the title, "Ni Hao," means "hello" in Mandarin Chinese.
There's a little Asian girl at Biscuit's day care ... can you see where I'm heading with this?!?
Yep, that's right. Every time Biscuit sees her, he starts yelling, "Kailan! Kailan!"
And today, when he got close to her, he said, "Nihao."
As my Granny used to say, "Lord God!!!!"
One of his favorite shows on Nick Jr. is "Ni Hao, Kai-lan." It's about a little Chinese girl named Kai-lan, her friends and grandfather. The other words in the title, "Ni Hao," means "hello" in Mandarin Chinese.
There's a little Asian girl at Biscuit's day care ... can you see where I'm heading with this?!?
Yep, that's right. Every time Biscuit sees her, he starts yelling, "Kailan! Kailan!"
And today, when he got close to her, he said, "Nihao."
As my Granny used to say, "Lord God!!!!"
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Beat Boys
Our little night owl is still awake at 10:30, so Jeff gave him a bath in some of that nighttime, soothing, bubbly stuff.
I was in the living room playing on the laptop when I heard a weird noise coming from the bedroom.
I walked in there to find both my boys making beat box noises with their mouths.
"Check it out," Jeff said. "It's Biz-cuit-markie."
-------------------------------
11/17/10
P.S. If you don't know who Biz Markie is, he's best known for a really bad late-80s song called "Just a Friend" that Jeff and I just sang very loudly to Biscuit, who just stared back and forth like he was watching a good tennis match. Biz shows up on a popular preschooler TV show these days doing beat box and other musical stuff.
I was in the living room playing on the laptop when I heard a weird noise coming from the bedroom.
I walked in there to find both my boys making beat box noises with their mouths.
"Check it out," Jeff said. "It's Biz-cuit-markie."
-------------------------------
11/17/10
P.S. If you don't know who Biz Markie is, he's best known for a really bad late-80s song called "Just a Friend" that Jeff and I just sang very loudly to Biscuit, who just stared back and forth like he was watching a good tennis match. Biz shows up on a popular preschooler TV show these days doing beat box and other musical stuff.
Where does he get this stuff?
Sometimes I wish I had some type of recorder glued to my hand at all times.
Right now, Biscuit is sitting in the new chair he got for his birthday, naming all the facial features on one of his little plastic horses. "Eyes, eahs, mouth, nose, eahs, teeth, eyes, eahs ..." He seems to be stuck on the ears.
We were eating breakfast the other morning, and Biscuit announced that he had dinosaurs on his pajamas.
"Mom, dine-sauhs on jammies," Biscuit said.
"Shahp teeth, Dad."
Then he pointed to one of them and said, "T-Rex. That one."
T-Rex? Really? Where the heck did he learn that?!?
We went to celebrate Biscuit's birthday with his grandparents in S.C. over the weekend. Biscuit was watching TV and the satellite blinked out for a minute.
Grandmama came in and said, "Uh-oh. Did the TV go out?"
Biscuit looked at her, turned his hands up toward the ceiling and said, "Looks like it."
Again I ask, where the heck does this stuff come from?!?
------------------------------
I posted this, but now I have to add a P.S.
Biscuit followed me into the kitchen and watched as I emptied the dishwasher. There were some crackers in a zip-top bag on the counter, so he said, "Cacka, Mom?" I love the way he says "cracker."
I knew he would want a cracker for each hand, but he had his pacifier in one hand (no, we still aren't rid of that thing yet!). I opened the bag and held it down for him. He grabbed one cracker, then he started looking back and forth at his pacifier and the crackers. I could see the wheels turning in his little head, trying to figure out how he was going to get another cracker without getting rid of his pacifier.
So he threw his pacifier in the floor and grabbed another cracker. Then he squatted down, still with a cracker in each hand and squeezed his pacifier between the side of his fists. He stood up and walked with it that way all the way from the kitchen to the living room, where he put it down on the coffee table.
Two hands, two crackers and one pacifier ... all within his reach.
Right now, Biscuit is sitting in the new chair he got for his birthday, naming all the facial features on one of his little plastic horses. "Eyes, eahs, mouth, nose, eahs, teeth, eyes, eahs ..." He seems to be stuck on the ears.
We were eating breakfast the other morning, and Biscuit announced that he had dinosaurs on his pajamas.
"Mom, dine-sauhs on jammies," Biscuit said.
"Shahp teeth, Dad."
Then he pointed to one of them and said, "T-Rex. That one."
T-Rex? Really? Where the heck did he learn that?!?
We went to celebrate Biscuit's birthday with his grandparents in S.C. over the weekend. Biscuit was watching TV and the satellite blinked out for a minute.
Grandmama came in and said, "Uh-oh. Did the TV go out?"
Biscuit looked at her, turned his hands up toward the ceiling and said, "Looks like it."
Again I ask, where the heck does this stuff come from?!?
------------------------------
I posted this, but now I have to add a P.S.
Biscuit followed me into the kitchen and watched as I emptied the dishwasher. There were some crackers in a zip-top bag on the counter, so he said, "Cacka, Mom?" I love the way he says "cracker."
I knew he would want a cracker for each hand, but he had his pacifier in one hand (no, we still aren't rid of that thing yet!). I opened the bag and held it down for him. He grabbed one cracker, then he started looking back and forth at his pacifier and the crackers. I could see the wheels turning in his little head, trying to figure out how he was going to get another cracker without getting rid of his pacifier.
So he threw his pacifier in the floor and grabbed another cracker. Then he squatted down, still with a cracker in each hand and squeezed his pacifier between the side of his fists. He stood up and walked with it that way all the way from the kitchen to the living room, where he put it down on the coffee table.
