Monday, July 27, 2009

Oh, Snap!

Bug never ceases to amaze me.

Through his mood swings. His energy. His adventurous spirit. His snuggly love. His happy feet dances. He is always amazing me.

Oh, yes. My fifteen month old son can snap his fingers.

Friday, July 24, 2009


Bug loves to give kisses. Unless I ask him to give me a kiss. Then he usually turns his head and acts like he didn't hear my request for a smooch. But, when he does kiss me, he thinks that he is supposed to kiss on the mouth. That's OK with me, I guess. For now. I know some families do the whole mouth kissing thing. Mine, growing up, wasn't one of them. I thought the families that did that were weird.

Then, Bug was born. And he had such sweet little lips. I couldn't help it. Every time I kissed him, I kissed those soft baby lips. (I've actually read that that is a natural instinct for moms to kiss their babies mouths, in order to inoculate themselves with the germs that baby is about to swallow. Then the moms can make antibodies that will go straight to baby via breast milk. Amazing!?)

Then, Bug got old enough to give kisses. And the excitement of it (for him) didn't last long. Apparently, I get so mushy and overreact, and then Bug doesn't want to kiss me anymore. But, when he does, he opens his mouth wide and plops a kiss right on my mouth. It's always very slobbery.

And, recently, Bug has found that he can suck while giving a kiss, and it creates hilarious reactions from mommy and daddy! Oh yeah, he also discovered something else that causes a hilarious reaction...chomp down on mommy's puckering lips. Mmmmmmmuah!

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Mum's the Word

There is nothing like a parenting book to make you feel like you are screwing your kid up for life. And I'm not even talking about discipline. That is a whole other post! I'm talking about the fact that I can't force Bug to develop exactly how and when I want him to. No matter how many times the book may express that children all learn and grow and develop at their own rates, you have to compare your child with the best. Everybody wants their children to be the best. The most advanced. If one kid out there started talking at one day old, you start looking for a well renowned speech therapist because your kid isn't forming sentences by a week old.

Or maybe this is just how I feel. Please tell me I'm just paranoid, and insecure, and crazy.

Bug is almost fifteen months old, and he still isn't consistently (and correctly) calling me Mama. In fact, I don't think he has ever, purposely, called me Mama. Let alone using any other words. I want him to be on top of his game. He is developing above and beyond physically. That is evident by the number of times he climbs up onto our kitchen table every day. But he doesn't talk. And he doesn't know that when I ask him, "Where's Mommy's nose?" that he isn't supposed to shove his whole hand down my throat.

He babbles away all the time...especially when he has a toy cell phone to his ear. It sounds like he is speaking, and I am just dying to understand what those foreign words mean. Yet, he doesn't say "dog" or "ball". The other day, I nearly exploded with excitement when it sounded like Bug said "buh-bye" in context. I kept asking everyone in hearing range if they heard him and if they thought it sounded like what I thought it sounded like.

Of course, my parents so lovingly remind me that when they are young (especially with your first child) you can't wait for them to walk and talk. However, once they learn how, you just want them to sit down and shut up.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Music Man

At last, my wishes have been granted. I saw a spark of musical talent in Bug! (I've mentioned before that he has a great beat and can dance like nothing else I've ever seen. But, this is the first hint that he may have an instrumental future.) Not that I ever should have doubted that he would be musical, I mean, just look at his genes! Not every day do kids get a mom that has a voice like mine...of course, that seems to be my only musical talent. We all know that if you asked me to learn how to play the cello, it would be equivalent to asking me to turn into a swordfish. Impossible. That being said, I DID play the saxophone when I was in junior high school. I must say, I really did get into the swing of things when we were playing Tequila! for our spring performance. But, then I quit band. I'm not sure I could even get a saxophone to make noise now! And I also have taken about four whole years of piano lessons. They really are serious when they say you have to practice. The only thing I got out of those four years is the ability to read music and know what the keys on the piano are. Give me a year, and I might be able to play all four parts of a short song...provided it doesn't have any sharps or flats. (What key is that, anyway?) But, I can sing!!!

Anyway, this isn't all about my musical aptitude, it is all about Bug. Every morning, I take my temperature, in order to chart for FAM. My thermometer, thus, is always right on the bedside table, protected from the world in its clear plastic case. However, it isn't protected from Bug. He loves playing with the thermometer and the case. (This is leading to something musical, I promise.) Well, the other day, Bug was sitting on the bed, amid mounds and mounds of laundry. I was bringing in yet another mound when I heard a strange whistling noise. It was coming from one of the mounds of laundry on the bed. Strange. I got closer and finally saw Bug sitting there, with his hands on his lap, and the case to my thermometer in his mouth. He was breathing in and out through the two small holes on the bottom of the case, and as he did, it whistled. I was amazed, and I told Bug how incredibly smart and talented he is. He smiled, laughed and whistled some more.

