Well, it looked like fun

Today we finally got around to carving our pumpkins. It all started out nicely. T came down with a rotten cold yesterday, but he was crazy-excited to carve pumpkins and "light them up!" And so, he and Daddy scooped out their brains and commenced the carving.

F woke up from his nap and joined the fun. At this point, everyone was still in pretty good spirits.

We had a bit of a meltdown between pumpkins. When he doesn't feel good, T gets extremely whiny. We almost threw in the towel, but had already scooped out the guts ... so we charged on. Also, we bought a battery-powered carver this year, which made things much faster and much more awesome. Of course, everyone wanted to help.

Finally, the pumpkins were carved and we lit them up. T was tickled pink. Or. Orange.

We had to get the requisite family-with-pumpkin pictures.

Exhibit B.

And our final, carved, lit pumpkins.

Looking at the pictures, it looks like we had a great time. In reality, we had a miserable time, where T cried over everything (seriously, he cried because I carried the pumpkin instead of him). Oh well, at least the pictures are cute.

Is that what you think?

T: Mommy's a sock, Mommy's a sock, Mommy's a sock.

Me: T is a shoe, T is a shoe, T is a shoe.

T: Daddy's a tool, Daddy's a tool, Daddy's a tool.

My poor little guy

F has had a runny nose and cough for a couple weeks now. Last night, we noticed that he had started to wheeze. As an aside, it was a bit surreal to put my stethoscope on my baby and hear the telltale squeaky wheezing I learned about not so long ago. Anyway. I had an exam this morning, so Ry took him to the pediatrician.

Diagnosis? Acute bronchitis and lots of "junk" in his lungs. She prescribed an antibiotic, a steroid and a bronchodilator (via nebulizer). F is not so much a fan of the nebulizer. The weird part is that other than being a bit more snuggly than usual and waking himself up coughing, he's been his normal, happy, baby self. And it certainly hasn't affected his appetite. Today, he was 24 pounds, 15 ounces. Our boy likes to eat. And lately, he's started telling us so.

Excited? Hungry? Happy? Beats me

Usually whenever we point a camera at F, this is the face we get. One might assume then, that this means happy.

This is the face we get when he actually seems to be happy. It's accompanied by quick, little snorts and continues until you, also, make the face and accompanying snorts. He's a funny little guy.

A tale of two children

Tonight, as I put F to bed, he couldn't quite get comfortable. He squirmed around on my shoulder a bit before settling. Then, about one a minute, he'd lift his head and give me a big, open-mouthed baby kiss. Best. Bedtime. Ever.

Riding that high, I came downstairs to give T his bedtime hugs and kisses. Ry left the room and let me do the bedtime back scratches. After about 2 minutes, T's little voice piped up in the darkness. "Mommy, next time I go to bed, could you please not come in here? I want Daddy to do my back scratches." At least he asked me politely.

Something's gonna give

I continue to wish I had figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up a long time ago. I'm finding that I need 2 or 3 more hours in every day. Life lately has been especially chaotic, since F recently decided that he's afraid of anyone he hasn't known for at least a month. When I took him to the grocery store the other day, he cried at anyone who dared to look at him. By the time we get to the end of the week, he also wants me so badly that he tries to crawl back in. We tried to go out to dinner last Friday and it was an epic failure. He spent the entire meal plastered to my body, while he ran his tomato-sauced hands over everything he could reach.

To that end, I've been taking him into daycare later and pick him up earlier in the afternoons. It seems to be working, but at the expense of studying for the exam I have Friday. By the time the kids are in bed, the lunches are packed and the laundry has been moved I'm pretty much toast in the concentration department.

I'm not complaining. OK, I am complaining, but only a little. I knew what I was taking on when I decided to start over. I just second-guess myself a lot. Maybe I should put it off for a few years, until the kids are older. Maybe. But maybe I'm here, and I'm enrolled and I only have 19 more months until I'll have a degree and a job (hopefully) and some extra money to spend on fabulous vacations and a maid (or, you know, Little-League and piano lessons).

And now it's time to sleep. And dream of drug-receptor binding.

Sesame Street = Awesome

I don't know why, but Sesame Street has been particularly awesome lately. Three of my favorite things: Shoes, Sesame Street and Neil Patrick Harris.

Punkin Pickin'!

Fall is my favorite season. I love when the weather gets cool, the fall festivals start, and it gets to be time for pumpkin picking. Every year we look for the perfect substitute for Curtis Orchard to no avail. We still have a good time though.How tall this fall?