Two hands, two crackers and one pacifier ... all within his reach.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Happy birthday, Biscuit
Today is Biscuit's second birthday, and I've been thinking about everything he's learned in just a couple of years. I've read back over some of the blogs I've written, and it's amazing to me that he started out as a cute little slug who needed everything done for him.
And now, he's a walking, talking little man.
Sunday morning before his party, I was putting the icing on the cupcakes. He walked up to me and said, "Doing, Mom?"
"Putting icing on your birthday cupcakes," I said.
"Need birthday cupcakes, Mom."
"You NEED birthday cupcakes PLURAL?" I asked him.
"Yes. Need cupcakes, Mom."
So I gave him one without icing and told him he could have one with icing at his party. He seemed to think that deal was acceptable.
I wanted to make ham biscuits and some other snacks for the adults who were attending the party, and as I got to the end of the ham, I thought, "I think I can get one more slice off of that ham." Well, turns out I was wrong. I got a nice slice out of my thumb, though.
It was a pretty bad cut, so I was struggling to finish the details of the party. So I called a friend who lives near me and asked if she could come to the party an hour early. Luckily she was able to come over and basically finished getting everything ready.
The party started at 2 p.m., and we had five kids (from almost 1 to 2 1/2 years) and 12 adults (counting Jeff and me). We were really pleased with the turnout.
All the kids were great. I figured there would be at least one "that toy is mine and I'm going to smack you in the head to get it." But nope. No fighting. No crying. No biting. No nothing. They just all played.
We took them outside to run around for a while. Then after they were all tired out, we brought them in to get sugar-ed up on cupcakes!
And this is where the drama begins.
I poured milk or juice in sippy cups for all the kids, but I didn't snap the lid tight on Biscuit's cup. So we sang "Happy Birthday" to him and let him blow out a candle. Then he took a huge bite of his cupcake and reached for his milk.
I never knew a sippy cup could hold that much milk. It went EVERYWHERE. All over Biscuit. All over the floor. Splattered on the table legs, the chair legs. It was just an awful mess.
The heartbreaking part was that Biscuit thought that he had done something wrong. He was pulling at his clothes saying, "Sorry, mom. Sorry, mom." Oh, it broke my heart.
I took him to get his clothes changes and to try to calm him down, but he was inconsolable. I carried him back into the dining room but he didn't want any part of his cupcake or snacks. He laid his head on my shoulder and a couple of minutes later, he was asleep.
At first, I thought, "He can't be asleep. This is HIS party." But then I reminded myself. He's only 2. Who cares?
So I put him on our bed surrounded by pillows and went back out to play with the other kids.
Everybody left around 5 or 5:30, but Biscuit was still snoozing. He must have really been tired because we had to wake him up about 6:30. I thought it was pretty funny because Jeff and I were trying to get him excited about the balloons and the presents and the cupcake that he didn't get to finish. But he didn't care about any of it.
I brought him one of his presents, and after telling him exactly how to open it (tear it right here, pull this paper), he finally got one opened. By the time Christmas was over last year, he had the present unwrapping down pat. As a matter of fact, he tried to help everybody else open their presents, too. So I was a little surprised when he didn't show much interest in the stuff he got for his birthday.
He finally said, "You open, mom." So I opened each of his presents, then he would ooh and ahh over each one. It's been funny to watch him play with things because he clearly has a different favorite each time. It's like he's taking the time to get to figure each toy out.
I'm a big ol' worry wart, so Jeff always has to endure what we call the post-party briefing. It's where I worry that there wasn't enough food or that the food wasn't good or that someone didn't have a good time or whatever worries my brain can cook up. And of course, Jeff being Jeff, he spends however long it takes to assure me that "refreshments were served, and a good time was had by all."
And I think he's right.
And now, he's a walking, talking little man.
Sunday morning before his party, I was putting the icing on the cupcakes. He walked up to me and said, "Doing, Mom?"
"Putting icing on your birthday cupcakes," I said.
"Need birthday cupcakes, Mom."
"You NEED birthday cupcakes PLURAL?" I asked him.
"Yes. Need cupcakes, Mom."
So I gave him one without icing and told him he could have one with icing at his party. He seemed to think that deal was acceptable.
I wanted to make ham biscuits and some other snacks for the adults who were attending the party, and as I got to the end of the ham, I thought, "I think I can get one more slice off of that ham." Well, turns out I was wrong. I got a nice slice out of my thumb, though.
It was a pretty bad cut, so I was struggling to finish the details of the party. So I called a friend who lives near me and asked if she could come to the party an hour early. Luckily she was able to come over and basically finished getting everything ready.
The party started at 2 p.m., and we had five kids (from almost 1 to 2 1/2 years) and 12 adults (counting Jeff and me). We were really pleased with the turnout.
All the kids were great. I figured there would be at least one "that toy is mine and I'm going to smack you in the head to get it." But nope. No fighting. No crying. No biting. No nothing. They just all played.
We took them outside to run around for a while. Then after they were all tired out, we brought them in to get sugar-ed up on cupcakes!
And this is where the drama begins.
I poured milk or juice in sippy cups for all the kids, but I didn't snap the lid tight on Biscuit's cup. So we sang "Happy Birthday" to him and let him blow out a candle. Then he took a huge bite of his cupcake and reached for his milk.
I never knew a sippy cup could hold that much milk. It went EVERYWHERE. All over Biscuit. All over the floor. Splattered on the table legs, the chair legs. It was just an awful mess.
The heartbreaking part was that Biscuit thought that he had done something wrong. He was pulling at his clothes saying, "Sorry, mom. Sorry, mom." Oh, it broke my heart.
I took him to get his clothes changes and to try to calm him down, but he was inconsolable. I carried him back into the dining room but he didn't want any part of his cupcake or snacks. He laid his head on my shoulder and a couple of minutes later, he was asleep.
