Holtywood

Jackpot!

2012-01-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

The other night, after we put Lucy down to bed and Patrick was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and taking care of biz-ness, Matt and I were picking up the living room and casually reflecting on how lucky we felt to be where we are in our lives and have what we have. This was kind of rare conversation, as Matt and I aren't overly sentimental, or even mildly sentimental most of the time. But at that moment the mood just struck us to acknowledge that things were going fairly well. We had some tough stuff last year - Matt with major career stress and me with my second bout with PPD - but we made it through and things are back on track. And no sooner had I said the following . . . :

"I honestly think we hit the jackpot with these kids, Matt. Now, you know how I feel about the overuse of the word 'blessed', but I'm kind of feeling it right now, you know? I think we have a really nice life."

. . . that I hear Patrick yell from the bathroom:

"Will someone wiiiiiipe me?"

Yessir, as I was saying . . . little blessings everywhere! Butt-wiping included, I suppose.

Niner!

2012-01-25T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm nine months old today, bitches!

Not totally socially inept

2012-01-25T07:18:00.001-07:00

Now, without naming names, I know some pre-tty socially awkward people. I may even be related to some. But I'll be damned if Holtywood isn't going to be social. This little blog is now on Facebook. Try it on for size. You can bring it back if it doesn't work for you. Tags attached, of course.

Eff yeah!

2012-01-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

The good news: I have a new SAHM friend!
The bad news: She doesn't swear as much as I'd like her to.

I should whip up one of these for her as inspiration:

Made with love for my friend Corey while he was living in Portlandia.

Only our friend Paul would hang this in his home with pride - such a good sport, that one.

Aunt Alice was happy to receive this to celebrate the end of a particularly bad year.

This lived in my office for the past four years of my working life, because I like to raise employee morale like that.

I've made a few others that I failed to photograph, like this one, and this one, and this one. The best was when I gave a somewhat toned down "F*ck Cancer" to our friend Paul's dear Mormon mother. She giggled and held it to her chest in embarrassment, but I'm pretty sure she shared that sentiment. Sweet Vickey.

Well, my goal is to get this SAHM to drop the eff-bomb by end-of-summer. I may have to get her worked up over the state of health care or the impending 2012 election to do so, but desperate times . . .

Chatter: What a difference three hours can make

2012-01-23T00:56:00.001-07:00

Yesterday on the way to a birthday party at the children's museum, my sweet son and I had this conversation while listening to Dolly Parton's "Wildflower":

Patrick: Mom, what's a wildflower?
Mom: It's a flower that grows on its own - no body has to plant it or water it. They usually grow in the mountains.
Patrick: Oh. Well, when it gets to be spring I'm going to find the prettiest wildflowers in the whole world and give them to you.
Me: That is so sweet. Thank you! I would love them more than anything in the world.

Then, three hours later as he threw a full-on tantrum on the floor in front of the elevators to the parking garage, we had this interchange:

Me: Patrick, stand up right now. It's time to leave – I gave you plenty of warning that we had to go.
Patrick: NOOOO!!! *kicking at me*
Me: Hey, it is not okay to kick!
Patrick: You're an IDIOTTTTTT!
Me: Hey! Don't call me an idiot! That is really rude. You're behaving very badly right now - knock it off!
Patrick: Fine, then you're a STINKERRR! *wailing*

It actually really hurt when he kicked me, but then, as my younger sister can attest to, I'm kind of a wimp.

I know that I should be absolutely appalled at the name-calling, but man, this kid doesn't miss a thing! Sometimes I jokingly call him a "stinker" when we does something tricky or silly - usually when we're playing cards - so, I was quite impressed that he was so quickly able to recall "stinker" as a somewhat acceptable name to call me, even in his intense, red-faced anger. I suppose I need to be more careful about what I call him, even if it's just some harmless fun-poking. All I know is that it's a good thing he goes to preschool three days a week, because on those days I routinely (lovingly) refer to Miss Lucy as any one of the following:

Chunk-a-rama
Senora Shitty-pants
Big Fucking Deal Lucille
Chubby McChubbersons
Sugar Booger

And pretty soon she's going to start picking up words, so then I'll have no freedom of speech. *sigh* In the wise words of my sassy cousin Ashley . . . Shitballs! I'm screwed.

Senora Shittypants chewing on her brother's toys. Good thing he doesn't know what goes on when he's not home.

There's an awesome caption here, I just know it

2012-01-20T22:45:00.004-07:00

Stacking the deck

2012-01-19T23:30:00.006-07:00

Patrick has discovered the card game Uno. He begs all the grandparents to play it with him overandoverandoverandoverandover. And they do, because they are patient and wonderful. And then there is Mean Old Mom - I play it three times in a row, tops, because, well, I've got laundry to do and a baby to entertain and lunch to make.

Today, in between Games 2 and 3, I asked Patrick to gather up all the scattered cards and put them in a pile for me to shuffle. He whined and said that he couldn't. That he didn't know how. That it was too hard. But after a little encouragement (and a threat that I wouldn't play the last game) he tried. And he did it! Yes, his little hands had a tough time getting everything to go in the same direction, but eventually he got all 108 of those cards into a nice, neat stack. The smile on his face was beautiful, and he beat the pants off me in Game #3.

As my sweet, sensitive blonde boy grows up, I hope that I can help him be more confident and sure of himself, because, wow man, life is a lot harder than stacking Uno cards. What if you get three Draw 2s in a row? What if you forget to say "Uno!" when you are finally down to one card? What if you get Reversed and Skipped up one side and down the other? What if that son-of-a-bitch sitting across from you saved his Wild Draw 4 for his last turn and laid it down for the win? (Is that even LEGAL?) Well, I guess you gotta learn to deal with it. You gotta know that you could win the next game. You gotta know that you are smart and awesome and loved.

Holty Holidays 2011

2012-01-08T08:43:00.008-07:00

I kind of forgot to recap our holiday season . . . not that anybody really cares all that much, I mean, you all had your own holidays to enjoy, ones that undoubtedly were more organized, picture-perfect and family-functional than ours were. All you hip, young families with modern, smiley blogs make me green with envy. (You all know the type of blog I'm talking about, right?) And you also make me tired. Very, very tired.

Case-in-point that our holidays were not picture-perfect, here's a snippet of our Christmas Day dialogue:

Grandma: Hey Mandy, Lucy is playing with a plastic bag.

Me: Oh man! *taking it away* Wonder where she found that? Oh, she must have gotten it off of that electrical cord.

A plastic bag and an electrical cord? Wow. Please note, however, that the (neatly coiled) electrical cord belonged to to a newly unwrapped panini maker that was sitting on the floor, but still . . . . allow me to introduce myself yet again, I'm the Mother of 2011. *curtsy*

But in general, I will say that Holty Holidays 2011 were a success. Had some very fun times with both our in-town relatives, but also our out-of-state loved ones and my main blog readers, Aunt Liz and Great Grandma. Kids were spoiled with gobs of lovely things. Matt had some nice time off of work. Threw a somewhat crazy New Year's Eve party. And I called less than five family members "assholes", and it wasn't even to their faces. Yay!

And for those of you who are long-time readers -- Hi Liz and Grandma! -- and remember my pre-Christmas flip-out, below is the Tiny Prints card that we ended up with after much obsessing that bordered on obsessive compulsive behavior:

Inside text

Matt, 32

Completed 10 years with XXXXX and is proud of the fact that he has taken full advantage of their free soda offerings. He estimates he has imbibed 4,862 cans of Dr. Pepper thus far. One of the best (and most exhausting) parts of his year was coaching Patrick's preschool soccer team.

Mandy, 29 again:

Left the ad agency she had been with for seven years to stay home and keep things in order. She is happy to report that she has only misplaced the car keys 104 times and the children twice. Coffee is one of her best friends.

Patrick, 4 going on 87:

Doesn't like being turned upside down, reminds other kids to wear their bike helmets and uses phrases like, "I've had quite enough candy for one day." He continues to love all things cars and dinosaurs. When asked what he was most thankful for on Thanksgiving answered, "Lucy".

Lucy, 8 months:

Was born one day before her mom's birthday, which was lucky for her since Mandy has a really hard time sharing. She enjoys clapping, babbling and following Patrick’s every move. If she were able to talk she would wish you the happiest of holidays and a lovely 2012!

Loved Tiny Prints and will use them again, for reals. Sorry if you didn't get a tangible card from us, but think of it this way, it's just one less card to make that tough January decision about: Keep or recycle?

Wait, am I the only one who throws away cards? Yes? Oh, um . . . if you sent me a card please forget you read that . . .

Private Schmivate

2012-01-07T15:38:00.006-07:00

I really like the moms of Patrick's daycare/preschool classmates. They are all so fancy with their real careers, cleaning people and expensive professional attire. Sometimes I feel like a frumpy, suburban shut-in when I'm around them, but generally I do okay.

Anyway, one of these superwomen organizes a night out once a month where we go to dinner (without kids), have some wine and talk. Recently the discussion has turned to where our kids will be going to kindergarten. Whenever I am posed the question "Have you thought about Spanish immersion or private schools for Patrick?" I usually answer haughtily with something like, "Well, our neighborhood school is one of the best in the state, so I think we'll stick with that one." What a snot I am. But more so, what a cheap ass. Lord knows I'm not paying for private school! Matt and I went to public school and turned out JUST FINE, relatively speaking.

Anyway, as Patrick approaches five I've stayed strong in my public school convictions. Just today I was spouting off to my aunt in Tennessee about how thrilled I am that Patrick will be going to his neighborhood school. As I hung up the phone and hopped onto Facebook I saw that my friend Lisa posted a photo of an elementary school marquee. Patrick's highly-esteemed and top-ranked elementary school, as it happens.

Excellent. Maybe at the next get-together I'll be asking for the name of the admissions contact at that immersion school . . .

*Matt and I both got a good laugh out of this prank. It's one where if Patrick ever did something like that in his teenage years we would have to act disappointed and upset, but behind closed doors would be high-fiving each other over what an awesomely hilarious and clever kid we had raised.

Help me help you!

2011-12-27T11:49:00.006-07:00

What did I do to deserve such a great baby helper? I tell ya, Patrick is the best when it comes to lending a hand with Miss Lucy. This morning he entertained her while I got breakfast ready, gently spoon fed her some of her banana/raspberry/oatmeal concoction, handed me a diaper at the changing table, and shooed Milo out of the room when Lucy was on the floor tugging on his fur. And then he stood behind me trying to get her to smile for a photo in her new, adorably crazy hat . . .

. . . by snapping some scissors above my head.

Surprise! It's haircut day!
Looks like my fabulous stylist Creed is out of a job.

Chatter: Holiday Honesty

2011-12-24T20:37:00.001-07:00

Me: Maybe I shouldn't have posted about Santa on Holtywood, what if I ruin some kid's Christmas?

Sister: Mandy, you have, like, two readers: me and Grandma Nancy in Tennessee. I wouldn't worry about it.

Me: Fair enough.

Santa baby, slip a cutie under the tree, for me

2011-12-23T10:49:00.008-07:00

I believed in Santa until I was eight. Not because I actually really thought that he was real enough to squeeze his ass down the chimney, but because I didn't have enough faith in America that it could be organized and calculated enough to be "in" on such a fantastic story.

