Levi is 7 weeks old Sunday, he already thinks he can crawl. What’s next? Total world domination? I certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

Nothing quite like stumbling to the bathroom at 4 am and knocking stuff down off the bathroom shelf. Of course this can only be made better by my dear friend Murphy. He’s got this crazy law that says what ever can go wrong, will. Thus, when you knock your husbands deodorant off the bathroom shelf at 4 am, don’t cower a little bit simply because you know how loud a noise it will make hitting the floor. Really, waking the whole house with your klutz-capades should be the least of your worries. Murphy will ensure that instead of merely hitting the floor, said deodorant will land in the little potty your 3 1/2 year old has suddenly taken a shying to urinating in. Kinda gross eh?

Wait for it…………….. wait for it…………………..

Especially gross? The fact that she peed in it and didn’t tell you. That thunk was instead a splash. Nothing quite like toweling off preschooler potty presents at 4 am… yum.

Geeze this thing is bigger than my head! - Levi, on nursing

Nothing like a fresh diaper to dump in - Levi, on clean pants

Damn it woman, screw the bathroom. You don’t need to eat. Put down that glass of water. Feed me! - Levi, on the urgency of nursing

Oh God, where’s my hand? WHERE IS MY HAND?!?!? Hooray, hey there hand, you’re back. Wait where’d it go? - Levi, on the fickle nature of hands

Sup dude? - Levi, in conversation with the ceiling fan

Ow, honey, let go. Let go, baby. OUCH!! - Mama, on the topics of hair pulling and nipple twisting

MUHAHAHAAHAHA - Levi, on the topics of hair pulling and nipple twisting.

My neighbors just mowed the lawn- something I would typically celebrate over since it’s such a rare occurrence (solar eclipse type rare). Today, though, the mowing of the lawn has me three shades of green.

Over the last several months some sort of stink weed has taken over their lawn and in turn invaded small patches of mine. I first became aware of the issue when Tessa so lovingly collect a bouquet for me. I put her flowers in water and thought nothing of it until I found myself wandering the house sniffing everywhere trying to find the source of the mysterious stench. My quest was so thorough that I sniffed dog butts. I think that bears repeating, I purposely sniffed DOG BUTTS. Can you imagine how bad something has to smell to make me think that it was being emitted from the rear end of a dog? After a few hours, I finally realize it was the weeds Tessa had brought me. I threw them away and then had to take out the trash; their rankness was too overwhelming for my industrial strength construction grade garbage bags. It took a few weeks of me screaming like a lunatic to persuade Tessa into leaving the stink weeds to grow (apparently they only stink once you break the stems) and then all was forgotten about them.

So completely forgotten were these, that when the smell settled into my house this morning I started sniffing around.

SNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFF, hmmm not baby butt. SNIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFFFFF, not diaper pail. SNIFFFFFFFFFFFFFF, not garbage can. SNNNIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF, not dog butt… hmm dog butt… Damn it! STINK WEED!

I stopped and I heard the unmistakable sound of a lawn mower. I crept over to my door and peered out the stain glassed panes to see my neighbor mowing away. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thousands of stink weed stems being busted open and pouring out their putrid odor. I can only hope that the house next door sells before the neighbors get it in their heads to mow again. Either that, or the Hubster stealthily sneaks over under the cover of darkness and uses Round Up all over their front lawn… of course then they’d have no lawn but well.. I think it might be preferable to the odor of stink weed.

Why do I do it? maybe I should think more about it later….

Don’t forget about

Forgive me bloggers for I have sinned. It’s been many many months since my last confession and I feel that I should unburden my soul. I have been working at losing my pregnancy weight but the last two days has me floundering. Hmm, maybe “floundering” is to generous of a term- flinging myself off the diet bridge into a harbor of hot fudge sauce might be more like it.

Last night I ate Cherry Vanilla Breyers with pecans for dinner. Dinner was so delicious that when I found The Hubster hiding in the kitchen this morning, eating straight from the carton, I was inspired to make breakfast. Ok, “make” is probably too generous a term. I scooped it out into two bowls and we both hoovered it while concealing the evidence from Tessa, who would have demanded a Breyers breakfast of her own had she discovered breakfast blunder.

Normally I wouldn’t be too bothered by this dietary deviation, but my stunning lack of exercise makes this a bit more worrisome. Lately, rolling from my left to right side for Levi’s feedings has been the extent of my workout.

Oh thank God, I feel better. Step on into the confessional booth and let it all hang out, I promise to go easy on the Hail Marys.

Me? Maybe not. My elementary school years started off ok. I cut, I pasted, I colored with the best of them. Then came that fateful day when I was walloped in the melon with a sharp rock. Not only did I bleed like a gutted pig but afterwards my teacher was closely watching me for signs of concussion and noticed that maybe I was having a bit of a vision problem- not from the rock, just one in general. I was.

