holyboogers

I look at the title of this post and I’m still slightly in shock that my son is now six months old.  Half a year.  With Ryan, there were numerous differences in character and ability with that six-month mark, and Noah is following suit.  He loves to stand (and I love it when he stands as well simply because I get to see the dimples of chunk in his knees and thighs as he extends those legs of his), he recongnizes me instantaneously and his arms and legs exclaim his glee as they swoosh through the air.  He’s reaching for everything now.  I have to watch my dinner plate or it skids across the table in the flash of an instant as he insists on sitting in my lap when I’m eating.  He’s rolling over in both directions and that bum of his has aspirations of hitting the ceiling from time to time when he’s on his tummy…whoosh…there it goes!  Chest to the floor, bum lift-off.  He had his first taste of rice cereal on Tuesday and decided it was fun to blow raspberries as the spoon hit his lips.  What a mess! :)  And he loves his big brother.  Man, does he love his big brother.  At times, Ryan can extract the giggle of giggles from Noah that not even I can seem to pull from his belly.  Watching the two of them together fills me with utter contentment.

And on a completely different note, six months seems to be the marker for my boys and thier penises.  Yes, you heard me right…what is it with a boy and his penis?  Noah was in the tub with Ryan tonight, sitting in his bath chair.  Relaxing, back against the chair, feet dangling out, and…yep…he found it.  There he was, a look of complete concentration on his face, tugging away.  Memories pooled.  Ryan was six months when he first found his penis as well…and it hasn’t let up!  Ha!  I took Noah out of the bath shortly thereafter and the poor guy was red from his explorations.  Well, that surely didn’t deter him, and I imagine I’ll find him tugging away come next tub time

The six month mark also means a six month appointment with the doctor.  I have a very healthy boy on my hands.  He’s  hitting all his milestones and you would absolutely never know that he was a preemie unless you were told.  21 pounds and 3 ounces.  28.5 inches long.  Whoah!  You go, Noah!

Six months.  It amazes me.  It saddens me.  It fills me.  And it makes me so very proud.

So far this morning, we’re not having a repeat of yesterday.  Thank goodness for that!

Noah woke at 5 am yesterday morning, to which I said “no way!” and brought him out in the cold, dark house to his swing in the livingroom.  I turn the  light on, place him in, he smiles up at me.  Sorry, buddy, but I need some sleep!  I head back to bed.  Ahhh…it feels so good to lay down!  I sleep.  About a half hour later, I hear Noah fussing in his swing so I climb out of my warm bed and retrieve him.  Again he looks up at me and smiles.  You little booger!  :)  I bring him back to bed with me, offer to nurse, which he takes to immediately.  I close my eyes and fall asleep again.  And so did Noah.  Yes!  Ryan wakes at 6:30 and that’s when I resign myself to the fact that I’ve got to leave my warm bed and begin my day. 

Ryan and I could not have  more different reactions to waking in the morning.  I would desperately love to close my eyes again, head propped up on my comfortable pillow, and fall right back to sleep.  He, on the other hand, can’t jump out of bed more quickly to begin his day.  His mouth starts exclaiming stories even before his feet have reached the floor. 

The three of us walk into the kitchen, which is where we always start our day.  I walk slowly, Noah on my hip.  Ryan runs down the hallway, stomp, stomp, stomp, giggle.  He climbs into his booster chair at the kitchen table, ready for me to prepare breakfast.  But this morning he was a bit more excited than usual.  He slips on his chair.  I see it almost in slow motion as he hits his chin on the corner of the table before reaching the floor.  Crying.  Blood.  I place Noah in his bouncer chair and take Ryan to the bathroom where I proceed to wipe him up and survey the damage.  He’s still crying, which is how I know he’s truly hurt.  Well, that and the blood.  Ha!  See, Ryan will cry only briefly when he falls down.  It’s when the tears don’t subside within a moment that I know he’s truly hurt himself.  He’s thrashing away from the wet tissue I’m trying to place on his gum line to soak up the blood.  Doesn’t like that one bit, that’s for sure.  “No Momma, NO!”  Eventually I’ve got him wiped up and see that his teeth have gone through his lower lip a bit.  Luckily, it’s not a deep gash and after cuddling with him on the floor for a few minutes, he’s good to go.  We walk back to the kitchen, he climbs back into his chair as I hold back my urge to help him, and we get ready for breakfast. 