I'm hoping that there is at least one year where Patrick and Lucy actively believe at the same time - either in Santa or in our otherwise messed-up country. Either will do.

I caved

2011-12-03T21:26:00.005-07:00

Against my initial plans, I bought Lu a hat with a big ol' bow on it. I rather like it. But you know what I really like? THOSE CHEEKS.

The holiday season has officially started! Holy hell, I'm in trouble.

2011-11-24T01:02:00.004-07:00

Can I just start out by saying that I don't know how moms who work full time do it all. I'm only working 10 hours a week on a year-end project for my old agency and it's proving tough. I can handle it when my plans aren't disrupted, but the past few weeks in addition to working and doing my usual "mom stuff" I've also sat on a jury, had some car issues, had a baby with a head cold, and hosted a dinner for 15 people. I just feel like I don't have any time anymore - yet, when I was working much more than this (and, granted, only had one kiddo), I really didn't have any time. And then I suppose that those amazing moms who work full-time must really really have no time. I know, I know, my obsession with time management is such a self-absorbed middle class sobfest, a "rich world problem" if you will. There are people who have real problems out there!

But back to me. Not saying that I'm rich, but man, I wish I was! What's that wise, old saying? You can never be too rich or too thin. Hrumph. Ain't that the truth, Gwyneth? Hate her. Yeah, so anyway, like I said, we aren't rich. When Lucy was born we went from 1.75 incomes to a single income. Hence, I'm working a bit right now so that we can have a not totally scaled-back Christmas. And, boy oh effing boy, Christmas is right around the corner. And I'm flipping out because when in the hell am I going to find time to get everything ready? Bah!

Annnnnnd we've come full circle - time management. I'm trying to make things easy on myself where the holidays are concerned, but also stay on some type of budget. And here's how:

Limit my Lightning McQueen purchases.
Wow. I can't believe that I am a 32-year-old woman who has to repeat that mantra to myself while shopping. But Cars merchandise is an instant hit with Patrick and it's so easy to just buy everything I see because I know he will flip over it all! To re-purpose a quote from my favorite movie, Tommy Boy, I could "take a dump in a box and mark the box 'Lightning McQueen's Toilet'" and Patrick would adore it.

Now that I've grossed you all out (my mom is shaking her head in disgust right now, So vulgar, Mandy!), I'm happy to report that I actually restrained myself when I hit the new H&M this week; I could have easily picked up an entire wardrobe for Patrick consisting of only Cars attire, but I didn't. A sweatshirt, some jammies and socks. Done.

Let others spend their precious time baking.
Instead of slaving in the kitchen for hours making and packaging cookies for neighbors and friends, I'm joining up with my stepmom to do an assembly line of cranberry scone mix with a tag attached saying, "Do it yourselves, jerks. Merry Christmas!"

Gift bags.
I love to wrap. Oh! How! I! Love! To! Wrap! I'm an ex-professional wrapper, dontcha know? (Word up to my ZCMI II Foothill peeps!) But, most people don't care about it. Throw a gift in a bag with some tissue, and hey, what do you know? It's still an awesome gift, just took less effort for everyone involved in the transaction to both conceal and reveal it. Win-win. I'll wrap the kids' stuff though. And guess what kind of wrapping paper I bought for P? LIGHTNING MCQUEEN. Go figure.

Pre-printed holiday cards.
My dear mother-in-law offered me access to all of her stamping and crafting supplies so she could show me how to make holiday cards as beautiful as the ones she sends out, but hold the phone! Wait, what's that you say, Carol? The average card takes about an hour to make? Hellz to the no. I just can't. I would like to. I'm a closet crafter, but if I spend that much time on cards my house will never get vacuumed and the dogs will starve. Not the mention the children! Think of the children!

Ahem . . . but I'm not going to totally slack on cards like I did last year. I'm getting some cards printed from Tiny Prints. They have a zillion different options in terms of pricing and how many photos you want on the card. I'm thinking we'll go with either one family photo, or one of each of the kiddos. And listen up Mormons and Catholics, they have layout options that can accommodate up to 12 photos - one for each of your kids! Yay! Duggars, you are out of luck. And batshit crazy too, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm thinking that it would be smart to go with a Tiny Prints layout that offers space for some text. I usually hand-write personal notes in my Christmas cards, but again, I GOT TIME CONSTRAINTS, YO. Here's the back of a tri-fold layout I like, but the sample message is too pulled-together and perfect for us.

We would change ours up a bit, of course, reading something along the lines of:

2011 was a clusterfuck year for us, quite honestly. 4-year-old Patrick is an adoring older brother to his new baby sister Lucy, and is handling not being the center of attention in constructive ways, like throwing the iTouch across the room. Lucy has a blowout every other day, and that's in a good week. Matt transitioned into a new department at work and then transferred again 10 months later. Mandy had post-partum depression again and plans to have her tubes tied. Our inbred dog Maui is so neurotic that we need to get him on some type of sedative and our mutt Milo is still eating his own shit.

Or maybe I should skip the warm and fuzzy family letter and just go with this design, no?

How do you say "Lucy is cuter than this baby" in French?

Or nix the photo all together and go with this simple card with the sweet rounded corners:

The shape of the partridge actually kind of reminds me of Lu;
she's 75th weight percentile, you see.

Decisions, decisions. Well, those of you who get cards from us will know what I went with when you receive one, most likely sometime in February.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Let the seasonal madness begin.

Disclosure: I'm getting 50 free cards from Tiny Prints for writing about them. But, for reals, I was going to order them anyway because my sister-in-law always uses them and her cards are adorbs and since I need to save time this year I thought it would be a good alternative to handwriting everything, but then I saw the giveaway option on another blog and thought WTH!?!? (what the hell) and now I've actually lost all the time I saved by so thoroughly explaining myself here in this goddamn never-ending sentence. Fellow bloggers, you can do the same by going here.

Chatter: If it walks like a dog . . .

2011-11-16T16:30:00.007-07:00

I've realized that Patrick and I are two peas in a pod: new = scary
This was cemented by today's experience at the park.

Patrick: Mom! I've gotta go potty!

Me: Okay, let's run over to the bathrooms. *running while digging in my bag for my trusty Clorox wipes* (Have you been in the Sugarhouse bathrooms? Seriously foul up in there.)

Me: Oh man, they're locked!

Patrick: Oh no! What are we going to do?

Me: Well, let's walk over here to this tree . . . .

Patrick: Why are we going here?

Me: This is the cool part of being a boy, Patrick, you can pee anywhere. Like on this tree here. Just pull down your pants and go.

Patrick: Like, right on the tree?

Me: Yep, just right there. Super easy.

Patrick: No way. I don't want to.

Me: Why not?

Patrick: Because then I'll be peeing like a dog! That's gross! I'll just hold it. *runs back towards the playground*

Bubble Time!

2011-11-13T12:32:00.004-07:00

I'm usually anti-bubble. They obstruct my view of the washcloths. They stick onto bums. They distract Patrick from the task at hand on school nights when we are running late. But when we do do bubbles, we DO bubbles:

PaddyTude: Newborn Days

2011-11-11T09:51:00.004-07:00

Flashback! We blinked our eyes and it has been six months! Here's a video from when Lu was just a couple of weeks old. Excuse my gravely voice, as not only was I recovering from bringing another human being into the world, but I was also fighting a nasty cold. Yay!

Anyway, P is adorable in this video - even singing Lu a special Lightning McQueen song. He was so enamored with her. And I'm happy to report that he still is.

PaddyTube: Actually, LucyTube

2011-11-05T17:13:00.010-06:00

P.S.: That yellowish spot on her jammies is not excrement. It's butternut squash.

Miss Six and Mr. Pissed

2011-11-04T14:20:00.012-06:00

Lucy's 6-month checkup was yesterday and she did very well. Her ear infection from a month ago has fully cleared up. She's right on-target with her growth. She is developing age-appropriately and, most importantly, has maintained her blue eyes. Yep, everything is in order.

Naturally she cried when she was given her shots, or actually, I'm going to call them "vaccinations" from now on because someone else of the kid variety (Clue: he's a blondie obsessed with cars and dinosaurs) in this house is now petrified of sho, er...vaccinations. Petrified. More on that later, but for now, here's the dirt on Louie:

Height: 27.5", 95th percentile
Weight: 17.625 lbs, 75th percentile (up from 14.2 lbs from two months ago!)
Head circumference: 17.125", 75th percentile

She's still large-and-in-charge! I love it because she's super-sturdy, sleeping well, keeps warm and is wearing bunches of new* clothes all the time because she grows so fast!

Yay for Lucy!

Boo for Patrick!

For some reason, he missed a couple of his vaccinations at his 4-year checkup, so I had planned on him getting them at the same time Lucy got hers, just to save me a trip to the doc's office. I was going to spring them on him about 30 seconds before they happened, because my little cherub has some anxiety issues (where on EARTH did he inherit those from? Hint: me), but that plan was shot to hell when the most charming and wonderful pediatric nurse in the entire world slipped up and said in her sweet New Zealand accent, "Alright then, so just a well-child check for Miss Lucille and . . . . oh, Patrick gets some sho . . . *trails off, immediately realizing her mistake*?" It was like radar. Patrick had been fully engrossed in his book, but as soon as the "sh" sound exited her mouth, he immediately looked up with eyes as big as saucers.

Whining, crying, pleading, bargaining and finally full-on screaming ensued until I had to forcibly lay on him on the examination table while she poked him three times in the legs. Yes, three. We had the option of doing the one remaining vaccination he would need at age five this time and I said, HELL YES JUST DO IT, one more couldn't possibly make a difference at this point.

As we were leaving I apologized to the front office staff for the commotion. They assured me that Patrick's outburst was pretty minor: One kid actually bolted out of the examination room, ran out of the office and made it to the elevators before he was wrangled back in. Wow. Good thing Patrick's a slow runner (again, where did he get that from? Hint: me).

On the plus side, he made out like a bandit; The doc's office gave him a new book, his pick of a box full of toys, two shiny quarters and some lollipops. And I bought him Cars 2 on DVD from Costco. And a smoothie. And made him cookies when we got home. Guilty much? Oh yeah, this mama is pretty much guilty all the livelong day. Every day.

And I'm going to feel guilty for posting these pictures of Patrick carving pumpkins with Matt with nothing on except some striped socks, but it's not going to stop me. No sir. They are just too funny!

*Well, new to her. Most of her clothes are impeccable hand-me-downs from lovely friends of ours.

Happy HalloWEEN, indeed

2011-10-31T14:31:00.006-06:00

Poorly made race car driver costume from Target: $20

Gymboree underwear: $4

Going commando while wearing costume that has developed a hole in the crotch: Priceless

Madame Corn and Francesco Bernoulli

Chatter: Memorizing Mommy's favorite words

2011-10-24T20:24:00.003-06:00

Patrick: Oh shit!

Me: Oooo, Paddy, um, I know that you hear Mommy say that word sometimes, but it's actually a bad word. I shouldn't say it, and kids especially shouldn't say it. I'm sorry that I say it sometimes and I'll try not to anymore, okay? Do you understand what I'm telling you?

*silence*

Me: Paddy?