With in the matter of a short summer I went from non nondescript kindergartener to pirate. Not only was I nearsighted, but I had a lazy eye. I remember crying in my mother’s car on the way home from the eye doctor. I remember the tears pooling under my patch and my mother trying to be optimistic, promising me all sorts of cool stickers to dress it up a bit. Cool stickers flew out the window the first day I waltzed into school wearing that dreaded patch.

“Pirate, pirate, pirate girl! Where’s your parrot pirate girl?”

Oh had they only KNOWN, I actually did have a parrot!

It was a rough time in my life but it was only the precursor of things to come. About the time the patch came off, I grew. A lot. The Jolly Green Giant jokes began. Then I grew breasts- in the fourth grade! By sixth grade, I had a full rack and a mom who refused to allow me to shave- Gorilla Girl was born. I could ramble on, but here’s the thing - it was always SOMETHING. It also didn’t matter who you were, everyone was the butt of someone else’s joke. Even the “popular” kids were targets, they just had a bigger bark and drowned it out with their disparaging comments about other who were weaker then they were.

For all the years of teasing, I really only remember bits and pieces of it. I do remember my mom telling me that it doesn’t matter, that what they were saying meant zero to the people who loved me. I thought she was insane, but I also felt comforted. She encouraged me to let it roll of my back, rather then eat me alive. It was hard, but I worked at it.

Once in 6th grade a girl decked me for walking into “her” bathroom. When I finished reeling from the blow I punched her right back. I felt vindicated until she started wailing. Seeing her cry like that, someone who moments before had wielded such power.. it affected me, deeply. I realized she had no control and that I could easily manipulate the situation, disarming her of her anger. A year later in the 7th grade, instead of socking this chick who was trying to pummel me, I laughed and asked her why? Why are you doing this? Do you think you can hurt me? After the forth or fifth punch she lowered her fists, looked at me, and walked away. She was never a threat to my physical well being, I was bigger and I was thinking more clearly. We later become friends and laughed over that day. She would shake her head and muse aloud “Why didn’t you hit me back?”

I didn’t need, I knew she was already hurting.

The kids who railed the loudest, hurled the most insults, and mercilessly bullied were in more pain then they ever inflicted on me. Sure, my life was harder and lonelier because of the teasing but from that grew empathy.

I want to protect my kids from hurt and pain, but I know that some of it is necessary to turn them into fully functioning adults. I hope I protect them enough to keep them from becoming bullies.

Hop over to crazy/hip blog mamas to read other mama tales of school. Many thanks to Baby Wit for inspiring the topic.

Not to be outdone by his big sister, Levi tackled a mouth milestone of his own.

I needed that. Why? Isn’t his mere existence enough cuteness to sustain me through the worst? (Not that Levi is a terrible baby or particularly colicky) Mira was a raging colickoholic so a bit of excessive fussing on Levi’s part is all just that fussing. I haven’t reached the point where I seriously contemplate drowning myself in the toilet nor have I purchased a gas oven with the intent of putting my head in. I have, though, reached the point where I cry a bit and ask God why my child will only sleep if the tip of my nipple remains partially in his mouth or just touching his lip.

I lay there waiting for him to fall into a deep enough slumber that I can reclaim my nipple, and slide stealthily out of bed or quietly set him into the Boppy Lounger. It sometimes takes 5 or 6 tries for me to slip away. Inevitably some child type thing or furry type thing will make an earth shattering noise, to which I automatically respond “SHH!” The high pitched screaming doesn’t faze him, but my ever so soft but curt “SH!” busts his dream wide open and I am back to square one, held hostage by the tip of my nipple. It’s a good thing he’s so damn cute.

My nipple has become so common place, so public, that Tessa now asks to check it over with her doctor kit.

“Here mommy I check your temperature, put this under your arm. Mkay Mama, put this in your knee. Mkay Mama, put this by your eye. Mkay Mama, put this in your mipple”

“Um, Tess, my nipple is just fine”

“No Mama, we have to check, your mipple might be sick”

“It’s not sick Tess, it’s just tired. Very very tired.”

A few days ago Mira ran up to me in a tizzy. I could not understand one single word but I saw blood. Oh gads, deep breath… swooning, swooning.. .no.. must fight.. BLOOD! ACK! It was running down her arm and I was certain there was some massive gaping wound that was the source of it.

Did you know when blood mixes with drool it can look like there is MUCH more blood then there actually is? Did you know that it can look like your child just slaughtered a man with her bare hands? Now I know.

It turned out all that blood was from a wiggly tooth. One little stinkin’ wiggly tooth that ruled our universe for four torturous days. Four days of anxiety and fretting. Four days of tooth fairy obsession. Four days of Mira spitting food across the table every time she took a bite of food, convinced that her tooth must have JUST dropped out.

Saturday morning was punctuated with a scream.

“It camed out! It camed out!!Now the tooth fairy will come and leave me money!!”

Mira is now the proud owner of a $2 bill and a lisp that I’m sure her speech therapist will love.