Stone soup

*If you are a Joss Whedon fan (Firefly? Yes. Buffy? Yes. etc.), you are probably already in the know when it comes to this: Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. The first act is up now, and there are two more acts yet to come; they’ll all be viewable until midnight this Sunday. I watched Act One with Jeff tonight, and… eh. Mildly amusing. Maybe my expectations given past Whedonisms were too high. I will definitely be giving it another try for Act Two, though.

*How many movies are in your Netflix queue? We have roughly 5,436 in ours, and it KILLS ME. We are continuously adding to it, and there is no way we will ever see all of these, thanks to the continuous addings. What are we doing to ourselves???

*Speaking of movies, as Jeff has pointed out to me many times in the past few weeks, Batman: The Dark Knight comes out tomorrow. We both want to see it, but Jeff is determined to go, even if it means going by himself if we can’t find a babysitter. Considering I don’t know any babysitters, the chances of us finding one are pretty slim. I, however, would rather wait until it’s on DVD than go to the theater by myself. I’ve never been to a movie by myself and I’m not about to start now (especially not with a movie like this one; if I were going to go by myself, I’d prefer to do it for a movie like “Love Actually”. I’m not sure why, but it seems more acceptable to see a romantic comedy alone than an action/adventure type one, despite the fact that seeing a romantic comedy alone probably screams “LOSER”, but yeah). It’s not that I’m afraid to go by myself. It’s more that I think the experience of going to the theater is much better enjoyed with other people. What say you? Should I suck it up and go by myself? Do you go to movies by yourself? Should I just bite the bullet and find a babysitter already?

*I decided Ethan needed felt foods to play with a few months ago, after he played with some at a friend’s house (they cooked up a scrumptious pot of fish-tomato-ice cream cone-carrot soup). Cheap as I am, I decided to make him some with my own two hands. He loves them! Here’s what I’ve made so far:

The dagger carrot could use some improvements.

 

Roomies

We came back from our “vacation” early (the army: you just never know with them) and after digging us all out of weeks and weeks worth of laundry, I found that Jeff had taken the initiative to set up the crib for Oliver while we were gone (what he hadn’t taken the initiative to do? Rearrange the furniture in Ethan’s room to allow for the addition of a piece of furniture the size of a foosball table; the room had been cramped to begin with, and instead of removing some furniture to make room for MORE furniture, he just… pushed it all into the middle of the room. I had me a heckuva time cleaning up after the “favor” he’d done me).

So, the crib. Right. All set up. Which meant that I would have to kick my 6-month-old out of our bed, where he’d slept almost exclusively since his birth. I was sad about this- I will miss the way he snuggles with me! But I was also a little MAJORLY EXCITED- oh, to be free to roll over in my sleep! I was also hesitant: I’m totally for the boys sharing a room (not that I have a choice, given the fact that our place is only a 2-bedroom). However, Oliver is not sleep-trained. He’s used to being either held or nursed to sleep. When we sleep-trained Ethan, he was 4-months-old and an only child. His crying disturbed no one. (Unless you count my heart, which DIED a little while I listened to his anguished cries over the monitor.) But how do we sleep train a baby whose sharing a room with his crabby sensitive older brother?

I’ll just add this dilemma to all the others I just can’t get figured out when it comes to having two children (like, how on earth to make a trip to the post office without tears and injuries and lots and lots of angrily whispered discipline (”YoubequietRIGHTNOWoryouwillgostraighttotheNaughtyChairwhenwegethome!”), while still managing to get a package mailed? Someone explain to me how that’s supposed to work?).

How about you? Will your children (or do they already) share a bedroom? Did you sleep train the younger before forcing him on his elder sibling (which, hello! That would have made a lot more sense, wouldn’t it?) What about when baby (inevitably) wakes in the night? Did you find your older child’s sleeping patterns got all messed up?

 

I hope you haven’t been holding your horses this whole time…

Ok, let’s add one more thing to the list of things I forget (wet laundry in the washer, my son’s name (only once! and I’d only had him for like, two days!), the reason I walked into the room… etc.): announcing the winner of my pay it forward! Duh! Misty of Our House, come on down! YOU are the next contestant in the Pay it Forward loop that just won’t end!

Speaking of Pay it Forward loops that just won’t end… I won a Pay it Forward contest, too! I won Bethtastic’s contest, and since she is waaay more on top of things than me (Misty, I still plan to have your package in the mail Monday, pinky swear!), I got her prize in the mail yesterday, and just LOOK at the fun things she sent me!

-a card (featuring the recipe for a Cosmopolitan) (you can’t tell from the pic but the glass, the stirrer, the olives, they punch out! how cute!)