Patrick: Yeah. Okay, Mom, I won't say it anymore.
*pausing and then talking in a sing-song voice*
But it's up herrrre . . . *tapping his head with his pointer finger and giggling*

Pumpkin Patch Photos - it's basically BLOGGING LAW to post these

2011-10-15T21:48:00.000-06:00

Lucy and I make the boys do the dirty work, because we're feminists like that . . .

Chubby kid/baby tummies!
(Readers should feel lucky that Matt and my stomachs aren't hanging out as well.)

"I'm taller than EVERYONE, Mom!"

Our pals - Weston, Xander and Brandon.

Xander and Patrick: Brothers from another mother. And father.

Lucy was not so sure about her pumpkin hat. But we loved it.

Nearly 80 degrees in mid-October in Utah. So rare! So lovely!

Tractor ride; Lucy tagging Xan.

The light-eyed boys and their need for shades.

Lucille the Big Deal contemplating life, I suppose.

Patrick has been posing awkwardly for photos lately. Please tell me this is a phase.

Baby tongue!

Falling into a groovy routine

2011-10-14T19:58:00.001-06:00

I think I'm getting the hang of this stay-at-home mom (SAHM) thing. Luckily, this summer I was in good company as a "lady of leisure" (yeah, right! hate that term.), what with my teacher pals also not working. But as fall rolled around and the school year started up again I had to figure out a new routine.

Thank Jeebus I still have a few remaining SAH peeps to meet up with occasionally, otherwise I may go a taaaad insane.

So, on days that I'm not socializing/commiserating/bitching with other SAHers or meeting up with my working friends on their lunch breaks, Lucy and I have been hanging at home, walking around the neighborhood a bit, running errands (Target! Costco! Auto repair! Bank! Vet! Sunflower Market!), making baby food and ultimately trying to make the household run smoothly so that Matt doesn't have to worry about much except mowing the lawn, picking up the dog shizz, wasting hours polishing his beer kegs and other manly things.

And on the days that Patrick doesn't go to preschool I've tried to do things geared towards an active 4-year-old, such as going to the zoo/aviary/park/museum/aquarium/library, swimming (thanks, Gaga!) and tackling home organization and cleaning projects. Okay, that last one is actually geared towards a 32-year-old control freak with OCD (ADD?) issues. And since Lucy is super-portable right now she always happily goes along for the ride. She's so sweet and agreeable. I can't believe that I produced such a mellow creature.

Here are some photos from our various SAHM activities. There aren't any from the time we went to the zoo and Patrick went hysterical when I tried to put him on the moving carousel animal next to my friend's much younger and braver daughter. Nononononono. I don't want public documentation of that shitastic episode.

For the record, we sat on the same stationary, geriatric peacock bench that we've been sitting on since he was two. Again.

Oh, and Lucy has found her tongue. And it's mother effing adorable.

Chatter: Mother of the Year, folks. MOTHER OF THE YEAR.

2011-10-03T20:07:00.005-06:00

Patrick: "Mom! Lucy's holding a toy that has poop on it!"

Me: "What? What are you talking about?"

Patrick: "Remember when she had that blowout in her Bumbo seat yesterday? That toy got poop on it too, but now it's dry!"

* grabbing the toy to inspect *

Me: "Oh. My. God."

* picture me grabbing the bleach and running to the bathroom full-speed *

Patrick: "Mom, where are you going?"

Patrick and Lucy during cleaner days,
playing on the fantastic handmade owl quilt from Aunt Terra-Day.

We have entered Bodily Function Territory

2011-09-21T13:51:00.003-06:00

Patrick is ALL about anything and everything having to do with bodies these days:

"Hi, Beckett! That guy just puked all over the ground over there!"

"Mom, I know why our bathroom tile is yellow and brown, because those are the colors of pee and poop and that's what we do in the bathroom!"*

"Guys! When we drive down hills in the car it makes my penis tickle."

"I know why our dogs are wearing bandanas around their necks . . . so if they throw up they won't get puke on their necks."

"Did Lucy have a blowout? Did she? Did she? Did she? *looks* Awwww, man. She didn't. Bummer."

I know that there are a bunch more graphic quotes that I'm not remembering. Consider yourselves spared.

*Actually, our bathroom colors are yellow and brown because those were popular home interior colors 60 years ago and we've not yet updated that room.

Lucille the Big Deal

2011-09-09T12:18:00.006-06:00

4 month stats:
Height: 26.5", off the charts!
Weight: 14.2 lbs, 75th percentile
Head circumference: 16.5", 75th percentile

This baby really is off the charts in so many ways:

Generally quite content - unless hungry or tired.
Quite adventurous - rolling from back-to-front and front-to-back.
A cutie patootie - her mouth is so damn expressive!
Happy sleeper - we paid our sleeping dues with Mr. P.
A tall drink of formula - homegirl is seriously lengthy. Her 6-month-sized clothes are now in the rotation!

However, we had one little hiccup at the 4-month checkup. The doc felt Lucy's hips click when she was testing them for flexibility and development. There was concern that the hips weren't "setting" correctly and that Lu may have to wear a brace for a couple of months. This led to an ultrasound at Primary Children's Medical Center today, which revealed that all was well. Yay! Yay that Lu was okay. And yay that we have a cautious pediatrician. (She is seriously awesome)

Oh, and just to ease the minds of my Tennessee family members (miss you all, BTW!) who chastised me for still swaddling Lu, I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW that the swaddling has nothing to do with any potential hip issues. So now you can take Child Protective Services off speed dial, m'kay? Kisses!

Look at those stems!

Sporty McSporterson

2011-09-08T15:09:00.002-06:00

Patrick was in T-ball this summer. He was the only one on his team who caught the ball. The ball actually bounced off my hip and right into his glove, where he was unaware it was until we told him, but that still counts as a catch, no?

Next up: Soccer with Coach Matt

4 months and bonding!

2011-08-25T07:17:00.004-06:00

Lots of mothers feel immediate bonds with their babies right after they are born. Probably most mothers, actually. But for whatever reason, I am not one of those moms. It took me a long time to connect with Patrick. Like, probably 10 months or so. And I was hoping that it would be instantaneous the second time around. But, no. *sad face*

I've always cared about Lucy, don't get me wrong. Always provided for her via feeding/comforting/cuddling. Always wanted to make her healthy and happy. But she was just this little foreign object to me. Not really a person that I helped create. Just something that I needed to care for. Almost like a job.

Ugh. This is something that is hard to be honest about because it makes me feel like a cold, heartless asshole. But I know that I'm not the only one. Some of my friends have confirmed that they, or their siblings/friends, have experienced a delay in that oh-my-god-I-can't-live-without-you feeling. And it made me feel better to know that I was in good company, but it was still kind of sucky that I technically had two kids, but only felt like Patrick was really a part of me and my future.

But recently I felt a connection. Last weekend she and I were laughing back and forth at each other I finally felt it! Felt like she was my daughter. And it was pretty awesome. And for juuuuuust a minute I didn't feel like an asshole. *happy face*

Lucy in her trademark "hands connected" pose

Sitting pretty

2011-08-18T17:01:00.004-06:00

When my friend Diania gave me a weird foam seat before Patrick was born, I thought she was nuts. Generous, but nuts. (Well, she is a little crazy, but that's beside the point.) What the HELL was this thing, anyhow?!

Well, I'm here to report that once we figured it out, we decided it was pretty awesome. We've gotten some good use out of it.

Patrick (and Milo), June 2007

Lucy, August 2011

Patrick, August 2011

Someday we'll get professional family photos taken . . .

2011-08-16T15:13:00.004-06:00

. . . but until then, we'll settle for snapshots by Aunt Liz.

Infant cranial adornment: yay or nay?

2011-08-02T15:01:00.000-06:00

Now that I have a female bebe I notice infant head attire more than I used to. And I've noticed myself into a conundrum:

To adorn or not to adorn? That is the question.

Honestly, I see no real need to decorate the noggin. Although, I guess I understand that some moms worry that their bald baby girls look weird. Well, I'm here to break the news to them: Babies are bald! Am I wrong? I think that with the exception of a few Chia Pet-types, most are born with very little hair, right?

But, yes, I know firsthand that dressing little girls is a lot more fun than choosing clothes for boys (there are only three boy options: sports, stripes & camouflage), since there is a lot of adorable girl stuff out there. So maybe a well-placed flower headband with some outfits is cute. But must America "super-size" EVERYTHING? Portion control, people! No need to go overboard with the flowers. Examples:

Did she lose a bet? Is she the daughter of some serious Star Wars fans? We'll never know . . .

"Dear God, please take away this flower and give me a shirt."

Artificial flowers + tulle + lace = potential girly overload, no?

Doh!

*in unison* "Help! Our souls are literally being weighed down by these flowers!"

Vogue!

Okay, that last one is actually Lucy laying next to a tissue paper decoration we were going to use for our friend's birthday party decor. I couldn't resist.

So, yeah, I may eat my words on this topic if Lucy is bald as a queue ball at age 1, but for now, I'm thinking that less is more in the flower headband department. We're coming up on fall and winter pretty soon now, so she'll be wearing hats most the time anyhow. I've already got my eye on the perfect one:

3 months! (and other news)

2011-07-26T13:14:00.004-06:00

Lucy was 3 months old yesterday! Unfortunately she had to share her special day with Utah's own Pioneer Day (Observed) - because god forbid we celebrate a holiday when it falls on a Sunday - but she did get some fireworks out of the deal.

I told you that Matt and I see this age a hige milestone. It's so true. She's starting to hold her head up, is sleeping well, smiling, being entertained by some stuff (especially her big brother) and even giggling.

Yes, life is pretty good this summer. My not having a job for the first time since I was 14 is quite strange, for sure. But I feel like there is plenty to accomplish each day. Granted, it takes me longer to do things because I'm kind of at the beck-and-call of a 4-year-old and infant, but that's okay. If I can keep Lucy's ass clean, Patrick's use of swear words to a minimum*, everyone's tummies full and the house not looking totally shitty, then I'm golden.

In related news, we've developed a skid-mark problem at our house:

But it's cool, because this hand-me-down bike from his pal Sydney is rocking his world. And the new tires that Papa put on are perfect for making his mark on the driveway. Go Patrick!

*He walked into the bedroom where I was folding laundry the other day and asked, "What the hell are you doing?" Not in a mean way, just kind of like, "whatcha doin'?", but with a "hell" thrown in for good measure.

PaddyTube: She likes us! She REALLY likes us!

2011-07-22T21:19:00.004-06:00

Watch our near-3-month-old laugh like a spastic Elmo doll!

Lucy: 2 months

2011-06-30T11:59:00.003-06:00

Besides three shots in her little legs (ouch!), the 2-month doctor's visit went well. Lu is perfection personified, and clearly following in her family's footsteps:

Height: 23.75", 97th percentile --- Got this from her tall daddy
Weight: 11 lbs, 75th percentile --- I'll take this bullet
Head circumference: 15.5", 75th percentile --- Definitely Paddy's sister

And Matt likes to say that her feet are in the 99th percentile and "she gets that from her mother". HAR DE HAR HAR! Funny. Reeeeal funny.

Grandma of Awesomeness

2011-06-23T10:13:00.004-06:00

My 85-year-old grandmother sent us this book. LOVE HER!