At first, I thought, "He can't be asleep. This is HIS party." But then I reminded myself. He's only 2. Who cares?
So I put him on our bed surrounded by pillows and went back out to play with the other kids.
Everybody left around 5 or 5:30, but Biscuit was still snoozing. He must have really been tired because we had to wake him up about 6:30. I thought it was pretty funny because Jeff and I were trying to get him excited about the balloons and the presents and the cupcake that he didn't get to finish. But he didn't care about any of it.
I brought him one of his presents, and after telling him exactly how to open it (tear it right here, pull this paper), he finally got one opened. By the time Christmas was over last year, he had the present unwrapping down pat. As a matter of fact, he tried to help everybody else open their presents, too. So I was a little surprised when he didn't show much interest in the stuff he got for his birthday.
He finally said, "You open, mom." So I opened each of his presents, then he would ooh and ahh over each one. It's been funny to watch him play with things because he clearly has a different favorite each time. It's like he's taking the time to get to figure each toy out.
I'm a big ol' worry wart, so Jeff always has to endure what we call the post-party briefing. It's where I worry that there wasn't enough food or that the food wasn't good or that someone didn't have a good time or whatever worries my brain can cook up. And of course, Jeff being Jeff, he spends however long it takes to assure me that "refreshments were served, and a good time was had by all."
And I think he's right.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
2nd birthday party
I cannot believe that our Biscuit baby is 2. Well, he won't be officially 2 until Tuesday, but we had his party today. Four of his friends (ranging from almost 1 to 2 1/2) came and spent the afternoon playing and eating cupcakes.
It started out rough because I cut my thumb open this morning and had to call a friend to ask if she could come over early and help me finish getting everything ready. She was a lifesaver. I couldn't have done everything without her.
Anyway, I'm tired now, so I'm going to post a couple of videos from that same friend, and I'll share more party details later.
It started out rough because I cut my thumb open this morning and had to call a friend to ask if she could come over early and help me finish getting everything ready. She was a lifesaver. I couldn't have done everything without her.
Anyway, I'm tired now, so I'm going to post a couple of videos from that same friend, and I'll share more party details later.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Fractured fruit
A post from The Daddy Man:
I was feeding Biscuit breakfast yesterday. I had given him his yogurt drink and had just sliced up a banana on a plate. He was eating the banana slices and bites of my Pop Tart, and everything was going fine.
Then he tried to pick up another banana slice, but this time, he squeezed the slice too hard, and it broke in half and fell onto his plate.
He melted down.
"My banana broken. Broken banana," Biscuit wailed. He was inconsolable.
Then he was done. He didn't want to eat anything else. Not one more bite.
I was feeding Biscuit breakfast yesterday. I had given him his yogurt drink and had just sliced up a banana on a plate. He was eating the banana slices and bites of my Pop Tart, and everything was going fine.
Then he tried to pick up another banana slice, but this time, he squeezed the slice too hard, and it broke in half and fell onto his plate.
He melted down.
"My banana broken. Broken banana," Biscuit wailed. He was inconsolable.
Then he was done. He didn't want to eat anything else. Not one more bite.
Beyond rage
It's a good thing you can't get arrested for intentions. Because I intended to kill some rude lady today.
Biscuit and I took a friend to a holiday market here in town today. We were hoping we could catch some of the holiday spirit by looking at all the pretty Christmas decorations.
And it was working, until ... (insert swear words here).
This ... this ... woman! decided that whatever it was that she was trying to see was more important than my son and his safety. So what did she do? SHE SHOVED BISCUIT'S STROLLER OUT OF HER WAY!!!!!
Can you believe that? I felt a rage fly over me that was honestly quite hard to control.
I threaten violence all the time. I tell Jeff that I'm going to slap him blind. I tell bad drivers in traffic that I'm going to run them down. And I've probably made some even worse threats to other people throughout the years.
But the thing about all those threats is that they were harmless expressions of sarcasm and/or frustration.
Today, scared me a little. The only saving grace in the situation was that I saw the hand and arm of the rude woman, but by the time I turned around, she had been absorbed into a group, and I couldn't tell which woman had done the shoving. I just had to walk away ... quickly ... to avoid just yelling out to this woman or even worse, to start swinging at any woman in the vicinity.
My friend saw me pushing Biscuit's stroller into an open space at the end of the aisle and came over to see what was wrong. I told her what happened and that I needed to stand there and breathe for a minute.
I would really like to have a conversation with that woman so I could ask her point blank, "What in the name of all that is holy was SO important that you needed to risk injuring a CHILD ... MY CHILD ... to see it or get to it or buy it?"
So much for holiday spirit. She could use a dose of that goodwill to all men stuff!
Biscuit and I took a friend to a holiday market here in town today. We were hoping we could catch some of the holiday spirit by looking at all the pretty Christmas decorations.
And it was working, until ... (insert swear words here).
This ... this ... woman! decided that whatever it was that she was trying to see was more important than my son and his safety. So what did she do? SHE SHOVED BISCUIT'S STROLLER OUT OF HER WAY!!!!!
Can you believe that? I felt a rage fly over me that was honestly quite hard to control.
I threaten violence all the time. I tell Jeff that I'm going to slap him blind. I tell bad drivers in traffic that I'm going to run them down. And I've probably made some even worse threats to other people throughout the years.
But the thing about all those threats is that they were harmless expressions of sarcasm and/or frustration.
Today, scared me a little. The only saving grace in the situation was that I saw the hand and arm of the rude woman, but by the time I turned around, she had been absorbed into a group, and I couldn't tell which woman had done the shoving. I just had to walk away ... quickly ... to avoid just yelling out to this woman or even worse, to start swinging at any woman in the vicinity.