-a cute little book for the boys

-a set of notecards and a journal, both cute

-adorable little felt elephant frames (my second favorite things in the package)

-a big ol’ bag of some of the awesomest chocolates EVER (my first favorite thing in the package) (obviously)

I knew Beth was planning on mailing chocolate, and I’d been a little worried about how they would hold up. (My fear stems from the fact that I mailed a bag of chocolate-covered banana chips to Jeff a couple of weeks ago; this is what they looked like upon arrival:

(Hard to tell from the pic, but it is one solid block of melted and rehardened chocolate. Ew.)

A very justifiable fear, wouldn’t you agree?) But not to worry, Beth- only a few were melty, and I stuck ‘em in the fridge and they were fine. I am not ashamed to say, though, that even if they’d been a big melty mess, I still would have eaten them. They are THAT good. (I am also not ashamed to say that I may or may not have licked one of the wrappers.) (Maybe.)

Thank you, Beth!

So, of course, since I won, I am now in debt and must forwardly pay it once again. I think I’ll wait awhile, though, since I’m still trying to focus on the first PIF.

 

Hold your horses

There will be a winner soon, I promise! I’m trying to make an appointment with the Random Number Generator. He is very busy, as you may well know, what with the massive amount of contests this past week. I’ll choose a winner in a few moments, and then after I’ve e-mailed the winner to inform them of the awesomeness, then I’ll do an announcement post so we all know just who exactly it is we should be jealous of.

And because I forgot to mention it before: if Random Number Generator chooses someone who doesn’t have a blog, I will be choosing a second winner from among my entries to be the winner of my winner’s PIF contest. Make sense? Good.

Happy Saturday! And good luck in my contest; my fingers are crossed for YOU!

 

This bedroom has an oven in it!

Yesterday was the fourth of July. This is how I know that my holiday was as good as it could have been:

-Just before leaving this afternoon, I had to wrestle my son into his Old Navy flag tee. He was not at all happy about this. He’d been wearing a Batman t-shirt and was appalled that I was forcing him to change. Luckily, he’s 3, and forgets things easily. By the time we got to our destination, he’d forgotten about the struggle that went into getting him changed. He proudly announced to everyone that he had on his “fag shirt.”

-I made this (only I just used blueberries and strawberries, so it was all patriotic-like) and brought it to the bbq at my mother-in-law’s house. I mistakenly thought I was cool enough to make small changes to the recipe here and there that wouldn’t effect the outcome in any way. Conclusion: I am actually not cool at all. I was too embarrassed to even ask for my pan back when I left.

-Ethan fell asleep at about 7:30, stayed asleep when I transferred him from car seat to bed, and continued sleeping on through the fireworks. I had planned to wake him up for them, but then I saw them: liiiittle tiny bits of sparkly color juuust peeking over the tops of the trees. Barely making a sound. Lasted nary a few minutes. Hmm… wake up cranky toddler so he could yell at me for disturbing his peaceful slumber, just to stare at some trees in the dark, or be thankful that he doesn’t yet realize the fourth of July means fireworks… hm… cake or death? Cake or death???

-My sister and I decided we needed a drink. Searched high and low for a corkscrew. Considered going over to the neighbors’ to borrow one, babies in tow. Eventually Cristey found one, a cheap one, that pretty much embedded itself into the cork, the end. Stuck there. She actually had to call a friend of hers, who was on his way to a party that would take him right past our house, to ask if he’d stop here first and open our bottle for us. Helpless much? We were desperate.

-Watched this, while tipsy (well, I was; it doesn’t take much), and laughed ourselves to tears:

(Just get through the interview-ey stuff in the beginning, it’s worth it, I promise!)

-Am now googling the rules as they pertain to alcohol consumption and breastfeeding.

Tell me: how was your fourth?

 

With any luck, I’ll be PIFing for the next 7 years

Re: Swistle’s Group Effort Pay it Forward Contest, ohmylawd, are anyone else’s eyes going all crossedy from the 7 gajillion new blogs you’ve read in the past three days? I started at the top of the list, entering others’ pay it forwards, and thought I’d work my way down. Except, somewhere along the line, I don’t know, I must have stopped to scold Phylicia Rashad (which, um, by the way, Phylicia, if you’ve Googled yourself and stumbled upon this (I would TOTALLY Google myself if I were famous!)- I ADORED you as Claire! You were so the boss of Cliff. You also rocked the shoulder pad look.), or something, and got confused, because I somehow ended up clicking a couple of the links in the middle of the list, and then some at the bottom, and… Well, I have no idea how many PIF contests I’ve actually entered.