Told ya

2011-06-13T18:06:00.004-06:00

Remember when I said that Matt was going to take Patrick to the Day Out with Thomas event this year because last year the crowd almost gave me a nervous breakdown? Well, I made good on my word. Patrick, Matt, Uncle Phill and Gaga made their way up to Heber last month for some slightly cold fun.

Wearing baby

2011-06-12T10:17:00.001-06:00

Happy to report that our first family walk with Lucy in the carrier was a success!

Kiddos

2011-06-08T09:10:00.002-06:00

Still can't believe we have two. Such sweethearts . . .

A rainbow of a weekend

2011-06-07T11:08:00.012-06:00

This Sunday marked Lucy's first time at the Pride Parade, and Patrick's third. It was a beautiful weekend for us - I think we're finding our groove!

Despite Patrick's trademark Lower Lip Jut, he really did enjoy himself.

Little Lu slept in the shade for nearly the entire time, which is shocking, considering the amount of Lady Gaga that was blasting.

Matching custom, rainbow hats for the kids courtesy of our friend, April!

Patrick is mid-hug with Xander, not mid-choke. Honest.

The Holty girls.

The Holty boys. (Matt showed his eBay pride.)

This lovely lady was not in our group, but she was too awesome not to document.

An effed up tradition

2011-05-21T19:05:00.003-06:00

Both our kids were born in the springtime. And shortly thereafter we usually go to The Living Traditions Festival in downtown Salt Lake to give the baby a taste of multiculturalism that Utah is so un-famous for. And to give them a taste of beer.

Patrick, 2007 Living Traditions

Lucy, Living Traditions 2011

Isn't it nice that Matt and I pride ourselves on maintaining such an effed up family tradition? It's why we are such a great parenting team.

Couldn't have said it better myself

2011-05-20T13:13:00.014-06:00

Why, hello there.

As you can see, Lil' Lucy is changing and maturing, albeit slowly. Verrrrrry slowly some days. She has started to make more eye contact and show some random gummy smiles, which is nice, but is still very much a blob, for the most part. Matt and I are making our way through. Finding a new, weird staggered early/late bedtime routine for the both of us so that we aren't absolute zombies has helped.

Ugh, zombies. All you parents know what I'm talking about. As for the rest of you . . . it's hard to describe life with a newborn, but this writer says it perfectly in this article, so I'm stealing it, because this is EXACTLY how we feel right now:

When you’re up every three hours and not getting more than two or three consecutive hours of sleep in a row you can become kind of, well, you can become a little murder-y, if you know what I mean . . .

Caring for a newborn is like living underwater. You’re living way down deep. Slow motion life while the world continues at its usual frenetic pace around you. You don’t know what time it is, what day it is, your body is on automatic pilot and somebody done gone and left the traffic control tower so it doesn’t look like you’ll be landing soon. Slowly, ever so slowly you begin to climb out, not really feeling fully functional until month three or so . . .

How much are we looking forward to her making it to the 3-month mark? So-much-so that we have been marking off her weeks on this earth on our chalkboard in the kitchen. We've survived four weeks coming this Monday (1 month on Wednesday). HALLELUJAH! I think we may celebrate with tequila shots (do you think that would help her sleep better?) and a jog around the block in our underwear. Maybe I'll wear Patrick's cape too, just for modesty's sake.

But we have been trying to accomplish things to keep us sane like taking walks (when it's not effing raining!), giving Lucy baths, going to the park and snuggling. We're slowly swimming our way to the surface . . .

Oh! Does anyone know why doesn't Target sell Pampers newborn-sized diapers in larger quantities?! Because this little baby goes through 10+ per day and the 84-count box just isn't cutting it. Good god, I've never seen so much poop.

Big Buoy!

2011-05-17T12:17:00.003-06:00

Lucille Elizabeth

2011-05-07T16:16:00.007-06:00

Yes, it's been nearly two weeks since our daughter was born, and I'm just now getting around to posting a little blurb about her. Don't worry, I'm sure that I'll make up for lost time with oodles of baby photos for the remainder of 2011. There are two reasons for my delay:

We've been quite busy feeding, changing, burping, soothing, rocking and holding her; and
I had some blues (don't worry, not even close to as bad as I did with Patrick) for the first week or so and couldn't honestly write anything positive, so I decided to remain silent rather than using words like "elated, blessed, overjoyed" to falsely describe how I was feeling about this major life event.

What a horrible thing to say, right? Well, I'm just being honest, folks - it's a rare thing in the blogging world, especially when describing a new baby! Everyone is all mushy about them all the time. But, come on, anyone who has been around a newborn knows that they are just little lumpy "need machines" who demand attention and round-the-clock care with very little gratification for the parents.

Anyway . . . now that things have settled down a bit, both in terms of her newness and my hormones, things are on the upswing, and I'm finally ready to announce Her Loveliness:

Lucille Elizabeth
Monday, April 25 at 6:25 p.m. (during a freak spring hail storm!)
8 lbs., 5 ounces / 19"

As you can see, Patrick is in love with her. He has been calling her Lu-Lu Lucy. We just call her Lucy. She really is a sweet baby. Through no fault of her own, her demanding sleeping/eating/pooping schedule has shaken up our relaxed family dynamic for a bit, but we're trying to roll with it and keep ourselves looking forward to a time when she is able to interact with us, play with Patrick and toddle around in obnoxiously girly dresses. These first couple of weeks have been hard, but it will be well worth it. Patrick is proof of that. So . . . here we go!

April 17-24: Patrick's last week as an only child

2011-05-03T17:47:00.009-06:00

Star of the Week at preschool:

Jumping on his "Big Boy" bed:

Cuteness in the yard:

Easter egg hunt on Easter Sunday:

Down to the wire

2011-04-21T20:38:00.005-06:00

We've had a name in mind for Bebe 2.0 for a few months. Actually, I've had this name in mind for my little girl ever since I was about 12 years old. It's a family name - my maternal grandmother's. And I love it.

And, apparently, everyone has recently come to love it as well. In the past three years it has become a very popular baby name, especially in Utah. It also is very popular AMONG DOGS - I know of three. Will this dissuade us from the name? I'm not sure yet. It's been weighing on my mind, because, well, what else do I have to think about right now in these final pregnancy days?

Well, today I bought a couple of wire frame letters to hang above the P's bed and the crib on clearance from Urban Outfitters, so besides the last 20 years I've been emotionally invested in the name, I've now invested $2.99. If we end up naming her something different we're out three bucks. Man, I hate to waste money.

It's no joke: I suck (times four)

2011-04-01T11:20:00.007-06:00

The pale-skinned, smart-mouthed, sweet-faced, precocious light of our lives turned four last month. And I haven't said a damn thing about it. I suck. I am a sucky human being in general, but particularly when I'm pregnant. I'm sorry, Patrick. Mommy is one big ol' swollen, complaining, achy eff-up lately. It will be better soon, promise.

At his 4-year pediatrician appointment he got two booster shots, which I knew were coming, and I could have warned him about, but I didn't, because, why? I suck. It was heartbreaking. I don't care what anyone says, shots for kids old enough to look at you with distrust in their eye are 10X worse than infant/newborn shots. Anyway, it was terrible. I cried nearly as much as P did. *sigh* I suck. Moving on, they also gave me his 4-year stats:

Weight: 34 lbs (25th percentile)
Height: 38.5" (10th percentile)

WTF!?!? So, apparently, I suck in not only timely blogging updates and warning my kid that he'll be jabbed with needles, but also in transferring my tall genes to our spawn. (I'm placing half the blame on Matt for this, too) I'm having a hard time figuring out why our kid is so short in comparison to others his age. I'll tell you, Matt and I are no shrinking violets in terms of the space we take up on this planet. And both our fathers are/were well over six feet tall. I suppose it doesn't matter. Things may change; or they won't. Whatever. I guess it's just something for me to fixate on instead of the soon-to-arrive baby that will be here by the end of the month. Just watch, she'll be 95th percentile in height right out of the womb.

Back to P's big birthday. Since as aforementioned, I suck, I just didn't have the energy to do a big clusterfuck party for him - his whole 13-kid preschool class in our house? Noooo, sir, not this year. So I just said screw it, we're going to take his sweet-as-pie BFF (who basically looks like his much taller fraternal twin) to the zoo, and then any grandparent/devoted auntie who wants to celebrate with him is welcome to. End result: 4 kick-ass birthday celebrations for our 4-year-old. Thanks to all who came through for me in my elevated state of suckiness. I owe you.

Suck Count: 4

Very late blog post about P's birthday
No warning about his shots
My height genes are unreliable
Did not do a big 4th birthday party

Stylish? No, sir. Surly? Hell yes!

2011-03-13T21:45:00.000-06:00

WTF!? Fellow blogger Sallee of The Highly Educated Housewife passed along a Stylish Blogger Award to me. I appreciate her kindness, though I think all of the fabulous San Diego sun is frying her brain, as I would not consider myself stylish in the fashion sense. Well, I guess I am if you consider Old Navy, Target and The Gap the ultimate houses of style... But, what I do possess is a fair amount of surliness. As I said to someone last week, "Sorry, I was just born this way - I'm sure that as a baby I always saw the bottle as half-empty."

Image credit: Doctored this original photo

There, that's better. So, now I'll graciously accept this Surly Blogger Award with the required "7 things about me" blog post. *sigh* Actually, who I am I kidding? This is kind of awesome - an excuse to talk about myself? Sweet.

1. I got married at the verrrrry young age of 21 to my soul-mate, Matt.
1a. I think the whole "soul-mate" concept is complete and total bullshit. I'm just happy that after 10+ years we can still make each other laugh and work together in raising some minimally-fucked-up kids.

2. My closest friends are gay (with the exception of my super feminine and heterosexual sister). Over the years, I've collected a dependable set of "main gays" - just imagine them as delicate Lladro pieces in a china cabinet - who are incredibly smart, dear, loving and deserving of every single right that Matt and I have.

3. I have a sick fascination with this site, and am convinced that the only way a mother-of-four could possibly constantly be doing this level of entertaining/gift-giving/crafting is if she was on some type of stimulant drug. Check it out, fellow moms - you will feel inferior in about 5.5 seconds.

4. In a mad rush to get out of my second-grade classroom and onto the playground I tried to jump over a hard-backed resin chair, ended up high-centered on it and managed to cut my labia through my jeans. (Too much information for you? Sorry, get over it, it's just too amazing of a story to not include.)

5. I have this thing about my Achilles tendon. As in - DON'T TOUCH IT - which stems from watching this movie.

6. My 4-year-old is really getting in the way of one of my favorite things: swearing. My beloved terms, "mother fucker, asshole, dipshit and son-of-a-bitch", have been replaced with "silly billy, big ol' meanie, grumpy pants and son-of-a-gun." I make up for this by swearing A LOT when I'm not around the kid - sorry to everyone who has heard me sound like a dirty sailor with Tourette's.

7. My penchant for useless knowledge is ridiculous. I'm pretty sure that if challenged to a pop culture trivia tournament I would kick some serious ass.
7a. I'm very modest.