It was a beautiful, very windy day, and the pumpkins were ripe and ready.

T, of course, had to ride along to make sure our pumpkins didn't fall off the wagon. Aren't they nice?

And then, we took a trip to Sesame Place for the Halloween Spooktacular.

T and his friend Q walked hand-in-hand almost everywhere we went. It was super cute.

And F did his thing.

Today dawned another gorgeous day, so we packed up the kiddos and headed for what might be the last festival of the season.

F spent most of his time eating various leaves and twigs.

I despair of ever getting a really good picture of both the boys at once. This is as close as we got today.

T on a turtle.

Aren't they cute? F is pretty obsessed with noses and sunglasses these days.

T in the pumpkin patch.

And F in the pumpkin patch. Once again, no good pictures of them together. Sigh. But F is "so big!"

Sigh. At least 3 of us are looking at the camera.

My Mom tells a story

When I was just toddling, I had a toy, somewhat like the one above. It was wooden and solid, and I carried it around a lot. One day, my Dad was asleep on the floor when I toddled into the room. My mom said she ran to grab me, but couldn't quite make it as I raised the toy and quite rudely woke my Dad.

Last night, Ry was playing on the floor with the boys. F's favorite new toy is our TV remote, which he was carrying around. I heard Ry say, "Well, hi F," just as I saw F bean him out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't help it. I laughed for a good 5 minutes. I laughed to the point that tears were streaming down my face and my stomach hurts.

I guess some things don't change.

My favorite time of day

It's evening and it is bedtime. I take my little man upstairs and turn off the light. He nurses. It's more for comfort than nutrition these days. I watch his little limbs grow still and his eyelids get heavy. Then, at some unspoken moment, he starts to squirm. I lift him up and he snuggles into my shoulder. Many nights he's still sweet-smelling and damp from his bath. He squirms just a bit higher, so his head is tucked into the hollow of my neck. He's limp, like a sack of flour. He doesn't sleep, though his breathing grows deep and regular. We just sit in the dark and rock. Every once in a while, a sigh escapes his lips. He turns his head. And we rock. After a while, I stand and carry him to his crib. He is all but asleep now. I put him down, and he briefly opens his eyes while I stroke his cheek and whisper "I love you." Then I quietly leave the room and he sleeps.

Most nights, this is not the end. My big guy is still being tucked into bed. I go into his room for my goodnight hug and kiss. Then, I pretend to sleep on his sturdy chest. He starts to giggle and I request that my "bed" quiet down. Then the giggles turn to squirming. I lift my head and mush my "bed", imploring it to stop moving. I can't sleep on a squirming bed of course. More giggles. More squirming. I have to tickle my "bed" to get finally get some sleep. Then, I get to leave. I leave my amped-up boy to his daddy to calm.

It's my favorite time of day.

Guess what we did tonight?

It involved fire and sticks. And a picture that makes T look creepily like my Dad.

Yeppers, it's s'more season! This was T's first s'more experience, and he loved it.

He loved everything about it. He loved the fire. He loved the stick. He loved the roasting marshmellow. Mostly, he loved the sugar sugar sugar.

I also got in on the fun.

And F? Well, F got to have some graham cracker. We decided he should probably wait a year or two before he plays with fire.

Sesame Street Rocks

Mother of the Year

Yesterday, F crawled into the shower with me. He was already fully dressed for the day. I didn't change him. Instead, when we got to daycare, I warned the ladies that he was probably damp. Then, one of them, let's call her Jan, noticed something green in his mouth.

I looked, and sure enough, there was a pea from last night's dinner. I thought I got all the vegetable carnage off the floor, but I obviously missed at least one pea. "Oh well." I said. "He's probably sucked all the dirt off it by now, so I'll just let him finish it." Jan, who is older than me and has several children of her own, laughed.

The other woman, let's call her Annie, is quite young, single and childless. While Jan and I laughed, I heard her mutter, "Ew."

Perspective folks. It's a funny thing.

And now for a little celebration

I have just completed my first-ever nursing course! I haven't gotten my official exam score yet, but I'm pretty sure I completed Nursing 1 having only missed 2 questions on 3 exams. Feeling great!

So tonight (after I clean the house for the sitter) Ry and I going to celebrate by doing something extremely adolescent. We're going to see So You Think You Can Dance live. Have a lovely evening folks. I will. I just hope I can find an alcoholic beverage.