My friend saw me pushing Biscuit's stroller into an open space at the end of the aisle and came over to see what was wrong. I told her what happened and that I needed to stand there and breathe for a minute.
I would really like to have a conversation with that woman so I could ask her point blank, "What in the name of all that is holy was SO important that you needed to risk injuring a CHILD ... MY CHILD ... to see it or get to it or buy it?"
So much for holiday spirit. She could use a dose of that goodwill to all men stuff!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Night, night
Conversation just now between Biscuit and The Daddy Man:
Jeff: Biscuit, do you want to go to bed?
Biscuit: No.
Jeff: Are you sleepy?
Biscuit: Yea.
Jeff: But you don't want to go to bed?
Biscuit: No.
Jeff: Are you afraid you might miss something?
Biscuit: Yea.
Jeff: Biscuit, do you want to go to bed?
Biscuit: No.
Jeff: Are you sleepy?
Biscuit: Yea.
Jeff: But you don't want to go to bed?
Biscuit: No.
Jeff: Are you afraid you might miss something?
Biscuit: Yea.
Terrible twos
So I've heard it both ways. Some moms have told me that their kids sailed through their twos with no problems. Others have said they were ready to box up their toddlers and ship them to China!
So I wonder where Biscuit will land?
He's really a sweet kid. He's pretty laid back about most things. Keep his belly from getting empty. Make sure he has a car or a ball in his hand. And when his mouth hurts from teething, give him baby Tylenol and back away slowly!
But sometimes ... sometimes ...
Let's just leave that sentence unfinished!
The biggest thing we're working on right now is sharing. He's the only kid in our house, so he has all his toys all to himself. That's not the case at day care. So the teachers suggested that Jeff and I play with Biscuit's toys (we sure do hate that part), and when he comes to get them from us, we tell him that Mama and Dada are playing with the toys right now and that he can have them when we're done. Needless to say, he doesn't like this particular exercise. But I can see some improvement, so it's worth it.
Yesterday morning, when I dropped Biscuit off at day care, we were getting out of the car and a truck with a loud muffler zoomed down the street. Biscuit jumped, spun around and walked right into the car door. He didn't hit it hard, but it was hard enough that he staggered back a couple of steps.
I was concerned that he was hurt, but before I could even check his head, he pointed his little finger up at me and said, "NOT NICE, MAMA! Hut head!" (hurt head)
"I didn't do anything," I whined back at him. "YOU'RE the one who walked into the door."
Then it occurred to me, I'm arguing with an almost 2-year-old. I'm trying to use logic, and he doesn't even know what logic IS!
Anyway, I'm not sure how Biscuit's twos will be. I guess we'll see starting next week!
So I wonder where Biscuit will land?
He's really a sweet kid. He's pretty laid back about most things. Keep his belly from getting empty. Make sure he has a car or a ball in his hand. And when his mouth hurts from teething, give him baby Tylenol and back away slowly!
But sometimes ... sometimes ...
Let's just leave that sentence unfinished!
The biggest thing we're working on right now is sharing. He's the only kid in our house, so he has all his toys all to himself. That's not the case at day care. So the teachers suggested that Jeff and I play with Biscuit's toys (we sure do hate that part), and when he comes to get them from us, we tell him that Mama and Dada are playing with the toys right now and that he can have them when we're done. Needless to say, he doesn't like this particular exercise. But I can see some improvement, so it's worth it.
Yesterday morning, when I dropped Biscuit off at day care, we were getting out of the car and a truck with a loud muffler zoomed down the street. Biscuit jumped, spun around and walked right into the car door. He didn't hit it hard, but it was hard enough that he staggered back a couple of steps.
I was concerned that he was hurt, but before I could even check his head, he pointed his little finger up at me and said, "NOT NICE, MAMA! Hut head!" (hurt head)
"I didn't do anything," I whined back at him. "YOU'RE the one who walked into the door."
Then it occurred to me, I'm arguing with an almost 2-year-old. I'm trying to use logic, and he doesn't even know what logic IS!
Anyway, I'm not sure how Biscuit's twos will be. I guess we'll see starting next week!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Happy Halloween
I know it's a few days late, bu
t here's a picture of our group Halloween costume:
I had bigger plans for our costume this year, but we had to go to S.C. for a funeral last week, and my shopping and preparing time went away. So I needed something that could be taken care of in one trip to the store. Somebody asked me how I decided what color each of us would be, and I told her that it was pretty simple. I grabbed whatever color sweatsuit was available in each of our sizes. Very simple, very easy.
Biscuit and I had sharp points, but Jeff said he didn't want to wear a hat because the black crayon is always the first one to lose it's point. I guess that makes him dull!
Friday night, Biscuit's day care had a Fall Festival. Jeff and I were the only parents who dressed up. I was surprised by that, but I didn't really care. I love dressing up for Halloween. And if you know Jeff, you know that nothing really shakes him up.
The weird part of the evening was that as soon as we walked in the door, all these kids and adults starting saying hey and talking to Biscuit. And what was even weirder was that Biscuit seemed to know them, too. He has this whole social life that we didn't even know about.
Jeff said, "It's like he's a teenager already with a secret social life."
We figured out that it's all about timing. Biscuit is one of the last kids to arrive at day care in the mornings and one of the last kids to leave in the evening. So many of the other parents see him when they pick their kids up in the afternoon.
One man, who I swear looked about 7 feet tall, said hey to Biscuit in a really deep voice. He was standing behind me, and his voice was so deep that it startled me. But it didn't faze Biscuit. He just smiled and said hey. Then another man held his fist out, and Biscuit leaned over and bumped fists with the guy.