Okay, I now pass this Stylish/Surly (whichever you like) Award to Angela over at Jensen Authenticity. There are so many excellent candidates, but, you see, Angela actually updates her snark-filled blog on a regular basis, unlike so many other lazy effers who are on the once-a-month updating schedule. LAME ASSES. And, as a bonus, Angela is gutsy. She takes on-the-sly photos with her iPhone, writes (too-often) about post-birth stretchy gauze underwear, and once in 2008 she made fun of a cheesy young mom's blog, which resulted in some threatening anonymous comments. It was fun to witness.

Um, no. And no no no no.

2011-03-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

So, I realize that I haven't posed any pregnancy photos of myself on this blog. But there aren't any - I have basically hidden from the camera for the past couple of months because, in my mind, I currently look like a still shot from one of my favorite YouTube videos:

Some women are beautiful when they are pregnant. And they document that with tasteful photos. Hooray for them! (And, for once, I'm not being sarcastic!) But I was recently confronted with some questionable photos when I logged into BabyCenter.com for advice on how to prevent stomach acid from making you want to cut your own head off. Here are the best of the worst:

Do I even need to say anything about these? To each their own, I guess. But I just don't see the appeal of dressing up like a hooker/Lady Gaga/Brett Michaels' Baby Mama and sexualizing your innocent fetus. There's plenty of time to sexualize your kids once they are out of the womb.

Chatter: Never wearing brown again

2011-02-25T21:44:00.002-07:00

Patrick:
"Mom, look! *pointing into the toilet* My poop is the same color as your shirt!"

A shit-tastic end to a shit-tastic week.

Chatter: Awwwww!

2011-02-14T12:12:00.005-07:00

Me: Happy Valentine's Day, P-Bear!

P-Bear: Happy Valentine's Day, Mom! Will you be mine?

Me: *choked up* Of course I will. I love you.

I want to remember that moment forever. I know that I probably only have five or six more February 14ths until he starts realizing that I'm an embarrassing old hag.

PaddyTube: Oh yeah, bebe! Oh yeah!

2011-02-13T10:22:00.004-07:00

Patrick has informed us that he will saying this to the baby when she is born.

Chatter: Moms' night out

2011-02-10T18:04:00.003-07:00

Best quotes of the night...

Mom 1: "My friend helped me shave my legs for the first time when I was 14. Strangely enough, she later came out to me as a lesbian."
Mom 2: "Well, the next time someone asks you if you ever 'experimented' when you were younger, you can tell them 'yes'."

Lawyer mom: One of my good friends got kicked out of BYU for excessive swearing."
Former BYU Mom: "Seriously? What the fuck is up with that!?"

Mom 2: "Is that the cartoon with that bald kid? Ugh. I HATE Cailou!"
Me: "Oh my God! How can anyone hate Cailou? That's like saying you hate puppies!"

Lawyer mom: "You know, my main goal in life is just to keep my daughter off the stripper pole."

Former BYU Mom: "Yeah, college tuition is getting so expensive. That's why we've decided that Daughter #2 is going to welding school. Daughter #1 is our college girl."

Classified Ad: Inbred Dog

2011-02-05T14:00:00.006-07:00

Our genetically-defunct Lhasa Apso, Maui, has seem to overcome his disturbing thyroid/allergy issues, but on Thursday night ingested something that has given him no appetite, lots of vomiting and explosive diarrhea. Our Utah State tax return was spent this morning on some excellent vet care.

On a related note, is anyone out there in the market for an 8-year-old dog?* His special allergen free food is only $80 for 25 lbs, and his annual vet bills will only run you an average of $500-$700. But, man-oh-man, is he great with kids and a REAL SWEETIE!

*I'm kidding. Mostly.

I really needed a laugh today

2011-02-01T18:32:00.007-07:00

This week has been long and exhausting for me thus far (and it's only Tuesday!), which is why this brought a much-needed smile to my face. Here's how an e-mail showed up in my Inbox just now:

In case it's hard for you to read, it says:

From: The Children's Place Ass.
Subject: Thank You for Supporting the Children's Place Association Charity Challenge

Yep. I'm easily amused these days.

Chatter: Phew

2011-01-15T09:15:00.001-07:00

Patrick: Mom?

Me: Yes, bebe?

Patrick: I will ALWAYS protect you.

Me: You will? That is so sweet.

Patrick: Yes, I will. I will always protect you from dinosaurs.

Report card

2011-01-14T19:45:00.004-07:00

I've always told you all that P is MUY SENSITIVO, cautious and not-at-all spontaneous. His preschool's "Progress Observations" have confirmed this. His lack of coordination was also confirmed. (Sorry, dude. That's totally Mommy's fault.)

10 Things I've Learned in 2010

2010-12-30T20:58:00.014-07:00

1. We definitely are having a baby girl next April. Sweet Thing double-confirmed it with a (free!) second ultrasound on Monday.
Lesson: Don't be such a pessimistic, skeptical freak when told that something that you have always hoped for is actually going to happen - just be grateful and enjoy it.

2. Taking the high road will momentarily make you feel all saintly and self-righteous, but people will surely take advantage of it whenever possible.
Lesson: Take the road that will protect yourself, which isn't necessarily the low road, just the safe one with minimal potholes and less roadkill.

3. Remodels always take twice as long and cost twice as much as you think they will.
Lesson: It's not Matt's fault that the basement bedroom and bathroom took so long to complete, it's just how the home improvement universe operates. Especially when you are trying to balance a job and family stuff in between running new wire, installing new plumbing, hanging drywall and painting trim.

4. Living in an old neighborhood is charming, but expensive.
Lesson: Clay sewer pipe installed in 1945 has a 65-year lifespan and costs a shitload (pun intended) to replace.

5. There is nothing more lovely than hearing your 3-year-old call, "Will somebody come wipe meeeeeeee?"
Lesson: Baby wipes.

6. There is nothing funnier than hearing your 3-year-old walk through the house yelling, "Who wants a screw? Who wants a screw?" while playing with his kid-sized Black and Decker drill.
Lesson: Do NOT envision him in 15 years yelling the same thing while walking drunkenly through a frat party or you will worry yourself into oblivion.

7. Life isn't fair, and often tragic.
Lesson: Get used to it and try to cherish the good times.

8. While the main goal of the family vacations and the holiday season is to not commit familial murder, at least we are lucky enough to be surrounded by our well-meaning, loving families.
Lesson: Large amounts of patience and understanding. Moderate amounts of alcohol and other sedatives.

9. Republicans have short memories (how very un-elephant-like!).
Lesson: Apparently, eight years of recklessly driving the country into the ground like a rental car you can dispose of when your contract expires is the responsibility of the next driver, not you.

10. Change can be scary, especially to anxiety-ridden, high-strung control freaks like myself.
Lesson: 2011 is going to be full of it, so just roll with it, baby!

Fetal Holiday Syndrome

2010-12-22T07:10:00.001-07:00

I used to love to wrap gifts. LOVED IT! Did it for years at a small department store in Foothill Village. (Pin-a-rose-on-my-nose tidbit: I was so awesome at it that customers would request me as their designated wrapper) I used to volunteer to do it for family members. I used to wrap every goddamn thing that went into the stockings. I loved the crisp paper and matching ribbons and bows, finding the perfect shaped gift tag as the final touch.

But this year? Notsomuch. My constant nausea has been replaced with near-constant fatigue, which, don't get me wrong, I would MUCH rather be experiencing than my daily vomitfests. But this tiredness has been putting me to bed really early, especially on the days that I work, and the shopping and wrapping has taken much longer than usual. (Thank Lord Baby Jeebus for Amazon.com!) Anyway, I'm hoping that my zest for wrapping and decorating and shopping will be back next year. And I'll even have a new shopping companion to accompany me!

Oh, I also did minimal card-writing this year. So, for all of you who didn't get one, here are some of my favorite e-cards from the season, courtesy of someecards.com. Happy Holidays!

Bebe 2.0: AKA SuperGrrrl007

2010-12-08T20:16:00.002-07:00

"SuperGrrrl007" was the online moniker of my feminist friend during high school. So third-wave. So obnoxious. So 90s. But now that I have been told that I will be having my own little grrrl, it makes me sort of glow to think that someday she too could be a feminist. But hopefully she won't be using any email address that includes the word "grrrl".

It's true, we found out that Bebe 2.0 was a girl last Monday, which we have decided is really the best case scenario for Patrick, as his current favorite toys are a stuffed cat named "Amber" and a little penguin named "Sugar".

In the process of finding out that Bebe 2.0 was female, I almost clocked a couple of ultrasound technicians in the face. Each for a different reason - one intentional and one purely by accident.

The first tech almost got a fistful of Holty anger because she was obviously rushing us through our ultrasound so that she could get her clinic back on schedule. You know, explaining things really quickly, not spending much time showing us the vital organs, and, the kicker, not spending a single extra minute to get Bebe 2.0 to change positions so that we could see if it was a him, a her or a hermaphrodite. She sent us out of that room faster than a Republican gives tax cuts to millionaires. (Yes, I know that the sole purpose of a 20-week ultrasound is to check on the baby's development and make sure that everything is looking normal. And everything was, which we were grateful for and already quite confident in since we went through a round of screening tests last month. But the cherry on top of the 20-week ultrasound is finding out the gender. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT.) So, Matt and I left the doctor's office feeling incredibly disappointed. Damn it all to hell anyway.

As we were grabbing a bagel and coffee across the street, I suddenly turned into a crazy pregnant woman on a mission. Ween or no ween? We must know. Like, NOW! Matt obediently looked up one of those independent ultrasound places on his phone after I barked at him to "Get me the number of Fetal Fotos!" I called and was told they had an opening. Done. We scarfed down our food and took off.

Twenty minutes later, after paying $60(!) I'm on a plush table in a lovely, softly lit room, with soothing music playing and a high-resolution flat panel on the wall. Muuuuch nicer accommodations than the doctor's office. This technician is a sweet thing who is informing us that Bebe 2.0 is in a good position to check out the goods. She does a couple of sweeps and says that she can tell us the gender if we want to know. YES, PLEASE.

Upon hearing that "it" was a "she" my body nearly jerks off the table and my right arm narrowly misses punching Sweet Thing. "Are you serious? Are you sure?" I am in shock. I never thought I would have a girl. Matt has four brothers for Christ's sakes. That family is like the most extreme sausagefest ever. I always thought that Bebe 2.0 was a boy. Always.

Sweet Thing assures us that, yes, it's a girl. That she's 110% sure it's a girl. That she's been doing this for six years. That it's clear to her that it's a girl. And then she proceeds to show us the anatomy - at my request - again. And again. And again. Sweet Thing was very patient with me.

But I'm still wanting additional confirmation. I think when my sister gets into town on the 20th we might hit up Fetal Fotos again, just to make sure that Bebe 2.0 hasn't grown a penis in the past few weeks. And to apologize to Sweet Thing for almost hitting her in the face. I owe her that much.

Full of Bull

2010-11-24T15:09:00.004-07:00

I kind of love this "Celtic Animal Sign" description of my birthdate I found in the paragon of journalism, Woman's World.

April 15-May 12 --- You're a Bull!

Trustworthy and fiercely loyal, you're a rock people turn to when they need a shoulder to cry on. You may be stubborn at times, but that's only because you rely on common sense and can't stand when others make bad decisions! Honest, nurturing and loving, Celtic bulls make great moms and confidantes.