Which begs the question: whatever will I do should I win 3 of the contests? Or 5? Or 20? Or, heck all 7 gajillion of them? Would I have to actually then find the time to pay it forward another 7 gajillion times? I’m all for fairness but I do like to sleep, too. And also, would like to avoid going broke over the purchasing of 7 gajillion dollars worth of PIF goodies, if possible.

I took a break from the PIF madness today to introduce Ethan to the world of mini golf (or putt putt, as we call it here in good ol’ Pee Ay). At first, he was cool with it, even developing his own unique club technique:

Then he found that the ball didn’t always do as he wished, and contented himself with picking it up and placing it an inch from the hole, then trying to hit it in:

And then the heat, hunger and slight cold he’s suffering from got to him, and after throwing some rocks and a trip to the Naughty Bench, simply laid his club on the ground and collapsed:

And then we finished up the outing with some ice cream. Right before dinner. Smaaaaart.

I’ve been the solo parent for 2 weeks now, and thus am not above trying to buy my son’s love/affection/obedience with confections.

It hasn’t worked yet, but much to his delight, I will keep trying.

 

Maps can’t talk back to you

(Unless, of course, it is The Map of Dora the Explorer fame; when HE talks back, my ears bleed.)

Last week I went through this whole song and dance with our insurance company in order to find a doctor here in Pennsylvania where Oliver could be seen for his 6-month check-up. (I should have known better; I never dance unless I’ve had a drink, and I don’t sing unless I’m drunk.)

I finally found a doctor’s office that would see him. In Ohio. Yesterday was Oliver’s appointment (he did well; 75th percentile for both height and weight, shots in both of his meaty little thighs), and we made the trip out to the middle of nowhere Ohio with the help of the GPS in my mom’s phone (whom I lovingly refer to as Phylicia Rashad) (Phylicia seemed like a name I could say in a positive manner, like when she brings us to our destination without a hitch, as well as a name that I could snarl well, like if she forgot to tell me to take a left at some crucial point; I found that in the latter circumstances, she needed a middle name, too, and thus the Rashad was added, because does any other name go with Phylicia? No.) (This is not weird, is it? Everyone names their GPS voice, right? Right?). Phylicia got us to the doctor’s office okay, but then I guess we pushed her to her limit by asking her to find this little store my mom had heard about, which was another 15ish miles away. I was actually hoping to find something fun/cute to add to my Pay It Forward prize at this store. (As well as something fun/cute for myself, too, I won’t lie.)

We had almost reached our destination when we found our path blocked by a “Road Closed” sign. Phylicia Rashad had led us to a dead end! More specifically, to a bridge that was no longer. She’d taken us to a drop-off in the lake, actually. So we turned around. Phylicia informed us that she was recalculating our route. “You BETTER recalculate, woman!” we told her. She responded a few minutes later with a new direction. Followed by another… and another. “Is dis da jungle, Mommy?” Ethan asked as we bumped down an unpaved road in the middle of some woods. A few moments later we realized we’d been led straight back to the cliff!

This time we ignored her directions and claims of “recalculation.” We found our way closer to the store, and then Phylicia finally caught on and started providing us with correct directions. After what seemed like hours, and after scolding Phylicia Rashad mercilessly, we found the store. The first thing we saw when we got there was a sign that read “Closed Sunday and Monday”. It was Monday. I know this was not Phylicia’s fault, but this knowledge does not stop me from blaming her.

So we gave up and decided to get some dinner. Phylicia told us there was a pizza/deli place nearby. We drove up to it and, lo and behold, it was CLOSED. Apparently the middle of nowhere Ohio is closed on Mondays, make sure you keep that in mind the next time you DON’T visit it.

In the end, we drove 40 miles away for shots and McDonald’s. Phylicia is currently on my List, and I am currently covered in a feverish, fussy baby. And I never did end up shopping for the Pay It Forward prize. To whomever wins my contest: Don’t be surprised if you open up a box of Phylicia Rashad.

 

Which way?

Forward. Pay it forward. If you aren’t familiar with how the contest works, read this lovely explanation.

I don’t have a prize as of yet. This is partly because what I DO have is a tooth-cutting, nursing baby and an attention-demanding, not-so-well-behaved 3-year-old. But it’s mostly because we’ve been out of town since the beginning of June. My trips to Target (and anywhere else shop-worthy) have been few and far between. In fact, I think I’ve only been there (Target) once in the past thirty days (and yet still managed to leave with $100 worth of stuff, even though I only went in for socks and thank you cards; such is the Magic of Target). However, I am way overdue for a bit of shopping. And wouldn’t YOU like to reap the benefits of my return to the world of consumerism?