We struck up a conversation with a woman we had never seen before. She just went on and on about how much she loves Biscuit. She said, "He has such a big personality. Kids and adults both are just drawn to him." It was a nice thing for her to say, but it was pretty odd that this woman knows so much about our son, and we've never even met her.
The teachers had set up games in each classroom. There was a temporary tattoo station, musical chairs, pin the nose on the pumpkin, ball toss, and other games geared toward the kids. At each station, there was a bowl of candy for the bigger kids to choose from (mostly candy) and a bowl of stuff for the little kids to choose from (cookies and crackers). Biscuit had a good time, and we enjoyed watching him.
We spent the day at home Saturday. It was nice to just chill out with my boys. Jeff usually has some kind of game to cover on Saturdays during this time of the year, but he lucked out and didn't have anything this week.
Back in September, I made Jeff go to a consignment sale with me, just so he could see what they're like. I pointed out that Biscuit's size went from here to there, and if he saw anything we could use, grab it. I was looking for pants and long-sleeved shirts. And Jeff grabbed a Frankenstein-esque one-piece Halloween outfit. Good thing he had his priorities straight! It was awfully cute, though. See?
Sunday we had a Halloween party to go to. It was mostly adults, but there were a couple of cute kids there, too. It was funny to notice how Biscuit dealt with each of the other kids. There was a little girl about his age, and he didn't want her to touch anything that was his. But there was a little boy a year younger than him, and Biscuit just laid in the floor and talked to him like it was his job to entertain him.
Biscuit is still small for his age, so even though the other little boy is nearing the same size, Biscuit still seemed to know that the little boy was younger than him. It was pretty fascinating to watch his interactions.
We didn't take Biscuit trick-or-treating, mainly because he's not old enough to get it yet. Plus, he still can't eat a lot of the candy he would've gotten anyway. But I'm guessing next year, he'll be ready!
t here's a picture of our group Halloween costume:I had bigger plans for our costume this year, but we had to go to S.C. for a funeral last week, and my shopping and preparing time went away. So I needed something that could be taken care of in one trip to the store. Somebody asked me how I decided what color each of us would be, and I told her that it was pretty simple. I grabbed whatever color sweatsuit was available in each of our sizes. Very simple, very easy.
Biscuit and I had sharp points, but Jeff said he didn't want to wear a hat because the black crayon is always the first one to lose it's point. I guess that makes him dull!
Friday night, Biscuit's day care had a Fall Festival. Jeff and I were the only parents who dressed up. I was surprised by that, but I didn't really care. I love dressing up for Halloween. And if you know Jeff, you know that nothing really shakes him up.
The weird part of the evening was that as soon as we walked in the door, all these kids and adults starting saying hey and talking to Biscuit. And what was even weirder was that Biscuit seemed to know them, too. He has this whole social life that we didn't even know about.
Jeff said, "It's like he's a teenager already with a secret social life."
We figured out that it's all about timing. Biscuit is one of the last kids to arrive at day care in the mornings and one of the last kids to leave in the evening. So many of the other parents see him when they pick their kids up in the afternoon.
One man, who I swear looked about 7 feet tall, said hey to Biscuit in a really deep voice. He was standing behind me, and his voice was so deep that it startled me. But it didn't faze Biscuit. He just smiled and said hey. Then another man held his fist out, and Biscuit leaned over and bumped fists with the guy.
We struck up a conversation with a woman we had never seen before. She just went on and on about how much she loves Biscuit. She said, "He has such a big personality. Kids and adults both are just drawn to him." It was a nice thing for her to say, but it was pretty odd that this woman knows so much about our son, and we've never even met her.
The teachers had set up games in each classroom. There was a temporary tattoo station, musical chairs, pin the nose on the pumpkin, ball toss, and other games geared toward the kids. At each station, there was a bowl of candy for the bigger kids to choose from (mostly candy) and a bowl of stuff for the little kids to choose from (cookies and crackers). Biscuit had a good time, and we enjoyed watching him.
We spent the day at home Saturday. It was nice to just chill out with my boys. Jeff usually has some kind of game to cover on Saturdays during this time of the year, but he lucked out and didn't have anything this week.
Back in September, I made Jeff go to a consignment sale with me, just so he could see what they're like. I pointed out that Biscuit's size went from here to there, and if he saw anything we could use, grab it. I was looking for pants and long-sleeved shirts. And Jeff grabbed a Frankenstein-esque one-piece Halloween outfit. Good thing he had his priorities straight! It was awfully cute, though. See?
Sunday we had a Halloween party to go to. It was mostly adults, but there were a couple of cute kids there, too. It was funny to notice how Biscuit dealt with each of the other kids. There was a little girl about his age, and he didn't want her to touch anything that was his. But there was a little boy a year younger than him, and Biscuit just laid in the floor and talked to him like it was his job to entertain him.Biscuit is still small for his age, so even though the other little boy is nearing the same size, Biscuit still seemed to know that the little boy was younger than him. It was pretty fascinating to watch his interactions.
We didn't take Biscuit trick-or-treating, mainly because he's not old enough to get it yet. Plus, he still can't eat a lot of the candy he would've gotten anyway. But I'm guessing next year, he'll be ready!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Ricky Bobby
A post from The Daddy Man:
I think I'm going to change Biscuit's name to Ricky Bobby.
I went to pick him up at day care the other day. He likes riding in my Mustang because his car seat sits up high enough to have a good view.
As soon as I started the car, Biscuit yelled from the back seat, "GO FAST, DADA. GO FAST!!!"
Okay, Ricky Bobby, here we go. I'm so proud.
-------------------------------------------------------
Comments from Mama:
1. DO NOT drive that car fast while you're carrying my baby!
2. Biscuit is bad enough, and now you want to name him after Will Ferrell character ("Talladega Nights)? Um, no.
3. Last but not least, I have eyes in the back of my head. You boys better behave!
I think I'm going to change Biscuit's name to Ricky Bobby.
