Question!

Will someone please tell me what has happened to my child?

He used to look like this:

And then like this:

And after this he just got so awesome...

And then, apparently, I turned around for 5 minutes and this is what I found on Easter morning!

What the heck happened?!  He's a LITTLE BOY!  In my HOUSE!  What has happened to my child?  My baby?!  My smooshy?  I made the mistake of picking him up and wrestling him while exclaiming that I wanted my baby back.  The Boy (or should I start calling him the Man?) thought this was hilarious and immediately began to mock me around the house declaring (while cackling with laughter) that Mama wants her baby back!

Easter Morning Treats

My Sister Susie, is Supremely Creative.  She's always making things with her kids, for they have inherited her creativity en forme.  This year, she made paper mache Easter eggs filled with all kinds of Easter goodies.  And she sent some out for us East-coast cousins.  The Boy was over the moon at the thought of cracking in to this egg.

The little red things are Lightening McQueen's that were fillable with treats.  He got all the healthy stuff that only a mother would give her child for Easter.  But he loved them nonetheless.  And not the less because I let him eat M&Ms after he ate some breakfast.

This is the "Mom!  I want to open in this one."

I suggested that he shake it first.  

Which he did, but it only served to make him a little crazy in his zeal to get it open.

Trying to crack the egg from above.

Chris' idea was to lay it flat to crack it open.

(As it turned out, it was a tougher shell to crack than I had anticipated, so we had to help him out.)

Only my Sister would think to add a Thomas the Tank Engine pez dispenser to an Easter egg.  We all cracked up laughing at that one.  And the Boy hasn't put it down since.

 

"Such a superfluity of delights, one hardly can help overindulgence."

FAIL: Baking Edition

The Boy and I were sick all last week.  Sick sick sick.  So sick, I was thinking of begging off for Easter at my parent's house.  But then!  I woke up on Saturday feeling like the worst was over, and it would be so fun to see the Boy at Nana and Popper's for Easter, and then I could lay on the couch and let people take care of me!  But then, I also felt like I should bring something for the dinner.  I hadn't grocery shopped all week so the choices were limited.  I decided to make a chocolate cake since my Grandma would be bringing a berry pie, and you know, I make a decent chocolate cake.

Or so I thought.

This dark picture, I call FAIL: part 1 of 2.  This was the first layer, that STUCK.

This picture is FAIL: part 2 of 2--this layer FELL.

And yes, I greased the pans, and yes, I baked it as long as it said to do and cooled it as it said to do, and tip-toed around the apartment and still!  A double failure out of ONE cake, it's such a slap in the face. 

So, for those of you wondering what one does with such an insult of a chocolate cake?

Let your child hack it apart with a fork and shake your finger at the cake saying, "That'll teach you to fail on my watch!"

Note:  Your child will LOVE this exercise.

I need a mo'

And now I am sick.

Always a hazard when nursing a sick kid, this one hit hard and fast.  By the wee hours of Tuesday I was knocked flat.  And oh, it's miserable.  I feel like I can't whine that much, though, after all we all made it through the whole winter and only the Boy got sick and he only got sick once.  So, this is Me, taking one for the team.

But it's left me with very little energy and almost no patience...so if y'all will just give me a moment, I'm sure my patience and sense of humor can't have gone far.  They have to be somewhere in the apartment...I'm sure I'll find them again...right after I hack up a lung.

Storms and Sick Days

We went up to my parent's house Saturday.  They live, oh, right in the middle of where all of the tornadoes hit.  It was our monthly temple day, so we drove up to leave the Boy with his beloved Nana and Popper, while Chris and I went to work.

When we were done, we headed back to my parent's house, we were all heading out to lunch together.  The Boy had had a little cough before we left, it sounded mostly like allergies and, you know, 'tis the season.  So I wasn't that worried about it.  We went to Chick-fil-A and the Boy was about 3 nuggets in, when he looked at me with this sad face and said, "Mama, neeeeeeeeed a cuddle."  At which point he climbed into my lap and put his head on my chest and laid there looking exceedingly pitiful.

That didn't really worry me.  I didn't really get worried until he was no longer content to just lay on my chest, he reached up and pushed my face down on top of his head.  THAT'S when I got worried.

We finished lunch and headed back to my parent's house.  I put the Boy down to sleep in the extra bedroom and visited with my Grandma.  As the Boy napped, the storms rolled in, the sky grew dark and lowering, but having seen some storms in my days, I wasn't really phased.