The moring progresses along nicely, just your typical situations…Noah wants to be held constantly, Toby finds his way almost immediately into the downstairs bathroom where he opens the top lid to the trash can and goes to town.  Soon I look at the clock and it’s 9:00.  Oh, good.  Plenty of time before I have to get everyone ready to go to Barnes and Noble, which is where we’re meeting up with friends from my mom’s group as well as a gentleman from the mortgage company so I can sign a sheet of paper in order to refinance my house.  I sit back, Noah on my lap, Ryan playing with his Superman book, and relax.  I bolt upright.  What?  9:00?  What was I thinking?  I need to leave here by 9:30 at the latest if I don’t want to be late, I’m still unshowered, my greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, body in pajama’s.  Noah is dressed, but Ryan is not.  Ugh!  I put the television on for Ryan to enjoy, and I drag Noah’s exersaucer to the bathroom to place him in while I hop into the tub for a very quick shower.  Luckily, instead of fussing, which is what he normally does, he’s content to play while I soap up.  I hear the bathroom door open.  Ryan exclaims “Momma, Toby eat doughnut!”  Oh boogers, you’ve got to be kidding me, right?  I had two bags of Amish Friendship Bread Mix in large ziploc bags on the stairwell so I wouldn’t forget to bring them along with me as I was handing them off to girlfriends’ of mine.  Ryan had been calling them doughnuts all morning long for some odd reason and now he’s telling me that Toby had eaten some?  I believe him fully as that’s an extremely typical thing for my monster of a dog to do!  I shut down the water, leap out of the tub, grab a towel to quickly wipe the water droplets off my body.  I’m dripping wet as I survey the damage.  Toby had indeed gotten into the “doughnuts.”  A large line of bread mix was slathered on my hallway carpet, making it’s way through my  kitchen and all the way to my dining area where the bag had been dropped as Toby must have decided that he wanted no more.  Ugh!  I grab a rag from the kitchen cabinet, wet it down, and get to scrubbing the carpet, hair dripping, body naked.  Thank goodness I live in the woods, that’s for sure!  Noah is still happily playing in his exersaucer, thank goodness, but Ryan is beyond excited and I have to help him dodge the mix on the floor so I’m not having to wipe him up, too.  When I’m finally done, I look at the clock.  9:25!  I’ve got five minutes to get myself dressed, brush my hair, start the car and get the boys in their winter gear and outside.  I rush to the bathroom, throw on my clothes.  I quickly run the brush through my very wet hair and pick Noah out of his exersaucer.  I get Ryan’s clothes and coat on, boots to follow.  He’s good to go.  I turn my attention to Noah and bring him over to his infant carseat.  Oh no! I forgot to change his diaper!  I lay down the diaper mat on the kitchen floor, place him upon it.  Poop!  He’s got a poop.  Of course he’s got a poop.  One minute and counting…  As long as the poop is contained I’m good to go.  I lift his bum…oh these darn breastmilk poops!  It’s made it’s way out of his diaper and seeped onto his shirt.  He’s going to need a change of outfit.  I whip off his clothes and in a frenzy, redress him in another shirt and pants set.  Yes!  We did it!  I place Noah back in his carseat, stock the diaper bag, get Ryan back to the door, bring the dogs to the crate downstairs, and finally exit the house.  Phew…we’re on our way!

Five minutes down the road I notice that the front of my neck is rather itchy.  Hmmm…I put my hand down the top of my shirt and that’s when I notice the tags.  Yeah…my shirt is on backward. Ha!  That’s a good one, Amy!

Well, I sucessfully made it to Barnes and Noble on time!  The mortgage broker was late

I sit here on my couch, my new laptop resting on my thighs, and I wonder why it is that the feel of my son’s little hand on my leg places a sense of security within ME.  Don’t you always just assume that it’s the other way around, that a parent’s touch helps to make their child feel safe and secure?  And yet…I’m here right now, in this moment, and I realize that Ryan fills a void inside of me each and every day. 

