At Bean’s 4-month check-up, the doc said it’s about that time. Time to start the littlest Heathen on rice cereal.
She was a little confused at first…
And it took her a minute to warm up to the idea…
But soon enough, she got the hang of it.
Yep, this cereal thing is seems pretty good.
But not as good as HANDS!
Soooo, I finally finished my husband’s very belated anniversary gift. As much as I wanted to knit my first pair of socks with his yarn of choice, the mohair blend was not conducive to the strenuous trial and error of this endeavor. Luckily, I found yarn that was much easier to work with, and though progress was slow, I emerged victorious.
A month of knitting a dang pair of socks? That’s a labor of love, right there.
Granny and Granddaddy got Bean a little present. It’s a Jumperoo!
I think she likes it! And I like anything that soothes the savage beast.
This is Bean’s Mohawk of Baby Hair. This has nothing to do with anything, other than it makes me happy.
Today is not our day.
Yesterday, Bean had her 4-month check-up, which included four vaccines. She already had these vaccines at her 2-month check-up and tolerated them just fine, so I figured we were in for smooth sailing.
Oh yes, I am a sad, deluded, wreck of a woman.
Right about the time we made it home from the doctor, she morphed into the Incredible Hulk. And you won’t like it when she’s angry. My poor baby was inconsolable, and we had a marathon evening of crying, fussing, screaming, and the most pathetic pouty lip you’ve ever seen. When she finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion, I figured the worst was over.
Oh yes, I AM a sad, deluded, wreck of a woman.
Bean woke up today with a her very first fever, and despite the fact that I’m no parenting newbie, I still had that sick feeling of instant panic and the knee-jerk reaction of “I don’t know what to do!” I swear that every time one of my kids falls ill, I have this same momentary crisis. Of course, thirty seconds later, I recovered my brain from the pit of my stomach, gave her a dose of Tylenol, and cuddled her into submission. She’s still the Incredible Hulk, but it’s Friday, so I guess that’s something right?
Did I mention that my husband is conveniently out of town during this journey through crazyville?
Coincidence? I think not.
Is they are just so dang tasty!
Well, I’ve got a solution for that:
What’s that you say? You can’t reach? Well, I’ve got a solution for that too:
Betcha five bucks you won’t be bored tomorrow!
On a good day, I really have the best intentions when feeding my picky-eating brood. I’ve slowly introduced foods that are a little fresher and healthier, and though my guys fought me kicking and screaming, they have resigned themselves to the fact that we will eat more than meat, French fries, and pancakes.
Every once in a while, however, I still treat them to their favorite stick-to-your-ribs dishes. These items may be less than healthy, but since we only have them in moderation, I don’t feel too bad about serving them. After a few sleepless nights (a la Bean), it’s nice to cook up a little something that doesn’t garner me the “ahhhhh…Moommmmm” groan at dinnertime.
For example, these creamy, cheesy potatoes are caloric suicide, but they are also pretty dang tasty. In fact, I actually called them “I Don’t Give a Crap Potatoes” last week, because I was too tired to care that they weren’t necessarily the pinnacle of nutritious menu choices. I just wanted a happy family dinner, and a nap. And maybe some chocolate.
All things in moderation, right?
Make some (in moderation) for your peeps, and you’ll buy yourself some well deserved peace at the dinner table.
This photo is a microcosm of my life right now. Why?
How much laundry can a one family go through in a single weekend? Excellent question. So glad you asked:
By midday Monday, this was what I had already washed and folded.
This was what I still had left to do. And yes, I had actually been caught up on laundry that Friday. I maintain that our dirty laundry breeds when no one is watching. Or, my guys change clothes three times a day just to punk me. Either way, I’m about to teach the Heathens to fold their own dang clothes, because this is just frapping excessive.
In unrelated news, I’ve been in school-supply-shopping-hell for two days now, and rescue is nowhere in sight. I feel like we’re competing in a cross between a scavenger hunt and Survivor. We went to three stores yesterday, and only completed about 90% of the list…for just ONE of the Heathens. Navigating the overly crowded aisles, which were clogged with equally snarly parents, was like a reality show gone wrong. Even the most genial southern gal loses her patience when she has to wait 10 minutes just to approach the crayon display. Some parents may find it acceptable to block the aisles, while their kids undergo an intensely existential debate about the best color for their safety scissor handles. Me? Not so much. My school supply shopping strategy is reminiscent of Supermarket Sweep.
I nearly had my first meltdown when I realized that one teacher wanted $20 worth of pens…JUST pens. That does not include the pencils or the red ink pens…nope, this is $20 worth of black erasable pens for my 5th grade child. If my budget wasn’t hurting before, it’s certainly on life support now.
Today, we continue on our epic quest to find notebooks in the following colors, as required by the ridiculously specific school supply list: red, blue, green, yellow, purple, navy, orange and (wait for it) lime.
“Lime?!?”
Ha…ha…Mwhahaha!
Riiiiiiggghhhtt…
Needless to say, I’m dangling a cocktail in front of me like a carrot, as a reward for making it through school supply shopping without pulling a Linda-Blair-in-the-Exorcist routine.
The only bright spot in my week has been Bear discovering the awesome power of breakfast cereal:
I know what you’re thinking. What kind of mother is proud of her kid for eating overly-marketed sugary puffs with little to no nutritional value? The fact that I am excited about this should give you a clue as to just how DANG PICKY my picky eaters really are.
Clearly, we are descending into madness.
I blame the lime notebook.
Ya know, this whole baby thing is much easier when you have big brothers around to help out.
G-Man loves holding his sister, and thanks to him, I’ve been able to not burn dinners, shower with gratifying frequency, and occasionally eat lunch with both of my hands.
Just don’t clue him in that some people get paid for this kind of thing. I’ve got a good thing going here…