Wednesday, May 30th, 2007

This morning we had our inspection. It went very, very well. The inspector only found a few things, and they are all pretty easy to fix. She also really loved Back Seat Girl's room. What girl wouldn't? I think her room is my favorite in this house. I spent a lot of time in it wondering what it would be like to have a baby, and after she arrived I spent a lot of time in it nursing and rocking and crying while I packed away tiny baby girl clothes and realizing I can't make time stand still.

BSG and I spent a lot of time outside this morning,and when Back Seat Boy woke up from his nap he joined us. It was the first time he spent a significant amount of time hanging out in the yard and not in the stroller or Bjorn at a park. He did a lot of leaning forward trying very, very hard to touch the grass that seemed to be just out of his reach. Once he got a piece he very predictably put it in his mouth. Here he is, enjoying the breeze through his comb-over.

Here is BSG "smiling" for the camera, and BSB wondering what the heck she is doing. He spends a lot of time wondering what the heck she is doing. We all do.

Did you every wonder-- 'what is the last thing you see before you get your nose eaten off by a baby?' It's this:

When BSG saw me take a close-up of BSB, she requested one, also. She is a true Diva.

The TiVo Generation

The setting: I am in the kitchen, Back Seat Boy is napping in his room, Back Seat Girl is in the living room watching an hour long Dora special (God bless Nickelodeon for throwing an hour long one in there on a work day).

Back Seat Girl: Mommy! What happened? Come in here! Mommy!!

Me (running into the living room): What? What's wrong?

BSG: Where's Dora? Turn Dora back on!

Me: Honey, it's just a commercial. Dora will be back on in a few minutes.

I return to the kitchen and a few seconds later hear BSG reassure Pork Roll "Don't worry, Dora will come back on in a few minutes".

Alison Ran?

Welcome to Richfield. It was a beautiful weekend and Shotgun and I did some work on the house we are intending to sell. One of my tasks for the weekend was to clean the massive amount of Maple tree pollen out of the gutters. So I broke out the hose and went to work. Ever wonder what happen when a couple hundred ants build a nest in a hose and then you turn it on when a nozzle is attached? Well I found out and let me tell you, no water comes out. It seems that the path of least resistance is blocked by ant carcasses.

After doing the real work, back seat girl came out to “help”. There is a small hole in one of out hoses and in true Richfield fashion; this little lemon was made into lemonade by back seat girl and out neighbor. Here is some of the video from the afternoon. In one you can see me ask the neighbor girl if her parents are ok with her running threw the hose. Well, I pretty much assumed that they must be ok because surly someone saw their daughter/cousin/niece/sister/ come over to play. Back seat boy makes a few cameos as well.










A couple of side notes:
The entire time I was cleaning out the gutters one of out neighbors in the apartments behind us was cleaning out his car blasting light rick favorites from yesterday and today. I was serenaded with such classic as-

Put your head on my shoulder
Pretty woman
Sounds of silence (how ironic)
Some Billy Joel Song
And numerous other hits at a volume able to be clearly heard from half a block away.

Also, Shotgun just watched West Side Story for the first time tonight. She was shocked when I knew most of the songs by heart. Thanks, Kate.

Announcement

I am pleased to announce that Stefan and Jenny Debbert have a new baby boy!! Owen was born this morning at 6:30. Three weeks early, but who's counting? He weighed 6 lbs, 2 oz, and apparently has blonde hair. Don't know the length, but I may go and see them this afternoon so maybe I'll have a picture to post later.

Congratulations!!

A Warning

I feel it is my duty to deliver this public service to all of you. I was just looking myself up on Switchboard.com (it's better not to ask why), and it has my age as 31. 31!! Now, listen, I don't think 31 is old, it's just that I am not 31. I'm not even 30. Apparently, the internet is full of WILDLY inaccurate information. That's right--bold, italicized, all caps wildly. What's next? Everything on Wikepedia is made up?