Only moments ago I had Noah laying belly-down on my lap, facing his big brother on the couch to my left.  Noah began to giggle, which is something that he often does by simply looking upon Ryan these days.  Bliss.  Ryan reacted.  He looked up at me, took his little hand and placed it upon my cheek, slowly caressing downward.  I told him that I liked his touch, that I liked it when he was so gentle and loving.  He then looked back at the television screen, back to the Pooh Bear movie we rented this afternoon from the library.  Slowly I see his hand absentmindedly reaching for his baby brother.  He blindly feels around, finds Noah’s cheek.  Caresses gently.  Then, without taking his eyes from the television, he eases his way downward to Noah’s hand.  Holds it.  Moves his fingers along the lines of baby chub and dimples.  Noah stares at Ryan all the while.  I sit there, a tear nearly finding it’s way out of my eye.  This is it, isn’t it?  These are the moments that make you fall in love all over again.  Again and again each and every day.  These are the moments that confirm that my full-time Mom status was the right choice for me and my family. 

These are the moments that it’s all about.  And once again, I’m secure.

Deep breath in.  Head back.  Breath out.  Call Jay.

This is what I did after attacking the driveway yesterday morning.  We got more snow than I had anticipated and I had overestimated my shoveling abilities for sure.  Noah asleep in his swing, Ryan happily watching a television program, I bundle myself up, slip Jay’s big boots on my feet, and head outside.  My first obstacle?  Opening the door.  It doesn’t open all the way as the snow has piled up on the stoop and is in the way.  I inch my body out and grab the shovel.   Luckily, the snow is extremely fluffy and I’m easily able to shovel my three front stairs.  But then I get to the walkway.  There’s just so much darn snow that I’m not entirely sure where to begin or where to throw it all once I have.  Bend.  Scoop.  Throw.  Repeat over and over again and I’m at the base of the walkway.  I decide I should probably tackle the end of the driveway where the plow has inevitably cornered my car into remaining parked.  I was right.  I get to work.  About a half hour later, I’m not much better off than when I had first begun and I see that the plows still have a lot of work to do on the roads.  That means that the snow will be pushed into my driveway once again, no matter how much I clear it off.  I look around me through my heavy-hooded coat, breathing into the cold air, leaning against the shovel.  Darn do I have a large driveway!  I should go check to be sure Noah is still sleeping and Ryan is behaving himself.  UGH.  Okay…I give up!

I walk indoors.  I know the only moments I ‘ll have to shovel myself out of this driveway are the moments that Noah is sleeping and when I do actually get him down, it’s not normally for a very long time.  A few inches is one thing.  What we actually got is another. 

Okay, okay…pride swallowed!  I admit it, already!  I need help.

I call Jay and a few hours later, I’ve got myself a snowplow in my driveway.  Yippee!  Ryan perches himself up on the back of the couch, looking out the front window at the plow.  I lay Noah down beside him, supporting his bottom so he doesn’t slip.  Ryan is beyond excited as he exclaims about the “guy.”  “Guy help us!”  And Noah couldn’t be more happy as his feet kick behind him in elation as he giggles at his big brother beside him. 

Shortly thereafter, I see the black of the tar on my driveway and we’re set to go.  Yeah…I should have swallowed that pride much sooner!

Last winter, when Jay was home, we had quite the snowy season.  I would wake in the morning to the snow often falling fast and heavily to the ground.  I would take a look at Ryan and just repeat that well known phrase in a sort of singsong ”let it snow…”  I had no worries.  It was Jay’s responsibility to dig us out of our driveway as I was pregnant and used that safety excuse to my full advantage.  Ha!

 But this year…this year is entirely different!  Sigh.  With Jay gone, it’s up to me to shovel all this snow off the driveway.  Our snowblower is broken…of course!  At first I didn’t mind it so much.  Noah would fall asleep for his nap, I’d bundle Ryan up and we’d head outside.  At times, I was even able to keep Ryan indoors, just checking up on him every few minutes from my duties outside.  He did such a great job. 