Fall's Must-Have Accessory

We went to a festival Saturday. There were lots of vendors selling crafty stuff and yummy treats. As we walked along, this guy caught our eye. What's that he's wearing?

Why, it's a dog-carrier! We asked the guy if we could take his picture. He told us we couldn't get the carrier anywhere, because his girlfriend made them. We got her website, if you're interested. Her one caveat? "You know this is only for a dog, not a child, right?" Um. Yeah. Got that.

I almost ordered one for my favorite stepmother, but decided that $30 was just too much for a gag.

The irony is not lost on me

R-E-D Spells RED!

Division of Labor

It's funny how things just sneak up on you. Ry and I never had a formal discussion about how our division of labor would change once I started school. Somehow though, it did.

Ry is up before me. He generally gets T peed, (partially) fed and dressed before he leaves for work. I'll take over with whatever breakfast is left, teeth brushing, shoe donning and school dropping. Since F sleeps later than anyone else in the morning, I'm usually waking him 30 minutes before we have to leave for school to nurse, change and breakfast him.

Then, I drop the kids at school and go to school myself. When I get home in the afternoon, I unload the dishwasher, reload with breakfast dishes and throw a load of laundry into the wash. Then I fold the load already in the dryer. Then I pick up the kids and spend the rest of the afternoon baby wrangling. When Ry gets home, he takes over the wrangling while I make dinner. We eat and then I give the kids a bath while Ry does dinner dishes. Then I put F to bed, while Ry puts T to bed. When we're done with bedtime, I make lunches for the 4 of us for the next day, while Ry advances the wash to the dryer. Then, and only then, do we collapse on the couch to watch TV/work/study/snuggle.

It didn't occur to me until last night that we have a smoothly-functioning little system going on. The schedule isn't identical every day, but it works like clockwork. This is one of the things I love best about my husband. We didn't have to have a big discussion. There is no kvetching or elaborate planning. We just knew what had to be done and did it. Somewhere along the way some things became my responsibility, and some his. Our lives are peaceful. And that's how I like it best.

A little humble soup

There's nothing like a 3-year-old to deflate your ego a little. I've been feeling like a bit of a domestic goddess lately. I'm going to school, the house is staying (reasonably) clean, I pack lunches for my family every night, the kids get bathed regularly, everyone has clean clothes and I make dinner the great majority of the time. My husband regularly praises my cooking, which is highly appreciated.

T is not always so appreciative. I made turkey meatball and dumpling soup for dinner last night. T tried a few bites and turned his nose up. Then he realized that he didn't get to have one of the leftover apple donuts for dessert if he didn't eat dinner. I listened to the drama unfold from the living room.

First, he tried bargaining.

T: "Daddy, can I have a sandwich instead?"

Ry: "No T, this is what we had for dinner."

Then the real rhetoric started.

T: "But, remember I tried it!"

Ry: "Yes, you did, but you have to eat more than that to have an apple donut."

T: "But, remember it didn't smell very good?"

Ry: "Let me smell. That's how it's supposed to smell."

T: "But, remember that it didn't taste very good?"

Ry: "It tastes good. Look, there's carrot and turkey and biscuit. It's all food that you like!"

T: "But, it doesn't taste very good!"

Ry: "It tastes good T."

T: "But, it's pretty yucky!"

Ry: "No one is making you eat it. You can just stop eating it."

T: "But, I want a donut!"

Ry: "Then you know what you have to do."

T: "But ...."

At that point, I took F upstairs to go to bed. When I returned downstairs, I learned that T had managed to force down some soup to earn his apple donut. I want my eat-anything toddler back. Zucchini used to be his favorite food, for goodness sake. The last time he ate it, he actually gagged. Sigh. At least he's keeping my ego in check.

Green eyed monsters

There is a lot of jealousy going around our house lately. F is pretty used to having my arms to himself. Now that he's getting older and more interested in crawling around and investigating the first level, T has been jumping into the now-vacant arms. And then, oh, the drama. It starts with the lower lip and progresses to full-out crying in the matter of a few moments.

Not to be outdone, T likes to crawl into my lap when I'm holding F, so I end up with one on each leg. Neither of them are too excited about it.

It gets even funnier when Ry is home. Last night, Ry put his head on my shoulder and F immediately crawled up in my lap to take his place. Our first level has 3 rooms in which the kids can play. It's not unusual for all 4 of us to be crowded into a single 5 x 5 square.

I know I should be grateful that we all like each other so well. Still, I think that a lot of conflict would be avoided if the boys could just get used to the idea of the other being around.