The Boy didn't nap well and when he woke it was with a coarse and rattling cough.  He lay on my lap in the rocking chair refusing food and taking a little water.  We chatted and watched some television, watching the Boy for signs of increasing distress.  It just seemed like a virus.  No big deal, right?

The power went out and we decided to head home.  The Boy needed some dinner and a bath and an early bedtime.  As we were on our way we drove through a sleepy town called Holly Springs and lo, there were trees ripped up and apart, shingles blown off of roofs, lots and LOTS of debris.  I called my Dad.  I requested that he please listen to the radio, please be careful, there were tornado warnings, and one had been reported south of where they lived and it seemed that one had now touched down just north of where they lived.

Sure enough, the tornadoes touched down all around them but no where near their neighborhood.  Wow.

We got home and the Boy was getting worse and worse, the cough was getting worse, the Boy was now telling me repeatedly, "Do not feel good, Mama, do not feel good."  It was just as pitiful as you might imagine.  He ate 3 spoonfuls of oatmeal and requested his bath.  I ran him a long hot bath, thinking that it would be steamy and comfortable.  No.  He sat shivering for about 5 minutes before requesting soap and a cuddle.  So I soaped him up and got him clean and ready for bed.  We cuddled on the couch before putting him down for bed an hour early.

About 3 hours later he woke in a violent fit of coughing, coughing to the point he was shaking and wheezing and pretty well freaking out.  I can't say that I blame him, I was a little freaked out as well.  We gave him more tylenol and refilled the humidifier, I rocked him and rubbed his back (sounding a good deal calmer than I felt), encouraging him to breathe in and out very slowly and deliberately.  He sounded wheezey and congested, and I was really worried at that point. 

The Boy went back to sleep and I lay in bed listening hard for his coughs or cries.  He slept the rest of the night long, but me?  Nope.  Not a bit.

By morning he was still sick, but not nearly as wheezey as he had been that first night.  It was a terrible feeling, to sit powerless while your child struggles to breathe.  And I learned in that moment a new degree of empathy for those mothers whose children struggle.  We've been really blessed, the Boy is so healthy it's a little strange.  At his last check up the doctor was thoroughly impressed at how healthy he is, and this weekend made me even more grateful for his normal and natural health.

We spent yesterday as a sick day, both of us in our jammies, feeding the Boy whatever he wanted whenever he declared that he was hungry.  And today?

We're doing our normal Monday Thing--laundry, cleaning, groceries, and trying to be available for lots of cuddles.  And just to conclude our Picture week from a bit ago, I thought I'd leave you with a picture of what sick days look like 'round these parts.

Because when you're sick, 1 woobie is never enough.

Pssst....

I've been having another finishing week!

Want to hear what I got done?!  (And yes, I'm pretty excited!)

• a mountian of laundry!
• I scourgified our apartment (it really was nasty)
• I baked 6 loaves of bread
• I finished 2 chemo caps for the Great Day of Service
• I finished my skirts!  For summer!  Finally!
• I finished a pair of socks (for ME!)
• I made 2 loaves of banana bread
• I went ahead and made a plan for the gifts I want to make up for Christmas, well, I started.  One of Chris' gifts is going to take some considerable planning before I can get to work on it. 
• And I didn't finish it, but I did some solid work on other stuff.  (not meant to be cryptic, just presents)

And that was our week.  We're happy on this, the Tax Day, that we're getting a return again this year.  Of course, we were unemployed for a good chunk of last year, so we're also grateful for employment!

Question!

Is it too early to start planning for Christmas?

I ask because in my head I was thinking of a few knitted gifts I want to give this year and knitting takes a long time, at least for me, for I am SLOW.

So I was starting to plan out in my head which gifts I wanted to make and give...and it occured to me that it was only April and maybe a tiny bit early to be thinking about Christmas.

So in true, indecisive fashion, I'm taking a poll...too soon?

Last weekend

Last weekend was our General Conference, and we stayed home, in our jammies to listen to it via the internet.  The Boy was in rare form, as I think you can see...

(Saturday he got a haircut, a haircut that didn't have to wait until he was sick and so immobilized on my lap, a haircut that he didn't scream through, and so...it was considered a resounding success!)

Sunday morning, we hung out and sang along with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir as they sang one of our favorite hymns...

But by Sunday afternoon, the Boy was a little fried from all the conference goodness and was seeking refuge in the bottom of a big green bin...

Look, Mama, Look!

"Look, Mama, Look!"  Is the boy's favorite phrase.  It can apply to anything he finds novel including himself.