I went to pick him up at day care the other day. He likes riding in my Mustang because his car seat sits up high enough to have a good view.
As soon as I started the car, Biscuit yelled from the back seat, "GO FAST, DADA. GO FAST!!!"
Okay, Ricky Bobby, here we go. I'm so proud.
-------------------------------------------------------
Comments from Mama:
1. DO NOT drive that car fast while you're carrying my baby!
2. Biscuit is bad enough, and now you want to name him after Will Ferrell character ("Talladega Nights)? Um, no.
3. Last but not least, I have eyes in the back of my head. You boys better behave!
Good Boy, Sneaky Mama
Biscuit said the blessing all by himself before dinner tonight:
"Bless this food, for our good. Amen."
Then he cleaned his plate, including sweet potatoes, broccoli and carrots.
Okay, so he didn't know he was eating broccoli and carrots. I made a cornbread batter, added diced chicken, cheese, broccoli and carrots. Added garlic ('cause everything is better with garlic) and baked them in a muffin tin.
The boy gobbled them right up ... and he was none the wiser.
"Bless this food, for our good. Amen."
Then he cleaned his plate, including sweet potatoes, broccoli and carrots.
Okay, so he didn't know he was eating broccoli and carrots. I made a cornbread batter, added diced chicken, cheese, broccoli and carrots. Added garlic ('cause everything is better with garlic) and baked them in a muffin tin.
The boy gobbled them right up ... and he was none the wiser.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Biscuit's musical stylings
Biscuit got down with his bad self this evening. Check out his latest music videos.
Friday, October 22, 2010
How he got here
I was talking today to a work friend about the baby she's going to have in November. She's a couple of years younger than me, and this is her first baby. She and her husband hadn't planned on having kids, but surprise! Now they have a little boy coming next month.
She's going to deliver in the same hospital where Biscuit arrived.
And it occurred to me that I started this blog a couple of months after Biscuit got here, so I never wrote a blog about his arrival.
Biscuit was due on Thanksgiving Day. And after three years of fertility treatments and one miscarriage, I thought there couldn't have been a more appropriate day for him to arrive.
But he decided that he didn't want to wait that long to arrive, so he showed up three weeks early.
A couple we're friends with had a baby due about three months after Biscuit, so Jeff and the other dad went to a Daddy Boot Camp class one Saturday. I would've paid big money to be a fly on the wall in that classroom. Jeff and his friend are not really the Daddy Boot Camp class-type, even though they are both great, hands-on dads.
While the men were in class, both of us soon-to-be mamas went shopping. We walked all over an outdoor shopping mall here in town, then met our husbands after their class for pancakes.
I was tired after walking that much, so Jeff and I went home to relax. We got home about 3 in the afternoon, and I told Jeff I'd like to lie on our bed and watch TV. We just chilled out for a while, but at 5 p.m., I sat straight up and said to Jeff, "I need to make chocolate pies."
He said, "You NEED to make chocolate pies?"
"Yes!" I said.
That far into the pregnancy, Jeff knew the routine. As soon as I said yes, he asked, "Can I help?" That was the absolute perfect question.
"Yes," I said. "You can build up your arm muscles by stirring the pie filling as it cooks."
After the pies were done, I had him take one to a friend's house, and we had some of the other one. We spent the rest of the night just hanging out together.
Little did we know we were spending our last evening alone!
About 3 a.m., I sat straight up in bed. I thought I was having a bad dream and had wet the bed. Then I realized, that's not a missed trip to the bathroom, my water just broke!
I got up and started walking to the bathroom. I meant to tap Jeff's leg as I walked by, but I got a little more contact than I thought. I slapped his leg at the same time I called his name.
He jumped up with his eyes half open, "What? What? What's going on?"
My water just broke. We need to call the hospital.
"I thought you were supposed to go into labor before your water broke?" Jeff asked.
I have to say, I was impressed. Clearly, he had been listening in our birthing class.
"Technically, that's how it's supposed to happen, but you know me, I can't do anything the normal, easy way," I said to him.
I called the hospital to ask about what we should do, and they said call my doctor.
I called the on-call number for my doctor group and assumed I would get a voicemail or an operator, and someone would call me back. That's why I was really surprised when a doctor answered the phone, sounding really groggy. Little did I know at the time, he had already delivered two other babies that day, one only a couple of hours before I called him in the middle of the night.
I told him what was going on, and he said he'd meet me at the hospital.
So at 4 a.m. Sunday, November 9, 2008, Jeff and I headed to the women's hospital here in town. My contractions had started before we left home, so we knew it wouldn't be long until we had our new baby boy.
I called my parents from the car. It takes them about 2 1/2 hours to drive up here. They were surprised to hear from me since it was three weeks before Biscuit's due date. Plus, they were supposed to be leaving that Monday on a group trip to Myrtle Beach. A trip they had already paid for, I might add. But they took time to pack and were on their way.
I got settled into a birthing room, and there was much hulabaloo. I got an IV and an internal monitor for Biscuit, then they asked me about a thousand questions. I had three nurses working on me all at once. I didn't know which one to look at or talk to next.
I was in labor for, I guess about 10 hours total. Although, I did get an epidural that made that last hour pretty pleasant! Actually, the anesthesiologist put the epidural in, and nothing changed. One of the nurses scolded me. "You need to take a nap and get some rest. You've got a busy evening ahead of you."
I couldn't figure out how she expected me to take a nap when I was still having contractions strong enough that I thought I was going to yank the bed rail off and hand it to Jeff.
"Um, this might be a stupid question," I asked her. "But, how can I take a nap when I'm still having strong contractions? What exactly am I supposed to be feeling right now?"