This morning I woke to more snow than I had anticipated from the weather report last night.  And this morning was the first time I looked at the snow falling and sunk at the thought of bundling myself up and using that darn shovel in what is considered to me now, a long driveway.  I have had numerous offers from family to pay for someone to come and plow us out while my husband is away on business, and I honestly don’t know why I haven’t taken anyone up on this offer.  Any woman in her right mind would do so.  But apparently I’m not right in the mind!  Ha!  I don’t know if it’s my pride holding me back, but if that’s the case, then I’m just being downright silly.  Do I have something to prove?  That I can handle my children and my house on my own?  That I can, indeed, do this?  I don’t know why I would feel this way when anyone can plainly see that I’m handling my responsibilities quite well.  Hmmm….   I don’t know why I feel the need to do this on my own, but for whatever reason, I will again venture outdoors in just a few minutes when Noah has fallen asleep for his first nap of the day.  Perhaps it’s something that I need to prove to myself?  Silly, yes.  Perhaps it’s forseeing the inevitable fine-tuned muscles I will have formed by the end of the season?  I can chuckle at that one.  Although I can’t place my finger entirely on the reason why I feel the need to do this, I do know that once I’m done and I walk indoors, my body is engulfed with pride.  I feel good.  I’ve done it.

I may dread what I’m about to do in a few minutes, but I know I can do it :)  And that feels good.

Right around the two-year mark, Ryan suddenly became petrified of having his hair cut.  I brought him to Snip-It’s, a cute salon that caters specifically to children, thinking that perhaps this would do the trick.  I’m not sure I could have been more wrong!  He spent the time wailing as he reached up to his hair trying to block the woman’s scissors from making any sort of contact.  We tried bubbles…forget it.  Lollipop?  He held it in his fist and proceeded to protect his locks.  We ended our session early, before his hair was fully cut.  Back at home, I was forced to cut Ryan’s hair while he was sleeping at night.  Thankfully, this actually worked well enough that I could cut some one night, cut more another night, and by the third night, we were pretty much good to go.  It wasn’t perfect, that’s for sure, but it wasn’t left completely out of control long, either.  I was satisfied!

And then, as all things seem to do in childhood, this stage came to an end.  When I would extract those scissors from the kitchen cabinet, I’m convinced Ryan heard it from the bedroom in his sleep.  Ha! :)  Instead of sleeping peacefully through my snips, he would immediately slap at his head, grunting, eyes still closed tightly as he did so.  If I continued, then it would escalate.  Not only would he grunt and slap, he’d press his eyes even more firmly together and give a little whimper of protest as well.  Yeah…I was done.  How in the world was I going to cut his hair now?  I didn’t want to resort to forcefully holding him down.  With this new dilemma came a great idea from my husband.  Why not use the buzzer?

Now, in theory, you’d think this was an amazing idea, right?  Buzz and you’re done.  Simple enough.  But I just absolutely did not want a buzz cut for Ryan.  I just think he looks so incredibly handsome when his hair is a bit longer.  Pair this with the fact that he’s got two cowlicks, inherited by his Dad, might I add (chuckle, chuckle), that stick up like devil’s horns.  He could have played Dennis the Menace, I tell you!  I figured if he was buzzed, the cowlicks would be that much more pronounced.  So…I imaging you can see my hesitation.  And yet, I had to admit to myself that there was no way out.  I really had no other option.  And so, we decided to try it out.  We picked out the clipper set at Walmart that had the longest buzzer setting (one inch), took it home, and we were set to go.

Breathe, Amy… you’re being ridiculous!  Bzzz…and how incredibly easy was that??  Holy wow!  And the inch setting was just right!  His cowlicks weren’t any worse for the wear, and it was still long enough for my very picky liking.  Success!

Jay’s nearing the end of his vacation with us before he has to head back to Portugal and Ryan’s hair was becoming ridiculously long again.  I tell you, if he were a girl, he’d be all set!  We had to buzz that hair of his again before Jay headed back so that we could tag-team Ryan and get it done more quickly.  So, just the other day, out come the clippers again.  We had Ryan sit down on the kitchen floor and put it on the inch setting once again.  I begin.  Ugh…it’s not working for some reason!  The inch is just fine for the top of his head, but I just can’t seem to get the bottom and the sides short enough that he’s not looking like he’s got a mullet!  And a mullet we most definitely do not want!  I take out the 1/2 inch clipper setting thinking without hesitation that I’ll just get the bottom of his head and the sides by his ears and I’d do this with such precision I should think of changing careers.  Yeah…  Bzzzz.  I set to work.  Ryan’s laughing hysterically thinking that it’s going to tickle, and he’s thrashing from side to side, almost convulsing.  Try buzzing that!  I get the bottom just a bit and then I move to his left side.  Bzzzz I go again.  I back off and see Jay’s eyes widen slightly, a meager smile forming on his face as his hand slides across the side of Ryan’s head.  I shut the power off and take a look for myself.  OOOOPS!  Ugh!  What in the world had I done to my son?  Me…the woman who absolutely DID not want a little boys buzz cut for her children now has no other option but to buzz his entire head.  Here I see longer portions of hair on the top of Ryan’s head hanging limply over a very large area of extremely short hair on the side.  My gosh can I be such a moron sometimes.  Ha!  What in the world WAS I thinking?  Seriously?  So buzz I do and I try to hold back a couple tears that begin to form as I survey the finishing look. 