Next stop, buy that kid a recorder. Or should we start with something a little more advanced? How about an oboe?

Friday, July 10, 2009

Independence Day weekend

I know I'm probably the last person the finally do some sort of post about Independence Day. I kept flip-flopping back and forth about whether or not to actually do a post about our weekend. Then, I decided that too much happened that would make all those perfect moms out there cringe, and I just have to type it all out. For posterity, at least. And to add to my award collection.

Friday, July 3rd, we went to the park for a picnic. We actually just ate a bunch of junk food while sitting in the car. Then we took Bug over to the slides. We had taken him on slides before, and he really enjoyed them. This time, the slides generated a massive amount of static electricity. Seriously, any neighboring farms could hook up their cow fences to the playground and pay kids to go down the slide all day long. The hubs would go down the slide, then come kiss me. Then he would do it again. Every stinkin' time, the shock was massive! By the time we left, I could feel tingly specks all over my face. And we even gave a couple kisses to Bug. He would just look at us with shock on his face (har, har!). Yeah, what the heck was that? That, my son, is called static electricity.

On Independence Day, we went to the Cincinnati Museum Center. It was rainy all day, so it was nice to do something fun indoors. The museum had a dinosaur exhibit that we went to, and it had HUGE (I guess life size?) robot dinosaurs that would move and roar at you when you walked past. Luckily, Bug didn't even cry. But I'm wondering if he will have nightmares about raging dinos of death now. That, my son, is called biological history.

After the dinosaur exhibit, we also took Bug to the children's museum. He had a great time with water and sand and plastic balls. (Even though there were other kids always in the way, and we had to keep moving around if we wanted him to experience more things.) They have a whole area full of balls that you can play with, along with awesome contraptions to make it more fun. Bug's favorite was a vacuum tube that you held a ball underneath, and it would suck the ball up and into a big ball container. It was pretty neat. That, my son, is called physics.

That night, we went to fireworks. Oh yeah, I did mention it was rainy all day? Right? We went anyway. We were sitting pretty far back, but the rainy mist still brought all kinds of ash down on top of us. My face looked like I had crawled through a chimney by the time we walked back to our car (which took us twenty minutes, I might add). And huge clouds of sulfur-smelling smoke rolled over us after a particularly large display. Bug didn't like the fireworks too much. They were pretty, but they were loud. And it was cold. And wet. And ashy. And smoky. And smelly. And late. So Bug hung out underneath the blanket and nursed the whole time. That, my son, is called pyrotechnics.

Then, on Sunday, we were watching the Swiss Family Robinson when Bug stuck his finger in an outlet. Poor little guy cried. But he wasn't seriously hurt. And he had fun playing with the stethoscope we got out to check his little heartbeat. (Don't you all have functional stethoscopes laying around your house?) That, my son, is more than just static electricity!

I'm beginning to wonder if Bug will really like hands on learning by the time he's ready for formal education!?

And to top off the crazy weekend, Bug is teething again. This time, it's a big bad tooth. So, bring on the snot and the whining. We can handle it.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

A brief break from lamenting

Instead of a lament of my child, today I am writing a praise for my parents! Take a look to see how awesome they are:

My parents have recently become Scentsy Consultants and need your help to get their business going! If you know anything about Scentsy, or already have some of the products, I'm sure that you love it and want more (I know I do)! Anybody who hasn't heard of Scentsy, or doesn't have any products, what are you waiting for!?!?

Go visit Mike and Martha Newberry's Scentsy webpage and get some Scents! (and a warmer, too, since you need that to make it all work!)

**Please be patient with their website, it is continuously being improved**

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Freshly Mopped Floor

There is something about a freshly mopped floor. It is so smooth. Shiny. Clean.

Wait...Did I say clean?

Well, it may be clean. For a few seconds post-mopping. But that "something" about a freshly mopped floor, is usually "something" ON my freshly mopped floor. And, surprisingly in my house, the something isn't normally the by-product of children. That would be the story of the freshly changed diaper. Or the freshly vacuumed living room.

But I'm talking about that mopped floor. Let me elaborate: Do not pour a jar of spaghetti sauce in a pan that is already hot. It will sizzle. Burn. And splatter on your freshly mopped floor.

Do exercise caution when later washing that saucy pan, to avoid saucy water sloshing onto your freshly mopped floor.

Do not use a mixer (that your loving husband broke), combined with a too-small bowl, to cream your sugar and not-so-soft butter for cookies. Unless, of course, you would prefer your kitchen floor (that has just been freshly mopped) to feel more like a sandy beach.

Don't pick up a hot cookie, then promptly drop it onto your freshly mopped floor. It most likely will crumble into a million tiny, sugary pieces that are impossible to clean up...unless you pull out that mop (that is probably still damp from the last mopping).

Really, just don't go into the kitchen ever again after it has been freshly mopped.

Or...better yet...just don't mop.