"You should be relaxed enough to go to sleep," she said.
"Um, nope," I told her.
She called the anesthesiologist back in. I'm not sure what he did to that epidural, but about 10 minutes later, life was pretty darn good! I remember my parents coming in and talking, but I don't remember a thing they said or when they left.
I woke up after about half an hour, and there were a couple of nurses and the doctor hovering around the fetal monitor screen. Those monitors are cool because you hear the constant beat of the baby's heart. But even before the doctor said anything, I had a contraction, and I heard the baby's heart get slower and slower and slower.
I was starting to get worried because I could tell by the way they were talking that something was wrong. I turned to Jeff, who had been holding my hand, rubbing my arms and back and helping me breathe the whole time.
And speaking of that, let me take a break right here and say that Jeff was so good throughout my whole pregnancy. He doctored on me during some awful morning sickness. He rubbed my feet once they started swelling. And God bless him, he ate Mexican food three or four times a week for the last month when that was what I was craving.
But mostly, he was just patient. I had a couple of pretty rough mood swings. One involved Jeff getting Chinese takeout for dinner. That in itself was really nice, but then once he got the food home, he had the nerve to put the chicken and broccoli ON TOP OF MY RICE!!!!! I usually eat my chicken and broccoli separate from the rice, but that day, for some reason, it was very, very, VERY important that the chicken and broccoli should not touch the rice.
I was sitting on the couch with my feet propped up, and Jeff brought my food into the living room on a tray. You'd think I'd be excited and grateful. But nope! I was MAD!
"JEFF! You put the chicken and broccoli on top of the rice! I can't eat it that way!" I yelled at him. Then I burst into tears. Poor Jeff thought he could just fix the problem by going back into the kitchen and separating the chicken and broccoli into one bowl and the rice in the other bowl.
Poor Jeff.
When he came back into the living room, I explained to him in a not-nice way that his idea was completely ridiculous, and he needed to go back into the kitchen and make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Do you know what Jeff did? He went back into the kitchen and made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course, I was pretty crazy that day, so he might have just been too scared of me to do anything else!
Anyway, back to the hospital. So every time I had a contraction, Biscuit's heart rate dropped. He had moved down some but not enough for me to start pushing.
Then I heard the doctor say, "We might be looking at a C-section." I wasn't really prepared for that. But at that point, I just wanted that baby out and safely in my arms.
We waited as long as we could, but the doctor was getting worried about Biscuit. So we made the call to do a C-section, and it was like somebody flipped a switch. Everybody in the room started doing stuff to get me ready. It was really weird to just lie there and have all these people working on me.
They put Jeff in a white spacesuit-looking outfit and wheeled me into the operating room.
And then it occurred to me. My epidural didn't work when they first put it in. Am I going to feel them cutting my belly open?!?
I called the anesthesiologist over to ask, and she assured me that I wouldn't feel a thing ... except coldness! I was freezing!!
I was also sleepy. I remember telling Jeff over and over, "Don't let me fall asleep. I don't want to miss it."
They did the surgery stuff, and I heard Biscuit cry for the first time. "Is that him?" I asked.
A nurse grabbed our camera and took our very first family portrait.
Then all of a sudden, they whisked Jeff and Biscuit out of the room. They were still doing surgery stuff on me, but Jeff and Biscuit went to the nursery for Biscuit to get officially weighed and measured and to get his first bath.
When they were finished with me, they wheeled me out to the recovery room. I was the only patient in there, so the recovery nurse spent a lot of time just sitting and chatting with me. That was really nice because it seemed like forever until they brought Jeff and Biscuit in.
The recovery nurse did photography as a hobby, so she took some really nice pictures of us. She was a sweet girl. She also looked about 12 years old, but she took good care of me, so I didn't care how old she was!
Here's one of the pictures she took of us. And I thi
nk you know the story from there!
She's going to deliver in the same hospital where Biscuit arrived.
And it occurred to me that I started this blog a couple of months after Biscuit got here, so I never wrote a blog about his arrival.
Biscuit was due on Thanksgiving Day. And after three years of fertility treatments and one miscarriage, I thought there couldn't have been a more appropriate day for him to arrive.
But he decided that he didn't want to wait that long to arrive, so he showed up three weeks early.
A couple we're friends with had a baby due about three months after Biscuit, so Jeff and the other dad went to a Daddy Boot Camp class one Saturday. I would've paid big money to be a fly on the wall in that classroom. Jeff and his friend are not really the Daddy Boot Camp class-type, even though they are both great, hands-on dads.
While the men were in class, both of us soon-to-be mamas went shopping. We walked all over an outdoor shopping mall here in town, then met our husbands after their class for pancakes.
I was tired after walking that much, so Jeff and I went home to relax. We got home about 3 in the afternoon, and I told Jeff I'd like to lie on our bed and watch TV. We just chilled out for a while, but at 5 p.m., I sat straight up and said to Jeff, "I need to make chocolate pies."
He said, "You NEED to make chocolate pies?"
"Yes!" I said.
That far into the pregnancy, Jeff knew the routine. As soon as I said yes, he asked, "Can I help?" That was the absolute perfect question.
"Yes," I said. "You can build up your arm muscles by stirring the pie filling as it cooks."
After the pies were done, I had him take one to a friend's house, and we had some of the other one. We spent the rest of the night just hanging out together.
Little did we know we were spending our last evening alone!
About 3 a.m., I sat straight up in bed. I thought I was having a bad dream and had wet the bed. Then I realized, that's not a missed trip to the bathroom, my water just broke!
I got up and started walking to the bathroom. I meant to tap Jeff's leg as I walked by, but I got a little more contact than I thought. I slapped his leg at the same time I called his name.
He jumped up with his eyes half open, "What? What? What's going on?"