As in, "Look, Mama, Look!  A cozy NEST!"  Which is exactly what he said when I snapped this one just a few days ago.

Interruption

I'm interrupting Picture Week to ask a very serious question.

See, the Boy is heading to the doctor tomorrow to catch up on some missed vaccines and just for an overall check up.  And as part of establishing him again at this particular practice, I had to fill out a 24 month evaluation on line.

Most of it was a piece of cake, the Boy is just grand...and most of my concerns, are, well--my concerns.  But it begs the question:

How is one supposed to be objective about one's own child?  As his mother, I've seen him do most of the things they asked about (line up objects in a row, shake an object out of a container, climb, run, walk, etc), but then they ask if I feel like he's like other children his age.  Well, no.  I don't.   Dude.  I'm his MAMA.   Of course, I think he's brilliant and sweeter and more obedient and just nicer than most other children.

So I ask again, how is one supposed to be objective about one's own child?

the Beat Marches on...

 And so we come to March!  Now, as a disclaimer, I didn't actually take my camera to Savannah or Brunswick when we visited last month, so these images are provided courtesy of Miss Brett, one of my awesome Lower Lights...

The Boy and Jack-Jack had a ball together!  He's actually still asking for Jack-Jack and Lena to come and p'ay!

Please Mama...

I actually don't remember what's going on here...but I'm pretty sure the Boy is asking me for something he knows he can't have.  At least, this is what his face usually looks like when he's asking for something he knows he can't have.

Have I mentioned lately, how much I love this kid? 

More Cowbell

One warm day in February, Chris and I took the Boy to walk through the Life and Science museum...mostly just to be outside and soak up the weak sunshine.  But they had a whole little outdoor area of, for lack of better description, noise attractions for children.  Pots and pans and drums and bells of all shapes and sizes with 6 inch long sticks just perfect for little hands to hold and bang with.  Needless to say, it was loud and the Boy?  He loved it.

But there was one area that left Chris and I cracking up laughing...for it was rather reminiscent of a sketch from Saturday Night Live...I thought I would embed the original but I can't find a decent one on youtube...so you'll just have to search yourself.  Just know:  it's funny.

Picture Week!

Hi!

Remember February?  It was so long ago...and it passed in a blur.  And I was lamenting to my Mom a couple of weeks ago that I didn't remember making any pictures of my Boy for the whole month.  A whole MONTH with no cuteness documented AT ALL!  Woe!  How could I have fallen so slack on my job?!

Well, I got the camera out the other day because the Boy was up to his usual cuteness and I wanted to document it and I got to sorting through the pictures still on the camera and lo, I HAD taken pictures in February, I just haven't had a chance to move them over until now...

So for this week, I'm catching you up on all the cuteness that's been filling Burnstopia of late...I hope you enjoy.

My Boy, baking up something delicious and CUTE.  (circa February 2011)

Milestones

That first year with the Boy we watched for milestones like two eager hawks.

Once he started walking though we stopped watching quite so vigorously.  I would usually make note of when he hit certain things (like talking or running), but nothing like that first year.

I've been thinking about other milestones lately.  Milestones not measured in any book or by any physician, they're the Mom Milestones, the ones that really matter to me...

Like the first time he said a prayer by himself.  Ok, sure, he just rattled off half the words that he had heard before, but still...it was a prayer and it was just him and it was awesome.

Or the first time he said he loved something.  Naturally, it applied to his beloved Woobie, but still, it was love and he was expressing it.

Since then he's declared his love for his Daddy and for Jesus and for Agnes, and then there's his on-going list of people who love HIM, but he had never said that he loved me.

Until today.

And I know, I actually already knew that he loved me...but it was so nice to hear the words.  He lay down in his crib for his nap and after I had tucked his woobie around him he grabbed my hand and said, "Love you, Mama."

And yes, for the record, I melted into a puddle of goo, right there in the floor.

**********

3 years ago, we looked at his heart on the screen of an ultrasound machine.  It was a perfect little heart and it flickered on that screen like a candle flame.  And as I walked back to work later that day, I worried over that heart.  I worried about having to hold it in my hands and protect it and nurture it.  I worried about it growing up and sending it out into a world that would, in all likelihood, break it into a million pieces--not just once, but over and over again.

And in the intervening years, I've often worried over that heart.  It feels heavy in my hands, this wonderful little burden to shelter and protect but also, more and more, to let go and explore.  And now, I think maybe I'm not the one holding his heart in my hands.

I think he's holding mine.