Bisneyland for Bebe

2010-11-21T21:44:00.001-07:00

Papa and Grandma took us to Disneyland (or, Bisneyland, as Patrick likes to call it) in late-October. It was a potty-training reward a long time coming for Mr. P - and he loved it. Favorite things included:

It's a Small World
Being able to "meet" Lightening McQueen and Mater
Mickey Mouse ears (see below)
Standing in the front of a Main Street parade and having at least 10 characters come RIGHT UP TO HIM to give him high fives, pat his head and/or try to get him to join the conga line (which, of course, our little reserved bebe did not join)
The cool woodcut Disneyland castle headboard in our hotel room that twinkled and played "A Wish is a Dream Your Heart Makes" with the flip of a switch
Cotton candy

BONUS: Getting to meet Mommy's dearest and oldest childhood friend, Terra, and her family. He now wishes that he had an 11-year-old older sister named "Chloe".

Puke update: I didn't puke ONCE during our three days in Anaheim. Yay! But the turbulent plane ride back home was a different story. Let's just say that I'm thankful for the generosity of strangers handing me their airsick bags - all of which I used.

Chatter: Just when you think you're feeling better . . .

2010-11-14T21:26:00.002-07:00

. . . you throw up in the garden outside of Kohl's.

Me:

Patrick, hang on, Mommy is going to be sick. *proceeding to vomit*

Patrick:

Mom! Don't throw up on the flowers! You're going to kill them!

Me:

*between heaves* Honey, I can't help it. Wait one minute.

Patrick:

I'm going to stand over here. I don't want hear this.

Patrick's back on the wagon!

2010-10-13T18:54:00.000-06:00

I love the hand placement. So unnatural, yet adorable. He looks so much bigger than last year.

We had quite a fight about the shoes. He wanted to wear the "light-up Lightming MucQueeeen" shoes, but mean ol' mama said, "No, you're going to wear the plaid shoes that Mommy got on clearance for $7.99 at The Gap last spring and has had visions of you wearing for your fall photo shoot for the past six months." What can I say? I'm a planner.

Puke update: Got some acupuncture last Friday, felt pretty good Saturday and Sunday. Not sure if it really worked, or if I tricked myself into thinking it worked, or what, but I was grateful to feel like 50% of a human being for a couple of days. This week has been fair, though pretty much everything past 6 p.m. is not fun for me. I'm 12.5 weeks today, so . . . I'm hoping that I'm on the upswing.

Good day = bad evening

2010-10-06T11:02:00.004-06:00

Had a surprisingly minimal heave day at work yesterday, only to veer off the side of the road and puke in a Ziploc bag on the way home around 6 p.m. while Patrick watched in horror from the backseat.

A few minutes later I hear, "Mom, I wish you didn't have a baby in your tummy. Because then you wouldn't be so sick."

SAD!

Retch 2.0

2010-09-28T20:05:00.003-06:00

*WARNING: Whiniest post ever written. I'm sorry, I just had to bitch.*

Have you ever been nauseated for six weeks straight? Like you have a really bad hangover that you just can't shake? Like everything that you put in your stomach is going to come right back up? I have. I felt this way about four years ago when I was pregnant with Patrick. And it was fucking miserable. So what do I go and do? Put myself in the exact same position with baby #2. WHY DO I PUNISH MYSELF SO? I am a child of divorce, but come on, no one is that big of a masochist, right? Right!? Wrong. I am a masochist to the nth degree, apparently.

I was so excited about this pregnancy about six weeks ago. So-much-so that I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. But now? That newly pregnant glow has worn off and been replaced with the greenish-gray pallor that is now my complexion. And I know that I'll be excited again when (if?) I feel better. But it's really, really, really hard to be thanking Jeebus for the miracle of life when this trouble-making grape-sized bun in the oven is causing you to either be in one of three constant states: 1) Curled up in fetal position in your bed, concentrating on every breath being even and not inducing a gag; 2) Kneeling over a toilet losing the tiny amount of actual food you were just able to choke down moments ago; 3) Crying with your head down on your desk at work wishing you could just be put out of your misery.

And, sadly, even the novelty of my being so incredibly ill has worn off. At first, Matt would hover near the bathroom door to make sure that I wasn't literally puking my guts out. Now he vacates the scene immediately. (not that I blame him, really) And Patrick used to look at me with confusion and concern when I was stationed toilet-side. Now when I'm dry-heaving he says, "Mom, go throw up in the potty, not in here," or "Mom, if you just go throw up you'll feel better." And actually, P's acceptance of my pathetic state is good. I don't want him worrying about me all the time - that's not good for a kid's psyche.

But I still want sympathy. But do I deserve it? Probably not. I knew what I was getting into. But, seriously, this time seems worse than the last. I don't know if it's because I have Patrick to tend to while I'm so down-and-out, or if it's because it's the second time around, or what. I have people tell me that my extreme nausea is because I'm having a girl. "Rest assured it's a girl then. Those bitchy bitches mess with your system," said my friend who was mega-sick during her twin-girl pregnancy. Or my friend at work already assessing the fetus' mental and emotional health: "Well, clearly you're having a girl. She's already displaying signs of bulimia."

Whatever the reason . . . IT SUCKS MORE THAN I CAN EVEN DESCRIBE. Luckily, I've had good peeps around me to help me through the particularly desperate times - especially my parental sets who answered my sobbing phone calls and rushed to my side when Matt was in Europe on a trip with his brother for 12 days earlier this month. FYI, Matt came home a couple days early when I wrote him an e-mail that said, in essence, "Get your ass home as soon as you can because I AM DYING!" And since being home, Matt has been doing everything around the house and taking care of Patrick while I lay around feeling like roadkill.

Am I over-reacting? Am I being a total wimp? Maybe, but I don't really believe that I am. There are two main things that have convinced me that I'm legitimately sick and not just being a blubbering, weak-minded, pansy-ass bitch:
---My doctor is suggesting foods to me that "don't hurt coming back up" - like tofu and purees. You know it's bad when her recommendations are based on her total lack of confidence that anything you eat will stay down.
---Much of the time, even my anti-nausea pills come back up, so I have to use . . . Lord help me . . . anti-nausea suppositories. Yep. That's right. You read that correctly.

So there you have it. My second miracle of life is seriously downgrading my quality of life right now. When (if?) I start feeling better I'll do a post about how blessed and amazing this experience is, but until then . . . I'll be retching. Morning, noon and night.

P.S. - Yes, I've tried ginger. I've tried wrist bands. I've tried B6. I've tried every anti-nausea prescription allowed to a pregnant women. Nothing has really made a serious dent. NOTHING.

Everybody's got a twin, right?

2010-09-01T15:12:00.004-06:00

We came across this little clone when Patrick looked down at the tag on the dragon costume we just purchased and said, "Hey look! It's me!" Observant little bugger. I never would have even noticed!

Sure wish my twin was a model . . .

Chatter: Bebe Banter

2010-08-25T15:25:00.003-06:00

My co-worker/friend just dropped into the office for a visit with her 6-week-old baby. Below are two resulting conversations.

Mac Lover Art Guy: He's a cute baby, huh?

Me: Yeah, he reminds me of his older brother.

Mac Lover Art Guy: Oh, but it's amazing how different siblings can be, even right from the very beginning.

Me: I wouldn't know.

Mac Lover Art Guy: Yeah, babies come pre-programmed with a lot of shit. Kind of like a PC with Windows.

-------------

McChipperson: So, does it make you want to have another one?

Me: I don't know ... I just sent in my census. I wouldn't want to throw off the numbers.

Look what I found!

2010-08-24T22:16:00.002-06:00

Even as a youngster I was obsessed with the lifestyles of the rich and famous. I LOVED Punky Brewster. A note to all you young jerks: Punky was the title character on a mid-80s TV show. Jerkfaces. Get out of here and enjoy your youth.

Anyway, the show showed kids' drawings on commercial breaks and invited viewers to send theirs in. Well, I did. I can't remember what it looked like, but it must have sucked because it didn't get featured. However, I did get this sweet postcard back from PUNKY HERSELF!

That year I went as a chubby Punky Brewster for Halloween. I did! I'm going to find that picture, just you wait.

Yellowstone 2010: Wi-schwing you were here!

2010-08-19T21:37:00.004-06:00

(Yes, I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy)

More Yellowstone photos soon . . .

Chatter: I am so smart! S-M-R-T!

2010-08-15T21:23:00.002-06:00

Matt: Patrick, how'd you get so smart?

Paddy: Because I know everything.

Missing Liz

2010-08-14T12:53:00.006-06:00

Paddy and I are missing Aunt Liz today. She set off for law school in Chicago earlier this week and now I'm realizing that our weekends are going to seem pretty empty without our regular outing with her.

Such a sport, that Liz. Nearly every Saturday or Sunday she kept Paddy and me company while Matt toiled away on basement projects. She went EVERYWHERE with us: the zoo, aquarium, Park City, museums, festivals, Costco, parks, random errand-running, Lagoon, even Utah County (yikes!). Always sensitive to the demanding eating and napping schedule of a toddler, and the unreasonable demands of her older, high-strung sister, she devoted her time to us nearly every weekend for the past two years. And we loved it. And we were lucky to have had that time.

So, I'm left wondering, who's going to have time to play with us now?

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

This guy!

Our best buds, Brandon and Weston, just adopted a baby! Paddy and I can't wait to spend some time with him. (But we'll still be missing Liz.)

Chatter: Proof that swearing builds phonics skills

2010-08-11T07:51:00.002-06:00

Patrick: Mom, remember when you said that bad word the other day in the car? What was it? I can't remember.

Me: Um, I'm not sure. I shouldn't have said it though, since it was a bad word.

Patrick: Yeah, but what was it? *thinking* What was that bad word called?

Me: I don't remember, sweetie. Don't worry about it, okay? I'm sorry that I said it. That was naughty of me.

Patrick: It sounded like "basil", but it wasn't. But it sounded like it. Hmmmm.

(Note: I knew exactly what word I said, and I remembered the asshole driver who made me say it. Man, he was SUCH an asshole . . . . )

Glowing in my nerdiness

2010-07-27T21:53:00.000-06:00

Something awesome happened this weekend that lifted my spirits.

The tech-whiz/super-geek/computer science expert I am married to asked me how to turn on our new iMac.

Greatest. Day. Ever.

Gotta say . . .

2010-07-22T21:26:00.000-06:00

If one more awful freak occurrence happens to people who we care about, I'm gonna pack my house up and go live in the mountains. I swear.

Over the past few weeks we've had a string of bad luck strike different people in our lives, culminating with the passing of a close family friend last week. And it's really hard. It's hard to know that people have no control over how their lives can be affected, devastated, and ultimately, ended. That something like a plane crash, a head-on car wreck or an extremely rare disease can wipe them smack off the face of the earth, leaving so many people shocked and heartbroken in their wake.

And it makes you think about the things that are really important in life. About how your situation can change so quickly. About what you are doing that truly is appreciated, versus the things that you do that go unabashedly ignored and taken for granted. About who matters the most to spend time with and who is just an obligation.

All these thoughts make me question my belief that it's all really worth it in the end. That the good will outweigh the bad. Because sometimes, well, it seems like the scale is loaded down with crud.

Chatter: I'm going to start using this phrase when I've had too much coffee

2010-07-01T13:37:00.004-06:00

Me:
Woah! P Bear, slow down! You're way too hyper for this time of night.