I just thought you should all know that the internet is full of lies and you shouldn't believe ANYTHING you read. Unless, of course, it's on this website. Everything here is completely true.

Six months of Back Seat Boy

This weekend you turned six months old. I can hardly believe where the time has gone. How did you get to be so big? I think you were a tiny baby for about .5 seconds.

Now you are this moon-faced adorable morsel I could just squeeze until you pop. I won’t though. You are always ready to smile. You will smile at anything. If I just glance in your direction I get the big, wide-eyed, toothless grin. Your Grandma calls you a “ray of sunshine”, and I would have to agree with her.

You have a great giggle. It’s impossible not to smile when I hear you start to laugh. The person who can get you to laugh the easiest is your big sister. You watch her intently, and if she decides to grace you with some eye contact, you smile gleefully. If she goes so far as to actually talk to you or do something silly, you can’t help but laugh with delight.

You’re starting to develop a bit of a schedule, much to my delight. I’ve decided to take your lead on this since that’s what I let your sister do and she figured out a pretty nice daily schedule for herself. I usually end up laying you down by 8. You’ve gotten into the bad habit of waking up between 5:45 and 6, but usually I can get you to go back to sleep for a little while. The problem is that I can’t get back to sleep.

When you do wake up for the morning you couldn’t be happier. You are usually content to lie in your crib for a while and wrestle and talk with your blanket bear. When I go in to greet you, you act like you are surprised that yes, we are still here and did not move out in the middle of the night while you were sleeping. You kick and grunt and smile, and just when you think it couldn’t get any better, I change your diaper. You LOVE getting your diaper changed. The only thing that is better than getting your diaper changed is eating, especially that cereal stuff we’ve started giving you. You open your little mouth like a bird when you see the spoon, and have since the second time you’ve ever tried it. It is pretty funny. You even get excited when you see me get out the milk and the bowl.

You’re to the age where you will try to grab anything, ANYTHING within your reach, or at least what you perceive to be within your reach. It’s hard to eat now with you on my lap, because you are constantly grabbing at my plate, at the fork going into my mouth, at my face, at my drink, etc. Everything that ends up in your hand goes into your mouth, of course. I have forgotten how much babies love to put everything into their mouths.

Watching you has made me remember things about your sister being a baby that I had forgotten. For instance, you have developed a fascination with the tags on your toys. Your favorite part of any toy is the tag. I remember now that your sister was the same way. You finger the tag, or stick it in your mouth, or hold it up really close to your face and look at it with awe and wonder. “Behold, it is the almighty tag. There is a wealth of information on this thing. It has washing instructions on it. It tells you where it is made. It tells you what company made it. Plus, it’s kind of shiny and slippery and fits perfectly into my mouth.” At least that is what I imagine is going through that little brain of yours.


The last six months have flown by, and I know the next six months will, as well. Before I know it you will be trying to walk and talk and the precious little baby you are now will only be a memory. I am tenaciously holding on to these innocent moments before you are treating me like an indentured servant as other people in this house are known to do. You look at me now after I feed you or change your diaper or get you after you’ve woken up from a nap with such gratitude, like these things aren’t expected of me--like I’m the greatest person in the world for keeping you alive for this long. I think you’re saying “Wow. Thanks Mom. I really was hungry/tired/messy, and you took care of it. I love you”.

Happy Birthday, Little Man. I love you, too.

P.S. You scream like a girl when you're excited, but I think it makes me love you a little more. You even make screaming like a girl cute.

Why?

I heard well before I ever thought about having my own children the stories of toddlers who constantly ask 'why?'. You answer one 'why', and it's met with another 'why', and another, and so on. I thought to myself "Self, surely this is an exaggeration". I had never witnessed first-hand any small child do this. I thought it was one of those old stories that got exaggerated over time. Yea, maybe a few kids do this, but not to the point where there can't possibly be anymore answers to the "whys?".