It’s been a couple days now and I’m no longer in shock when I glance his way and see how different Ryan looks.  It almost fits him :)  I think I’ll let it grow out again and get it back to the way it was prior to my hands slipping away thinking they could work a miracle.  But what gets me more than any other factor is how I feel when I look at my son.  I’ll just sit there and stare at him…really take a look.  He’s my little BOY.  Baby fat gone, lean legs taking it’s place.  His cheeks have thinned out, his eyes almost glow blue with mischief.  This hair cut only accentuates his boyish features.  Baby no more.  I think I must have buzzed it away.

I was right to entitle my last blog about my Goldendoodle, Toby, “Move Over Marley!”

Jay’s home for another week before he has to head back to Portugal for the remainder of this very long and tedious business transaction, but he headed into the office yesterday.  Come early afternoon, I had Noah sleeping in his swing, the perfect opportunity to have Ryan’s rest time that would enable me to sit down and take a breather.  Ryan did an amazing job…no jumping on the bed!  Ha!  He did, however, knock down a very full basket of folded laundry. 

Rest time over, Ryan and I headed to the play room.  GASP!  My gosh did it stink!  EEK!  There it was…the remainder of one of Ryan’s poopy diapers.  EWW!  Right there on the carpet.  That’s nice, Toby.  How did that taste?  I head to the kitchen to get some paper towels, a rag, and the Resolve and set myself up on all fours to scrub the carpet clean.  Once finished, I don’t even want to look at Toby.  I’m disgusted.  What is this fascination with poopy diapers?  You’d better not try to give me any kisses today, Toby, that’s for sure! 

I bring the Resolve back to the kitchen, send the rag flying downstairs to wait it’s turn for the washing machine, and get ready to play with Ryan.  I take one step into the living room to check on my still sleeping baby when…GASP!  UGH!  Toby, you have got to be joking with me!  There on my favorite area carpet is yet another poopy Ryan diaper!  Back to the kitchen I go.  Resolve and I seem to be chummy today.  I pick the diaper up from the floor, pick up all the little wet diaper balls, and scrub the carpet clean wondering as I do so where in the world Toby got these diapers from.  I’m always so conscience about where I place the trash simply because I know this disgusting sort of fascination my dog has with poopy diapers and boogery tissues.  I step back into the kitchen to put the Resolve back yet once again when I see it.  The trash from the boys’ bathroom that Jay had taken care of the other day.  Instead of in the basement with the other trash, it was resting next to the door to go downstairs, the bottom half torn open by Toby’s strong teeth when, no doubt, he smelled his long-lost weakness.  Poop must smell to him the way cookies baking in the oven smell to me.  YUCK!

Sigh.

Needless to say, I brought the remainder of the garbage downstairs to the basement very pleased that I wouldn’t have to be cleaning poop from my carpets again that day

Jay woke up early this morning and took  a very cranky Noah from my arms so I could get a bit of sleep.  Ryan woke up soon thereafter and when I told him Daddy was home, he said “my Daddy home?” as he leaped from the bed, wide-eyed, and quite enthusiastic, feet stomping fast down the hallway on their way to find their father.  Moments later I hear it.  Uh, uh, uh…it’s the sound Toby makes before he’s going to get sick.  He’s on my bed and I’m able to move his body just enough to get his big mouth over my lovely comforter so he pukes on only one blanket, instead of all over the bed.  There it goes.  GROSS!  Oh, Toby!  You have got to be the most disgusting dog ever, truly!  He proceeds to get sick over my comforter…diaper chunks.  Lovely, Toby!

Now I imagine you may agree with my title of “Move over Marley” even before reading the post itself!  Funny to think that this is only ONE reason he’s my monster of a dog!