Paddy:
I know! My energies are going crazy! *giggling*

Happy Father's Day!

2010-06-20T14:38:00.000-06:00

Three generations of granola.

Chatter: frowny face

2010-06-15T19:16:00.000-06:00

You know it's a bad day when two mentions of extreme escape are made in one sitting . . .

First Mention

Person 1: "So, yeah, I'm heading up that project. *sigh* "
Person 2:"Let me know if I can help with that."
Person 1: "You can help me by putting my car in neutral and pushing it off the top of the parking garage."

Second Mention

Person 3: "Woah, that was a bright camera flash!"
Person 4: "Yeah, kind of like that 'Men in Black' thing that makes you forget everything."
Person 1: "I wish. Then maybe we could start with a clean slate and life would be worth living again."

Queue 'Debbie Downer' sound effect . . . . NOW!

Thomas the Crank

2010-06-14T23:16:00.008-06:00

I haven't posted anything about our trip to the Heber Creeper a couple of weeks ago for "Day Out With Thomas" because I've only NOW decompressed from the amount of anxiety and crankiness I experienced while navigating the biggest preschooler clusterfuck known to man.

I still feel like I owe my mom and sister a public apology for being so tightly wound that day. (Sorry, guys!) Anyway, we mostly had an okay time, and Patrick enjoyed himself, which was the entire reason we went, so that's good. Still, the outing was nicely summed up with the wise words of my mom: "Well, I think we've had all the fun we can stand. Shall we go?"

Liz, P and Nana on the train. He's a little unsure.

He finally got up the nerve to look out the window and gave me a fantastic profile shot.

Enjoying himself.

P and me. See his retro-looking Thomas shirt? (Thank you, Target)

Nana and P deep in thought about The Industrial Revolution.

The only thing creepier than Sir Topham Hatt's lack of facial definition? The staggering number of chunky, highlighted, teased, severely stacked bobs we observed.
(I didn't even mean to get these two rather tame versions into the photo - but there they are, flanking Sir T.H. so nicely)

I told Matt that next year he gets to take Patrick up there - it can be a BOYS Day Out with Thomas! And Mama will stay home and have a cocktail (or five).

Chatter: Happy Flag Day!

2010-06-14T14:09:00.003-06:00

"I like to have my own personal flag up on all flag-flying holidays well before the god damn boy scouts get their little asses out of bed. You see, our boy scout neighborhood shits have the nerve to ask for a $50.00 donation/year to put a flag in your yard. Of which, if the holiday falls on a Sunday - NO FLAG. We told them to F-OFF. They took it well."

*Editor's note: This chatter was via e-mail. And it's the best e-mail I've received in weeks. Actually, months.

Woo hoo! Back to the grind!

2010-05-31T23:08:00.005-06:00

Patrick is NOT PLEASED that the holiday weekend is over. Not pleased at all.

Half-assed and high-centered

2010-05-28T23:44:00.005-06:00

Matt and I waited a loooong time to convert P's crib to a bed, as we wanted it to be in conjunction with some progress in the potty-training department (which, thank you LORD BABY JESUS, we are finally making). And he's still getting used to the freedom that comes along with The Big Boy Bed. I took this photo during Thursday's hard-fought nap:

This was after approximately five times of my working on the computer downstairs, hearing a pitter patter, going upstairs, addressing whatever excuse he came up with for being out of bed (I've got to go potty, I'm thirsty, I need my robot, Maui's in my roo-oom!, My pants are twisted), getting him to lie down again and going back downstairs.

Think he needed that nap? *rhetorical question alert* Uh, yeah. He did.

First yawn aid

2010-05-26T22:00:00.007-06:00

Have you ever been awakened at 4 a.m. with a request for a SpongeBob SquarePants Band-Aid? I have.

Not tryin' to be bossy, but . . .

2010-05-16T21:40:00.002-06:00

. . . everyone should take advantage of the $1 real-film photo booth at the Utah Museum of Natural History before they get rid of it in the big move to the new building. Between there on Friday, the zoo* on Saturday and the aquarium today, our weekend was definitely Patrick-centric. And poor Matt's weekend was devoted to the basement. Kid + old house = no more lazy weekends for us!

*I'm pissed at the zoo. This was not what I voted my taxes go towards . . .

Blonde Ambition

2010-05-10T22:12:00.003-06:00

How cute is Patrick's class photo?!
How adorable are his teachers?!
How ugly is the background?!?!?

I'm not sure if it's summoning Star Trek, an acid trip gone wrong or the laser backdrops of 80s photography but whatever it is trying to be, it's bad. So bad that I didn't even bother buying any solo portraits of Patrick, which offered an extra layer of ugly: a large patriotic top hat prop for kids to lean on. *barf*

But back to the class photo. Do you notice anything? Aryan Nation, man! It's unbelievable how many blondes are in his class, and I think there are only a couple of pairs of brown eyes - so, basically "Preschool of the Damned". Come to think of it, this photo may be a good explanation as to why Patrick was not able to be consoled in the security line at the Philadelphia Airport last week. Yeah, um, how do I say this . . . The demographics of Philly's TSA agents were not anything that he's familiar with. At all. And as I'm wrestling his shoes off of him, throwing all our carry-on shit onto the conveyor belt, and dragging him through the metal detector, some very well-meaning African American TSA mamas are trying to comfort him by leaning down and saying, "Sugar, what's wrong?" and "Oh, it's okay!" and "Look at those big tears! Lordy!" It was so nice. But at that point he had full-on lost his shit, which is totally understandble for any 3-year-old who hasn't had a decent nap in three days, and I'm just wanting to tell them, "I know you mean well, but you may be making it worse. You see, we're from Utah." Anyway . . . the photo . . .

I kind of want to kidnap the little girl in the middle of the back row and say that she and Patrick are fraternal twins. She is so awesome. Everyday she greets me with a sweet smile, a boastful point down at her new shoes, or a funny question, "Is Patrick going to carry that new square lunch box from now on?" I even thought it was adorably hilarious when last month she stuck her middle finger right in my face to show off the cool Band-Aid she had on. (How many people can say they've been flipped off by a preschooler at 8:30 in the morning?) I've been toying with the idea of asking her hip mom for a playdate, but I'm nervous. How do I know that she likes me? True, she has stopped me to talk in the hallway, but maybe she was just being polite. I don't want to seem too desperate. Ugh. It's like I'm asking a high school crush to a goddamn dance. I'll keep you posted.

Lastly, yes, Patrick is on a quest for the title of Teacher's Pet, which makes the fact that he is the one sitting in Miss April's lap mega-sweet. He has definitely learned from the best: my sister, "Numero Uno Kiss Ass", and me, "Martnoser* Extraordinaire".

*My nickname at work, which stems from Martyr + Brown-noser.

Happy, cubed

2010-05-09T21:50:00.002-06:00

Happy weather. Happy kid. Happy Mother's Day.

Cinco duh Mando

2010-05-05T10:47:00.005-06:00

In honor of an amazingly idiotic statement I made last night at my friend's birthday dinner, I'm adding HFM (high-functioning moron) into Holtywood's list of blog tags/labels:

"Yes, I'd like the chicken quesadilla. Oh, does that have cheese in it?"

So glad that my mom made me take those three years of Spanish in high school - they've really paid off!

Chatter: They grow up so fast

2010-04-28T20:55:00.005-06:00

Me:
Patrick! Look how big our flowers are getting! See the yellow ones? *pointing*

Paddy:
Ohhhh yes, I see! Awwwww, they're growing up.

Fuh

2010-04-26T15:00:00.005-06:00

Dear Astute America First Credit Union Teller,

Thank you for letting me know that my driver's license expires today. I am so thankful that you are more observant than I am, or else I would have been in big trouble at the airport and rental car counter later this week.

Love,
Me

--------------------

Dear Utah DMV,

Thank you for putting in place the new documentation rules requiring me to bring four(!) types of identification with me to simply renew my license. Now I need to go back to America First to get said documents out of my safe deposit box and get to your offices at 7 a.m. tomorrow to avoid the hellish lines.

Don't worry, I'm in the country legally,
Me

McRambler

2010-04-17T09:19:00.001-06:00

I'm thinking this is a good weekend to switch out the closet. And by that I mean take the wrinkled spring/summer clothes out of the collapsible IKEA zipper bins into which they were thrown last fall and cram them into the sole bedroom closet that I've kicked Matt out of. (Poor Matt. He uses the closet in Patrick's room. What's going to happen when Patrick needs more closet space, you ask? Um, I have no idea.)

Yes, it's true, we don't live in the world of his-and-her walk-in closets branching off a palatial master suite far removed from the children's quarters. No McMansion for us. Our bedroom barely fits our queen-sized bed and a couple of small-scale dressers, has one closet and shares a wall with Patrick's room. Such is the layout of a mid-sized 1945 rambler. There are some space sacrifices, but we really are happy with our little house of 2+ years, mainly because it sits on a shady, tree-lined street that is only ten minutes away from downtown, five minutes away from a freeway on-ramp and a comforting 45 minutes away from Utah County. The yard is coming along after some minor landscaping updates, strategically placed fencing and flower-planting. Matt is busting his ass on redoing the basement, including a *gasp* large closet in one of the bedrooms. And our kitchen is still a cheery yellow. Very cheery. Very yellow.

Spring is good in the Holty hood.

I feel like June Cleaver high on cleaning fumes

2010-04-11T21:55:00.007-06:00

My weekend was awesome in several domestic ways:

Matt has redirected our laundry chute so it now doesn't come out behind the furnace. (Those 1940's architects were geniuses!) Patrick and I are having a blast throwing things down and then running downstairs to see if they "made it". And yes, I know how lame that sounds, but the kid loves it, okay?
I cleaned our disgusting toaster oven. It's the kind without a pull-out crumb tray, so it was a total pain in the ass and something I've been putting off for, say, five months.
Matt installed a shiny, new, non-dripping kitchen faucet. That particular model probably won't work for whatever kind of sink we end up with when we remodel in the very very distant future, but at least in the meantime we won't be wasting water - we're just so green like that.
I've already made dinner for Monday night and even made extra to freeze.
I got some great deals on some geraniums and pansies at Smith's Marketplace and Lowes, respectively. And my magnolia tree survived its first winter and is currently in bloom. Only 10 more years until it provides us with the privacy we would like!

My weekend blew chunks in a few other ways:

I had to take Patrick to the pediatrician on Friday afternoon to treat his fever brought on by an ear infection. (Thanks to the "bubble gum medicine" he is feeling much better.)
On the way home from the pediatrician I ran over an unidentified object that slashed my tire and gave me less than 30 seconds to limp to the side of the freeway. The tire was less than two weeks old.*
When I sat down tonight to check my e-mail, I saw that Dixie Carter had died. So sad. I grew up watching "Designing Women" with my mom and sis. "We're not takin' that pig shoppin'!" was a much-quoted Julia Sugarbaker line in our house. This is one of Julia's best rants.
My seasonal allergies are forcing me to consider chopping my head off with a dull kitchen knife.

*Costco replaced the tire for free! Yay Costco!

Petit Artiste

2010-04-06T06:55:00.001-06:00

Everything comes back to dinosaurs at our house. EVERYTHING. A few days ago at lunch P excitedly exclaims, "Look Mom! I made my sandwich look like a parasaurolophus!"

