Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Over the weekend we moved Jake out of his crib. I've never understand how parents 'transition' their kids from one phase to another. We just have to do it. One day, crib. Next day, bed.

See when I want something done, I want it done now. So, when we decided we were going to put Sam and Jake in the same room (Jake's current room) and move all the baby stuff to the smaller room (Sam's current room) I wanted it done yesterday. And it all revolved around moving Jake to a big bed. A toddler bed anyway.

So Saturday afternoon we moved furniture from room to room and set up the beds while continuously praising what a wonderful set up this was, in an effort to pre-empt any concerns Sam would have. He's had the same room since he was a baby. But he took to it just fine, although he doesn't seem to get that this is a long-term set up. Every day he tells Jake "I get to sleep in your room tonight." ("And for the next 18 years," I whispered to Bryon.)

Jake loves his little bed. He has lined it with teddy bears - every lovey he has is a teddy bear, for some odd reason - and much like me he has to lay down on it every time he passes it. Only once has he got up during the night and shuffled into our room. The first morning I woke up before he did (but stayed in bed of course) and listened for him. I imagine he woke up as he normally does and started to babble, then complain. Then ... pause. He must've realized he could get out on his own. I few minutes later he padded up to my side of the bed and said "ELLOW! Boos Koos?"

Crazy From the Heat

Do you still call it cabin fever when you're stuck inside ALL the time because it is 110 frickin' degrees?

But according to our paper, relief is on the way. The Dallas Morning News has the gall to write: "It's finally on the way. Cooler temperatures will filter through the region this weekend. Highs both Saturday and Sunday will only top out in the middle 90s."

Maybe our electrical bill will only be $500 this month. Sweet relief indeed!

The Weepies

Sam had a doctor's appointment yesterday that ran over his school lunch hour so after his appointment he and I had a lunch 'date' at the Purple Cow. I'm not sure if he knew what the Purple Cow was (a burger-and-shakes diner, basically) but he was very excited to go.

Halfway through lunch I realized how enjoyable his company is. You know I love my baby Jake, but it's so great to eat (in a public place anyway) with someone who isn't spooning yogurt with his hands or throwing oranges at you.

So somewhere between that realization, the United Way commercial on the TV, the woman at the next table with four handsome sons and realizing our server looked like Joe from Blue's Clues, I started sobbing. Right there in the Purple Cow.

The good thing about crying at the drop of a hat is that I can also turn it off about that fast. So after a couple of minutes, I composed myself and went back to eating and watching Sam.

Without the Trail of Slime

Sam and I were cuddling after a hot day, both of us listless and zapped of energy, when he snuggled in close and said, "I think this is what a snail must feel like."

Dog Days

Lately much of our weekend routine has revolved around my 'come hell or high water' insistence at taking a nap. Today was one of those hot, lazy days where everything fell into place. For some unknown reason, for the first time ever I think, Jake didn't want to be rocked or patted, he wanted to be put in his crib to fall asleep on his own. Check. That put Sam and me in the big bed watching 15 minutes of Dora before turning off the TV and falling asleep. Check. Apparently Bryon crashed on the couch. Check.

Several hours later, I heard Bryon coming up the stairs. I think we must've looked a little comical, all splayed out like something the tide had washed in. Sam was upside down. I was stretched out so that every limb draped off the bed. Somehow it's cooler that way. So, after a familywide 3-hour sleeping spree, everybody got up to face what was left of the day. Still, I'm looking forward to my bedtime.

Thank You

I got my results back from last week's ultrasound and am happy to say things appear normal at this point. I am thankful, humbled, grateful ... and nearly speechless.

Blah, Blah, Blah

In an effort to get Sam to do what I want, I often launch into long, rational, emotional diatribes. It rarely works but I continue to do it (so who's smarter, I wonder?).

Case in point ... Yesterday his class went to see Cars on a field trip. I know they took the bus to see a movie but that's it. When I picked him up yesterday he got in his seat and immediately picked up his Cars comic book. I told him I wanted to talk about the field trip first. "Who drove the bus? Who did you sit by on the bus? Who did you sit next to at the movie? Did you eat lunch there or come back to school for lunch?" Just the basics, but no response.

(Begin diatribe ...)