All you have to do to be eligible is leave a comment on this post (before Friday, July 4th, 12:00 EST) telling me what kind of cereal is your absolute favorite. Personally, I’m devoted to the Cap’n, though I rarely ever eat it anymore (I would rather stick to Boring Adult Cereals with no flavor and no fun, and have NO Cap’n Crunch, than have to share my Cap’n Crunch with my 3-year-old; if I can’t have him, NO ONE WILL!). Or you can simply state your wish to be entered in the contest, either way works.

Ok, so, off you go- comment! If the trusty Random Number Generator chooses you, you will be the lucky recipient of whatever craziness I happen to find. BONUS: I may be about to take a random, spur of the moment trip (a trip within a trip, actually, as we are currently on vacay already) to someplace I loooove, which increases your chances of the prize’s actual retail awesomeness.

 

It’s big, and it’s huge

The always awesome Swistle has proposed a Big Huge Pay It Forward contest. And because I’d wanted to do one anyway, and because I have like thirty other things that I should be doing but am instead trying my best to put off doing, I decided to joined in the fun. I’ll fill you in on it more early next week. Just know this: there will be prize(s). That you can win! For free. You don’t have to do anything except leave a comment (on the post next week, not this one. Although feel free to comment on this one, too. I like comments!). So be on the lookout!

Totally unrelated, but really bothering me: why do socks come in resealable plastic bags? Why? Does anyone actually keep these bags and store their socks in them? What is the point of the resealableness?

And now, I must get back to my movie. I’m watching August Rush, and so far- depressing. And I’m home alone. Unless you count the sleeping babies, which I do not. So I’m lonely, and depressed. This evening had better pick up, or I’m going to march myself downstairs and eat all the leftover pizza.

 

Boy updates

Ethan’s been awake for just over 13 hours now, with no nap, and is upstairs in his room screaming for me, pleading with me through his tears to let him come out because he’s not tired and does not wish to nap. How is this possible? I’ve been awake 11 hours (the biggest bestest part of staying with your mom for a few weeks is that you don’t always have to get up at the butt crack of dawn with your early-riser, and today was one of those days for me, and THANK YOU MOM), and all it would take is for me to lean my head juuust a little bit to the side and I’d be OUT.

Where does he get this energy? It certainly isn’t from his healthy diet. We are in the midst of a food strike here. Today, for example, Ethan ate a handful of dry Crispex for breakfast, refused an almond butter, jelly and banana sandwich for lunch (yet for some reason stole little bites of my 3 cheese, tomato, red pepper and spinach pesto sandwich… weird), followed that up with half an ice cream cone, and finished the whole day off with two, count ‘em- TWO- bites of his pasta, tomatoes and chicken dinner. Forget having energy; how is the kid still walking? Thinking? Speaking? That little food and I’d be comatose on the floor.

Pretend with me that he’s looking at the camera. And that the picture isn’t so washed-out. K?

I think the food strike has a little to do with the fact that we’re out of our element- on vacation, in a different place, not sticking to our normal routine, etc.- and a lot to do with the fact that as of 9 days ago, my baby is officially a three-year-old. (I’d share pictures from his party except that I HAVE NONE thanks to temporatily losing my camera.) Ever heard of the Terrible Two’s? They don’t exist. It’s the Terrible, No Good Very Bad Three’s people should be warned about. He screams just as agonizingly when I ask him if he needs a diaper change as he does when I ask him if he’d like to get ice cream. He yells at me to take my hair down when it’s in a ponytail. He orders me to stop speaking when he hears me talking to my mom. He throws, hits, growls.

Kids are AWESOME.

In other, nicer child news, Oliver’s been busy. He’s trying new foods (though so far he only likes bananas), is FULL of smiles- he literally wakes up smiling and does not stop all day long, despite the (first!) tooth he’s currently cutting- and is making friends with his cousin Myla:

He’s also progressed from Baby Lump to Unsupported Sitter. See?

Again with the washed-out and the pretending…

Lest you think it’s all fun and games with this one, shall I tell you about the poopsplosion we spent 15 minutes digging ourselves out of yesterday? The one where I had to clean poop out of my fingernails? And out of Oliver’s neck cracks, toes and knee pits? The one where I ran out of wipes toward the end? No? Don’t wanna hear about that one? Alright. Nevermind then. Just go back to thinking Oliver’s all fun and games. Oliver’s cool with that.

Oh, the washed-outedness! He’s lucky he’s so cute.