My water just broke. We need to call the hospital.
"I thought you were supposed to go into labor before your water broke?" Jeff asked.
I have to say, I was impressed. Clearly, he had been listening in our birthing class.
"Technically, that's how it's supposed to happen, but you know me, I can't do anything the normal, easy way," I said to him.
I called the hospital to ask about what we should do, and they said call my doctor.
I called the on-call number for my doctor group and assumed I would get a voicemail or an operator, and someone would call me back. That's why I was really surprised when a doctor answered the phone, sounding really groggy. Little did I know at the time, he had already delivered two other babies that day, one only a couple of hours before I called him in the middle of the night.
I told him what was going on, and he said he'd meet me at the hospital.
So at 4 a.m. Sunday, November 9, 2008, Jeff and I headed to the women's hospital here in town. My contractions had started before we left home, so we knew it wouldn't be long until we had our new baby boy.
I called my parents from the car. It takes them about 2 1/2 hours to drive up here. They were surprised to hear from me since it was three weeks before Biscuit's due date. Plus, they were supposed to be leaving that Monday on a group trip to Myrtle Beach. A trip they had already paid for, I might add. But they took time to pack and were on their way.
I got settled into a birthing room, and there was much hulabaloo. I got an IV and an internal monitor for Biscuit, then they asked me about a thousand questions. I had three nurses working on me all at once. I didn't know which one to look at or talk to next.
I was in labor for, I guess about 10 hours total. Although, I did get an epidural that made that last hour pretty pleasant! Actually, the anesthesiologist put the epidural in, and nothing changed. One of the nurses scolded me. "You need to take a nap and get some rest. You've got a busy evening ahead of you."
I couldn't figure out how she expected me to take a nap when I was still having contractions strong enough that I thought I was going to yank the bed rail off and hand it to Jeff.
"Um, this might be a stupid question," I asked her. "But, how can I take a nap when I'm still having strong contractions? What exactly am I supposed to be feeling right now?"
"You should be relaxed enough to go to sleep," she said.
"Um, nope," I told her.
She called the anesthesiologist back in. I'm not sure what he did to that epidural, but about 10 minutes later, life was pretty darn good! I remember my parents coming in and talking, but I don't remember a thing they said or when they left.
I woke up after about half an hour, and there were a couple of nurses and the doctor hovering around the fetal monitor screen. Those monitors are cool because you hear the constant beat of the baby's heart. But even before the doctor said anything, I had a contraction, and I heard the baby's heart get slower and slower and slower.
I was starting to get worried because I could tell by the way they were talking that something was wrong. I turned to Jeff, who had been holding my hand, rubbing my arms and back and helping me breathe the whole time.
And speaking of that, let me take a break right here and say that Jeff was so good throughout my whole pregnancy. He doctored on me during some awful morning sickness. He rubbed my feet once they started swelling. And God bless him, he ate Mexican food three or four times a week for the last month when that was what I was craving.
But mostly, he was just patient. I had a couple of pretty rough mood swings. One involved Jeff getting Chinese takeout for dinner. That in itself was really nice, but then once he got the food home, he had the nerve to put the chicken and broccoli ON TOP OF MY RICE!!!!! I usually eat my chicken and broccoli separate from the rice, but that day, for some reason, it was very, very, VERY important that the chicken and broccoli should not touch the rice.
I was sitting on the couch with my feet propped up, and Jeff brought my food into the living room on a tray. You'd think I'd be excited and grateful. But nope! I was MAD!
"JEFF! You put the chicken and broccoli on top of the rice! I can't eat it that way!" I yelled at him. Then I burst into tears. Poor Jeff thought he could just fix the problem by going back into the kitchen and separating the chicken and broccoli into one bowl and the rice in the other bowl.
Poor Jeff.
When he came back into the living room, I explained to him in a not-nice way that his idea was completely ridiculous, and he needed to go back into the kitchen and make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Do you know what Jeff did? He went back into the kitchen and made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course, I was pretty crazy that day, so he might have just been too scared of me to do anything else!
Anyway, back to the hospital. So every time I had a contraction, Biscuit's heart rate dropped. He had moved down some but not enough for me to start pushing.
Then I heard the doctor say, "We might be looking at a C-section." I wasn't really prepared for that. But at that point, I just wanted that baby out and safely in my arms.
We waited as long as we could, but the doctor was getting worried about Biscuit. So we made the call to do a C-section, and it was like somebody flipped a switch. Everybody in the room started doing stuff to get me ready. It was really weird to just lie there and have all these people working on me.
They put Jeff in a white spacesuit-looking outfit and wheeled me into the operating room.
And then it occurred to me. My epidural didn't work when they first put it in. Am I going to feel them cutting my belly open?!?
I called the anesthesiologist over to ask, and she assured me that I wouldn't feel a thing ... except coldness! I was freezing!!
I was also sleepy. I remember telling Jeff over and over, "Don't let me fall asleep. I don't want to miss it."
They did the surgery stuff, and I heard Biscuit cry for the first time. "Is that him?" I asked.
A nurse grabbed our camera and took our very first family portrait.
Then all of a sudden, they whisked Jeff and Biscuit out of the room. They were still doing surgery stuff on me, but Jeff and Biscuit went to the nursery for Biscuit to get officially weighed and measured and to get his first bath.
When they were finished with me, they wheeled me out to the recovery room. I was the only patient in there, so the recovery nurse spent a lot of time just sitting and chatting with me. That was really nice because it seemed like forever until they brought Jeff and Biscuit in.The recovery nurse did photography as a hobby, so she took some really nice pictures of us. She was a sweet girl. She also looked about 12 years old, but she took good care of me, so I didn't care how old she was!
Here's one of the pictures she took of us. And I thi
nk you know the story from there!
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