Patrick "Dinosaur Expert" Holty

American, 2007 -
Parasaurolophus, 2010
Peanut butter on bread

The real thing; Frighteningly close.

Fun with E-Bun

2010-04-04T13:01:00.005-06:00

I've always liked Easter. It was one of the only times we went to church when we were little, and getting all dressed up in our new dresses and hats made it seem like a really special day. Of course the basketful of candy didn't hurt either.

Easter with Paddy this year has been fun. He has really gotten into it - especially dying and hunting for eggs. We're perfectly fine keeping it simple and low-key this year. There's plenty of time to tell him all about:
--The religious meaning of Easter;
--The time that mommy's no-nonsense co-worker proclaimed, "Oh, please! The Easter Bunny is bullshit. I didn't do any of that shit for my kids and they're perfectly fine.";
--Why it's ironic that my Jewish friend was hired to play the Easter Bunny at the mall during high school; and
--How it's just not good manners to refer to the Easter Bunny as a "son-of-a-bitch" in front of your infant son. (Z, I'm looking at YOU!)

Happy Easter!

High-fivin' with E-Bun at the grocery store.
(Remember, not a fan of hugging strange characters)

Milo cuddling with P's new talking bunny.

Gender policing always leads to tears

2010-04-02T23:33:00.006-06:00

Bhahahahaaaaaaa! This video is so awesome. I'm crying right now I'm laughing so hard.

Did you watch? OMG. OMG! My favorite part is the girl in the middle. She looks like she is going to cut you. But really, that poor kid. He just wanted to be allowed to like what he liked.

This is a reminder to myself that I need to let Patrick express himself and explore the world in a way that is interesting and safe for HIM, which might not necessarily be the culturally-acceptable hyperactive, gun-shooting, pushing, yelling, fighting, 'boys will be boys' way. I need to be okay with him choosing pink yarn for his hand-knit hat from Grandma; I need to commend him for wrapping up his dinosaurs like babies and laying them down in bed from biggest to smallest; and I especially need to not pass judgment on him when he requests to hear "the what-do-you-want-from-me song" by the flamboyant, eyeliner-wearing Adam Lambert for the ninth consecutive time. NINE TIMES. NOT EXAGGERATING.

I love my exacting, unique, muy sensitivo kiddo. And he can like what he likes.

*This CD was a white elephant gift from Christmas, mind you. But it has totally grown on me and is presently part of the CR-V's musical rotation, and I'm okay with that.

Loungin' with the dinos

2010-04-01T09:55:00.001-06:00

I don't really know what to say about this pose . . .

Teach them well and let them lead the way

2010-03-25T15:43:00.006-06:00

Dear Playground Taggers,

It's best to not include any of the following pieces of information as part of your graffiti:

the name of your high school
the sports team of which you are a member
your names

Like Ms. Houston, I believe the children are the future. And I'm scared.

Chairman Mao

2010-03-22T07:07:00.001-06:00

I didn't do a birthday posting for my husband or my child, but I'm doing one for Maui, our itchy, high-strung, inbred Lhasa Apso. Happy 7th birthday, Maui! May this year be the year you - and your skin - calm down.

Gwynethed

2010-03-21T20:48:00.001-06:00

Have I ever mentioned that I have a really hard time with Gwyneth Paltrow? Yes, yes, her Oscar acceptance speech for "Shakespeare in Love" circa 1998 was nice and she looked like a pink couture angel, but since then she has:

1) Moved to London and started acting British (AKA: Madonna);
2) Named her children Apple and Moses; and
3) Started Goop, the most pretentious, snobby, self-righteous Web site ever known to woman.

Thus, I try to avoid The Paltrow at all costs. Knowing this, my co-workers Gwynethed my office while I was out of town for a client event:

Horrifying. I found more than 20 images stashed around my office. Though, I've actually kept the floating Paltrow head on my fan because it makes me laugh.

What DIDN'T make me laugh were the Goop e-newsletters I started receiving to both my work and personal e-mail accounts. Goop's vomit-inducing theme/slogan/motto/mission statement, whatever the hell you would call it, is "Nourish the Inner Aspect". The site's target audience seems to be jet-setting mothers with pantloads of expendable income to spend on professional chefs, personal trainers, detoxifying experts and in-house leggings gurus. The latest e-newsletter suggests I buy Stella McCartney's $1,200 "little white dress" for the summer. Um, if I'm going to spend $1,200 on anything it would be on the SLR Canon camera I've been eying for over a year or a thyroid transplant for my inbred dog - not a white dress that is going to visually add 15 (unneeded) pounds to my body and be stained within five seconds with grubby Paddy hand prints.

Anyhow, for the past few months whenever a Goopy e-mail hits my inbox, I've just been silently dryheaving at my keyboard and quickly deleting it, but recently I finally had enough and officially unsubscribed. Goop riddance.

http://holtywood.blogspot.com/2009/03/gwynethed.html

Once, Twice, Three Times a Paddy

2010-03-19T23:10:00.008-06:00

Patrick is officially obsessed with dinosaurs. Obsessed I tell you! He can tell you which ones are herbivores, why some have plates on their backs and which species were the most intelligent. And you'd better believe that he will correct your pronunciation of "palaeobatrachus" without batting an eye. Thus, his third birthday was a 3-part dinomania.

March 6: An adventure with Grandma and Papa to the Ogden Dinosaur Park, which was briefly delayed by a distracted college chick ramming the new-Volvo-Daddy-Bought-Me right into the back of our car. Hard. Poor P got some coffee spilled on him, and three out of the four adults are getting treatment for whiplash, but otherwise all is fine; It could have been much worse. After the cops cited her for being an idiot, we continued on our way. The weather was great that day, so we were able to have a picnic lunch and enjoy walking through the outside portion of the park. Patrick would run along the paths yelling, "There's one!" and "Look at that guy!" and "It's a stegosaurus!" He was so excited. Inside, there were lots of fossils, models, stones and other artifacts, but the most intriguing to P were the large animatronic dinosaurs. He wouldn't get close to them, but his morbid curiosity led him back to the doorway to sneak a peek at them time and time again. They were really quite lifelike, so I don't blame him for being a little freaked. Maybe next time he'll be a bit more bold. Maybe. So, all-in-all it was a kick-ass adventure. I think you can always measure the success of an outing with a toddler by two things:
1) How long they talk about what they saw/did afterward (he's still talking about it to this day); and
2) How fast it took them to fall asleep in the car ride home (3 minutes).

March 7: Sunday morning "Brontosaurus Brunch" with Gaga, Nana, Papa Warren, aunts, uncles, and most importantly, Cousin Alex. Patrick could have cared less about anything else - he just loved following his mature 5-year-old cousin around. Matt and I had a great time decorating for the party*, especially since the awesome creative genius at my agency printed off a huge T Rex and cropped out his teeth for the game "Pin the Tooth on the T Rex" we invented. Funny how blindfolding people and spinning them around can be so entertaining, but it totally was. Oh, and I've meant to post this for months - this is my go-to brunch dish. It's easy, vegetarian-friendly and tastes good.
*Disclaimer: I ripped off many ideas for the party from here. Moms, visit the site at your own risk. While it may leave you feeling inspired, it will most definitely make you feel both inadequate and dead inside. Ms. Life Frosting is amazing/slash/out-of-control.

March 9: The official third anniversary of the day P was expelled from my uterus! Yay! Also, a work day for Mama! Booooo! But I ditched the office later in the afternoon and hauled ass to P's school so he could have a little "friend party" with his classmates. P's teacher Sweet Miss April had told the kids that Patrick would be having a party after nap time, so as soon as I walked in I instantly had 10 toddlers at my feet looking up at me with excitement and exclaiming, "Patrick's mommy is here!" I tell you, I was like the effing Pied Piper of SLC! I went to give P a 'hello' hug and they followed me. I tried to set my stuff down and they were all up in my grill. I'd never felt so popular! Since toddlers have the attention span of goldfish, we did the following activities over the course of about 40 minutes: played "Pin the Tooth on the T Rex", applied temporary dino tattoos, colored pre-cut cardboard T Rexes and ate dinosaur eggs (AKA: doughnut holes from Banbury Cross). I sent the kids home with some dino goody bags and skedaddled over to Z Pizzeria to pick up an easy birthday dinner. Then cupcakes, presents, playtime, lots of hugs and kisses and then crashed into bed. Phew. Dinomania 2010 is complete. And our little baby is three.

Doctor's Appointment: Three years

2010-03-11T20:18:00.008-07:00

Paddy turned three two days ago (I'll post birthday extravaganza photos soon), and being the OCD mother I am, I scheduled his 3-year checkup for this morning. Here are the findings:

Height: 36.5" (40th percentile)

Weight: 31 lbs (20th percentile)

No head measurement taken, but we pretty much know who we're dealing with.

Verbal skills: Awesome, as confirmed by the pediatrician after he was educated/lectured on all the characteristics of a T Rex:

"T Rexes have sharp teeth, big eyes, two fingers, NOT THREE FINGERS! *holding up his toy dino* This guy has five fingers, but looks like a T Rex so we call him 'T Rex with five fingers.'"

Potty-training: No, sir. (Much to the disbelief and disgust of our three judgmental, childless friends.)

Then we had a post-appointment lunch with Dad at In-N-Out*; Patrick ordered his signature strawberry shake because, "Strawberry shakes make me feel better."

And to finish off the day, tonight at the dinner table he asked Matt, "Do lizards have penises?" I was having a hard time containing my laughter, so ended up stepping outside the backdoor for a minute to collect myself.

*I've adopted this tradition from my mom, who always took my sis and me to Arctic Circle or Hardees after trips to the doctor. Nothing makes a shot hurt less than some ice cream!

http://holtywood.blogspot.com/2010/03/doctors-appointment-three-years.html

Gmail Chat Chatter: As gullible as she was in high school

2010-03-10T18:09:00.012-07:00

me: i gotta go, my kid just shit in his diaper.

Rachel: he's not potty trained yet? wtf

me: no.

Rachel: time to get off the teat, paddy

me: it's a long road. boys are slower.

Rachel: i hope he still doesn't breastfeed

me: only at night.

Rachel: are you serious?

me: well, yeah. it's really nutritious.

Rachel: i'm slightly wretching right now
he's like a mini norman bates.
that's uncool, mandy
no offense, but you shouldn't breastfeed him at 3. it's gross

me: I'm doing what is best for him.

Rachel: he can talk. he shouldn't be able to ask for your boob in his mouth

that's creepy

me: It's fine. I can't believe that you are being so close-minded!

Rachel: MANDY!

he can talk!!!!

he theoretically could say "mom whip out that jug and come to daddy"
that's GROSS

omg i have to call my mom and ask her if this is normal

me: Stop it. I'm just f*cking with you!

Rachel: OMG THANK YOU

and i hate you

me: He hasn't had the teat since he was 6 months old.

Rachel: JESUS THANK YOU

me: That was so much fun.

I am going to copy and paste this conversation onto Holtywood.

Rachel: i hate you.

have i mentioned that yet?

i was scared you were delving into VC Andrews territory.

http://holtywood.blogspot.com/2010/03/chatter-as-gullible-as-she-was-in-high.html