"So, Sam. You know how Mommy drops you off at school in the morning? And then when your school day is over and my work day is over, I pick you up. And that's a long time from start to finish? Well, I don't know what you do during that time because I'm not with you. Even though you don't think it is important I like to know who you played with and what you had for lunch and if you fell on the playground. I like to know these things. Plus, if Gramma Becky calls and asks 'How's Sam?' I like to be able to tell her that you played with Garrett and had ravioli for lunch and read a new book in circle time, but unless you tell me these things I don't know what you did. And sometimes that makes me sad. So, when you get in the car after your busy day, and I want to ask you just a few questions, will you answer? Then I won't ask anymore that day. I expect that you won't want to tell me about your day when your 13 but when you are 4, I want to know. OK?"

"OK ... Mom?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"When am I 13?"

That's My Mama

Our church often talks about its parishioners' contributions to the church in terms of 'prayers, presence, gifts and service.' I thought it was an appropriate analogy for family too. If you give to your family in the form of prayers, presence, gifts and service, you are doing pretty good.

Well, lately, I can't say I'm hitting these goals. I say a lot of prayers, mainly to help me get through the day so I can go to bed, or that Jake will sleep just 30 minutes longer in the morning, or that I won't have to pull over at Whataburger to throw up. And I do OK in the gifts department. Maybe even better now that I'm sucking in the presence and service areas. But lately I'm just a loser as a mom (and spouse - there you go, Bryon, I said it. I know it and I said it).

I spend a lot of time on the couch. I don't fix food unless someone asks for it and then it is whatever I can microwave the quickest. I even quit putting sprigs of parsley on the kids' dinner plates (kidding - I never did this and if you did, you should probably stop reading).

In spite of all that, Sam still likes me to read to him and tuck him in at night. Last night we skipped reading altogether and went straight to the big bed. We were cuddled there watching a Jimmy Neutron cartoon when he looked over at me, grinning, and slapped my shoulder twice. Not a hit, more like what you'd do if your husband hit a home run for his company's softball team or your neighbor swept your porch for no reason. Then he turned right back to his cartoon.

It seemed like a grown up thing to do. Just a 'glad you're here, I like you' gesture that made me smile and briefly forget some of the other stuff.

All the Gory Details

When I was pregnant with Sam, my friend Gigi gave me a book called A Child Is Born that depicts the journey from conception to birth and is replete with graphic photos of naked, big-breasted women birthing and nursing. Sam loves this book.

I first got it out to show him how the embryo/fetus/baby looked at various stages but he started flipping through and despite my surreptitious skipping of pages, he soon found THE photos. "Why is she making that face? What's all over the baby? What's that rope on its tummy?"

So, I started telling him the truth. He now understands that the baby will either come out through a cut in my stomach ("Will they stitch it back up?" he asked.) or ... through my "pee pee."

"OH!" he said. "So that's why boys don't have babies. They don't have a mama's pee pee."

He is ever curious and ever watchful. I was drinking tea in the car on the way to work and knew that if he knew it was tea, he would want some, so, like any great mom, I lied and said it was coffee. "You can't drink coffee. Whatever you eat, the baby eats and the baby does not like coffee."

After he seemed to show an interest in all things baby I decided I would take him to the ultrasound. I made sure it was OK with the doctor and prepped Sam about what would happen. Then I realized he had a field trip that day to a nickel arcade so
I didn't take him. I didn't remind him of the appointment. I think he would've chosen the arcade. Maybe next time.

Thumbs Up

So I had my first ultrasound today. Because of my AMA (advanced maternal age - sheesh), I opted for a 12-week ultrasound that measures the baby's nuchal folds and better detects chromosomal abnormalities such as Down's, Trisomy, etc.

For me, it's a frightening moment when you're staring at the blank screen, knowing that within minutes, your whole life can change. The baby could be healthy, unhealthy, there could be 2 babies ... The doctor said our ultrasound looked normal, but it will be sent out and studied and reviewed and they will call us next week with results.

In the meantime I have a nice little picture of its wonderful profile, jaunty nose and all, giving us the Arthur Fonzarelli 'aaaaeeeeyyy' thumbs up, proudly displaying all five fingers.