Enter Back Seat Girl. She loves to prove her mother wrong, and she has done it once again. In the last two weeks she started asking 'why?' to everything, everything she possibly can. Even when it doesn't make sense to ask 'why?', even when she's asking about how she feels or why she is doing something, she asks us "why?".

Last weekend I had to work so Driver, being the good dad he is, loaded the kids into the stroller and took them to the park. They came to a 4-way stop at the same time as another car. Driver waved his hand and told the driver of the car to go ahead. Back Seat Girl saw this as an opportunity to stump her stupid parents yet again. This time, however, Driver had an answer.

BSG: What did you say to that lady?
Driver: I told her she can go.
BSG: Why?
Driver: So we wouldn't go at the same time.
BSG: Why?
Driver: Because then we would hit eachother.
BSG: Why?
Driver: Because then we would get hurt.
BSG: Why?
Driver: Because according to the laws of physics two objects can't occupy the same space at the same time.

That was one of the shorter exchanges. They can go on forever, to the point where you really can't think of any more answers. The other night she asked me why she couldn't go to heaven right now. (The original question was "Who is Jesus?") We always try to distill them down to phsyics. I've found myself saying on more than one occasion to my two and a half year old "physics, Back Seat Girl, it's all around us".

I feel myself getting less intelligent by the day.

NWA Tour

This last Thursday for class we got to tour Northwest Airlines maintenance facility at the Minneapolis Airport. The tour was fascinating. We were able to tour the hangars and see the planes that are in there for maintenance. We went into the cockpits, cargo bays and everything. There was one plane that had an interesting story. It was in an accident on the tarmac and is now being used for training. I saw this picture on the internet the afternoon before the tour. Imagine my surprise when I saw it all busted up.

An Apology

Dear Mommy and Daddy's friends who were here Saturday night--

I am sorry I screamed my head off for what seemed like a very long time according to mom (I didn't think it was that bad, but whatever). I guess I was getting used to being an only child there for a while with my sister gone. Every time I made a noise or seemed the least bit unhappy all day I got picked up, or a big head would appear in my vision to smile and talk to me.

Then, suddenly, I woke up at this place where there were other big people that looked like Mommy and Daddy and they were all talking and NO ONE was looking at me. I had to sit in my carseat and amuse myself with these plastic chains which usually do the job, but I was kinda' mad. I mean, I had Mommy and Daddy to myself ALL DAY. Now suddenly I was stuck in a corner and all I could see was Mommy and Daddy's backs.

So, I did what I needed to do. I made some noise, and I had Mommy and Daddy to myself all over again. For a little while, at least. Then all the big people showed up again, and then I was outside, and it was getting late, and there was a little person that looked kind of like my sister but not really running around, and I got a little overwhelmed. Suddenly Mommy was trying to put me to bed, but I just couldn't calm down. Once again, I had to resort to the one thing I know that gets me attention EVERY time.

I don't know what happened next, but I must have accidentally fallen asleep, because a few hours later I woke up in my crib with my animals. A few hours after that my sister was back, and then I remembered that it's not ALWAYS about me, so I decided to not scream before bed that night, because it seems to me that Mommy and Daddy are always there when I really need them.

Yours Truly,
Back Seat Boy

Happy 100k Little Green Beetle

The last snow

A few weeks ago we were doing this:

And only wearing onesies:

But today we were doing this:

and wearing snowsuits:

Already she thinks I'm out of style

This morning Back Seat Girl and I were in Back Seat Boy's room to get him up for the morning. Back Seat Girl was talking about her hair. She was noticing that her hair is long, but mine is not.

BSG: Don't worry, momma, I help your hair grow.

Me: You will?

BSG: Yea, it looks funny like that.

A note to children's clothing manufacturers

Dear sirs,
Please do not tell me that I should be washing baby clothes in the gentle cycle. If you are making such flimsy clothing that it can not withstand the rigors of a normal cycle, perhaps you should just be honest and call it "disposable". I am not going to wash my baby's clothes in a separate gentle cycle. He is going to most assuredly poop and/or spit up on them every. time. he. wears. them. That adds up to a lot of laundry, and even more if I separated his laundry into things that can go in the normal cycle versus things that have to go in the gentle cycle.

While we're on the subject, I also have a toddler. While she is past the point of pooping and spitting up on her clothing, she does a fair amount of painting, splashing in mud puddles, spilling food, and general crawling around in a less than spic and span house. She usually can't wear an outfit much more than once or twice before it ends up in the wash, either. Unless this particular item of clothing is a dress, I'm not going to put it in the gently cycle. Don't even bother writing washing instructions on the tag that include the word "gentle". Why don't you just write "not meant to be worn more that 5 times".

Thank you for your time and attention to this matter.

Your's truly,
An Annoyed Consumer

Oh yea, she's definitely ours

Tonight after supper we were all in the living room watching the Twin's regular season opener. In honor of this special occasion Driver and I were enjoying a nice, cold Summit. Back Seat Boy was laying on the floor wrestling with his little stuffed giraffe (it's always hard to tell who's winning), and Back Seat Girl was sitting on Driver's lap. The cat was sitting inbetween Driver and I and started sniffing my beer.

BSG: No, kitty, that momma's beer.
She proceeds to slide down Driver's lap and onto the floor.
BSG: Can I have a sip of your beer?
Me: No, beer is only for Mommy's and Daddy's, remember?
BSG: No, beer is for Alisons!!
Me: No, beer is not for Alisons.
BSG: I want to hold it.
Me: No, you can't hold it. I tell you what, when you turn 21 you can have a beer.
BSG: Twentyone?
Me: Yep, 21.
BSG: OK, I going to turn 21. (goes to the middle of the living room and begins turning in
circles. You should all know that this is also how she 'turns' into a princess and
a pirate, although turning into a pirate also requires a hat.)
BSG: (comes back over to the couch with a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous grin on her
face) "OK, I 21 now."
Me: No, you're not 21. You're 2. Remember, you're going to turn 3 in July.
BSG: I try again.

Back to the middle of the living room for more spinning in circles.

BSG: OK, now I 21.

Some time passes. Now BSG is on my lap and she's holding Pork Roll.

BSG: How old is Pork Roll?
Me: He's 2, just like you.
BSG: No, Puppy 2.
Me: He's 2?
BSG: Puppy is a girl. Pork Roll is a boy. Pork Roll is a big boy. He 25. He can have a sip of
your beer.
Me: What the heck.

I held my almost empty beer bottle up to Pork Roll's mouth and made fake drinking noises.

Morning

Back Seat Girl woke up singing this morning. Driver was still home so he went in to get her.

Driver: That was a nice song. What was it about?
BSG: It a song about not throwing up.
Driver: (??!?!?) Oh, it's very pretty. Can you sing it for me?
BSG: No, it a song just for me.


We were thinking of dropping our Station wagon themed names. They are just starting to sound corny to me, but maybe it's just me. I was thinking of either just going ahead and using our real names, or doing the O-Mac, A-mac thing. We already call Back Seat Boy O or O-Mac a lot of the time now. I guess we're just too lazy to have two kids with 3 syllable names or something. What do you, our 2-3 faithful readers, think? Any preferences on what we call ourselves?

How did we get here?

It didn't seem that long ago that Driver and I were care-free college students. Now we're adults with two kids, a mortgage, and a station wagon. This weekend I realized that we've really embraced our lot in life.

This afternoon we all went to the Timberwolves game. We were the breeders of the skyway. Driver was holding the diaper bag and Back Seat Girl's hand, and I was carrying Back Seat Boy in the Bjorn.

Saturday night we had the front door open and we heard a car speed down the street. Driver and I had a whole conversation about how it would be great if we could rig up some spike strips that would go up on our street when cars were going over 35 mph. My parents were visiting and when my dad asked more about it, Driver went on and on about all of the instances he's seen people speed down our street.

Here is the most convincing evidence, however. Driver and I went out and bought this on Saturday morning (except in red):

It's the answer to most of our double stroller prayers. The front has an attachment so we can put Back Seat Boy's car seat in it. The back has a seat for Back Seat Girl to sit in, or a place for her to stand and hang on. It's not huge and plastic, it's nice and compact and has a metal frame so it won't break after a couple of uses which seems to happen to plastic things we own.

Driver and I went on and on about how great it was all weekend. We actually had to take turns pushing it home from the park. We talked so much about how much we loved it that my parents started making snide comments about how pathetic we were.

The worse part? I don't care. I am in love with that stroller. It's my ticket to freedom. I can actually get out of the house with both kids to some place other than the grocery store or Target. No more pushing a stroller while wearing a growing baby boy in the Bjorn (that is one he*# of a work out). I am so psyched about that stoller.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to go downstairs and look at it lovingly some more.

Better late than never

I was looking for this picture for Boy Wonder's birthday and couldn't find it. Well, I found it. Insert clever "Schutter Boy joke here"

My Boys

Boy Wonder

Happy Birthday, Boy Wonder!!

Unfortunately, this is the most recent picture I have of you on my Picasa account. Back Seat Girl looks to be around 1, so I'm thinking you're 5-6 months old. I'm pretty sure you couldn't crawl yet. This is one of the days I got to watch you because your regular daycare was closed. We had fun, as always!!

We've loved watching you grow up over the past 2 years. (2 years! I can hardly believe it.) You are growing into a cute, smart, funny, and fun to be around little boy. We look forward to making many more wonderful memories with you and your parents. Have a wonderful day!!

Beware: Dirty post ahead

Yesterday I gave Back Seat Boy a bath. He's had a problem with cradle cap pretty much since the day he was born, and I've managed to get rid of most of it with some stuff I bought at Target. However, for some weird reason, after I washed his hair yesterday he had some major dandruff problem. I couldn't let him go out in public like that and we had church last night, so I was trying to think of a way to wash his hair again without having to give him another bath. I didn't want to give him another bath for two reasons: 1--I'm lazy. 2--He has very dry skin already, and another bath would just dry him out more.

Later in the day, Back Seat Girl went down for her nap. Back Seat Boy fell asleep in his car seat while I was reading her stories. He woke up shortly after I laid her down, but was happy to play with his car seat toys, so I left him in there while I did boring house-wifey things. I bent down to talk to him and smile at him and soak up how frickin' adorable he is when he got that look of concentration on his face all babies do when they are about to move their bowels. It was a silent one, and everyone knows they are the worst. The loud ones are all go and no show, but those silent ones are just, well, they make the diapers earn their keep.

After finishing up what I was doing, I picked him up to change his diaper. I was expecting some poop-up-the-back action, but I was not prepared for what I had to deal with. There was poop all the way up his back and pooled in his onesie. Pooled, people. It was disgusting, and I am not easily disgusted. At first I thought I could just take care of it with baby wipes, but after about 8 of them, I realized it was just no use. I was cleaning poop out of his armpits, for crying out loud. Also, let's remember he just turned 4 months old, so I had to prop him up to a sitting position with one hand and try to wipe with the other. Getting his onesie off without doing further damage was impossible, too. I probably should've taken him back to the Dr. to get him weighed again. Obviously he's been holding in some, um, stuff, and his weight on Monday could have been falsely elevated.

Suffice it to say, he got another bath, so his hair was no longer a problem. The best part is that he could've cared less what I was doing. He just took it all in stride, cooing and smiling at me, completely ignoring the fact that he was basically totally covered in poop.

I just realized this blog is really just about feces. Maybe we should rename it "Poop, a story of Bowel Movements", because really, humans are just poop factories.