My Love Hate relationship with Aquaphor.

When Payne was an infant he had a lot of problems with dry skin. His pediatrician and I went through tons of failed remedies before we found the miracle combo, Aquaphor all over his body before bed, and Cetaphil cream all over in the morning. I love Aquaphor because it kept my baby from having such severe dry skin that he would have open sores. I hate Aquaphor because it’s pretty much clear peanut butter.

It’s gooey, and messy, and sticky. I have multiple permanently stained shirts from the stuff getting on me. There are oil stains on Payne’s bedroom walls from him flailing an arm or kicking a leg while I was putting it on him after his bath, and this was when he would still lie relatively still on his changing table!

We have tons of pictures of Payne as an infant where he looks, well, sort of artificially shiny, like this. Thanks Aquaphor!

(Ok, so maybe it’s not that obvious in this picture and I just posted it because it’s cuuuute! And, um, potentially larger than life size.)

I was thrilled when he grew out of needing the maligned goop, and Cetaphil after baths is all that is required normally. Unfortunately, when we visit West Texas the dry air is too much for his skin (God help him if he ever moves to Colorado, or Arizona, or Utah, or, like, anywhere that isn’t a veritable swamp) and I have to start up the Aquaphor again. So we’ve been applying it after baths for a couple of nights now.


Payne throws his body around. I’m desperately trying to confine him to the towel I know I can wash on hot, while he tries his best to reach the carpet that isn’t mine. Payne tries to “howp” me apply it. This involves rubbing the grease from his legs onto his hands and smearing it around all over, and if history serves as an appropriate model he will eventually rub it in his hair. I have to apply it to his bottom half, diaper and clothe it, and then apply it to his top half, and scramble to throw his shirt over his head before he smears it all over his pajama bottoms. I’ve had to recruit Dan to perform a three ring circus act of entertainment combined with continuous toddler hand swiping on the unfortunate Aquaphor recieving towel. I made the fatal mistake of wearing a dry clean only sweater while performing this dance tonight, and howled in a truly defeated fashion when Payne kicked me square in the merino wool with a gooey leg.

I broke a sweat folks. In December. Over a moisturizing product.


The Cane Wars.

Whew! Sorry I’ve been remiss in my blogging. We’re still out of town for Christmas and will be until 2011, so my access to computers is limited.

Christmas went really well. Payne got lots of presents. Of course the best gift of all was three whole days with his four cousins. We could barely convince him to take breaks from playing in order to eat and sleep. I’m pretty sure he lived on sippies of milk for a good 48 hours.

Of all of the gifts Payne recieved, his favorite is none of them (of course). He has been playing nonstop with his Grandpa’s cane since we arrived in town. He grabs it, squeals “Pop-op. Cane!” and then happily marches around the house with it, nearly causing multiple head injuries to innocent passers by as he goes.

Now, his older male cousins have taken him under their wing and have taught him a thing or two. At one point on Christmas evening, the three boys were each running around the house with a cane, stopping to hold it like a rifle, and making shooting noises at each other. You can imagine that a 2 year old running around, holding a cane longer than his own body up to his armpit, and yelling “pshoo! pshoo! pshoo!” is absolutely mind blowingly funny. It certainly added to the picture that Payne was shirtless.

Another episode of The Cane Wars with more clothing involved, unfortunately.


Payne has developed yet another attachment to another object (the boy needs a playmate). Along with his menagerie of stuffed animals, comforter, and blanket, he now maintains a loving relationship with his pillow.

“Piwwy” as the pillow has lovingly been monikered, is necessary for all vegging on the couch opportunities. Piwwy must be arranged for proper back and neck support at all times, and dachshunds are NOT to touch “him” under penalty of much yelling and arm flailing (which naturally freaks them the hell out since they’ve caught many a tiny fist to the snout) on the part of Payne, dedicated lover and protector of stuffed objects.

If I tell Payne he needs a diaper change his response is “Ipe-err? Piwwy!” and he trots off to his room, grabs his beloved, brings the pillow to wherever I’m waiting (a bit exasperated at this point) with his diapering supplies. He carefully places Piwwy on the floor, then painstakingly takes a seat and leeeaaans back until he is lying with head, shoulders and back on his pillow. One must have appropriate ergonomic support for diapering breaks, naturally!

The dynamic duo soaking in an episode of Super Why.

Oh,and Dan bought “me” (really, imagine finger quotes and an eyeroll here) a new little camera so that you won’t be subjected to any more visual garbage produced by my cell phone. So now I can share more gorgeous photos of Payne, like this!


My child can survive on fruit, milk, and cheese…fries are a huge bonus.

Oh Lordy have we entered the picky eater phase. I’m really sort of in awe of the single minded determination of the picky toddler.

He will pick every tiny sliver of shredded lettuce of of a tortilla before putting it in his mouth. Although his fingers are covered in sour cream, he will doggedly flick and flick until he manages to fling the lettuce off of his hand.

He can have a huge mouthful of food, and (because of some toddler specific super sensory node yet to be discovered), make a face when he encounters a microscopic speck of the maligned vegetable family. Of course, this results in him spitting out half of the mouthful, digging through it, removing the offending item, and shoving it all back in his mouth.

We offer him everything we eat. We do not make him a special meal if he won’t eat ours. He is completely unperturbed by not eating at all if a meal doesn’t include fruit, dairy, or potatoes. Oh, but he HATES mashed potatoes, which I find hilarious since he loves hash brown casserole.

Let me get this straight:
Smushed up potatoes loaded with butter and salt and milk: Disgusting, gag worthy swill.
– Finely riced and sort of smushed potatoes loaded with butter, salt, milk and cheese: Food of the Gods.

Ok then.

Ah, the life of a photographer’s wife.

This is the state of our home office right now.

(eye twitch)

I was dusting in here today and was seriously picking my way through the room. Like, dodging under and hopping over stuff. I told Dan if I find any small dead mammals in there I’m contacting “Hoarders: Buried Alive”.

Well, all of this chaos is for a deep artistic purpose, right? Serious photographer Dan is very serious. For example, that tiny thing on the table with the light boxes around it must be fine art in the making. Let’s take a closer look, maybe get a window into the mind of a genius.

(cough, cough)

Well, at least the end result looked pretty cool. I’m going to label it as “Pop Art”. Yes.

I guess greed is a great motivator.

Dan and I got a new king sized mattress tonight, but we don’t have a frame yet, so it’s on the floor at the moment. Payne was bouncing around on it as we were both lounging and we asked him if he was ready to go to his bed.

He responded:

“Dis my bed! I seep herr!”

Whaaaat!? Dan and I both looked at each other dumbfounded. He’s never said something that complex before!

I guess we just have to buy him an $800 gift each time we want him to have an explosion of verbal expression. Oh, and no. We didn’t let him sleep in the new bed, despite his excellent communication of his desire to do so. We’re motivation crushers. (evil cackle)

Payne “howping” put our old bed frame up in the guest bedroom. When he actually lined up the bolt up with the socket and it snapped in place he went “OooOOOoooh!”. Ha!

Ninja baby is taking his apprenticeship seriously.

I have no idea how he did this in the 30 seconds I was wiping down the kitchen table after dinner…silently.

(Note the little boys dream shoes from yesterday’s post. Maybe they’re magical too.)

He moved his unfinished wooden steps over tile silently. They’re normally very loud when pushed around. I was four feet away with my back turned for not even a minute!

The finger on the scrolley wheel slays me. At least I caught him before he got that e-mail out to Child Protective Services. (Glances from side to side)

Also, you’ve discovered how cluttered my kitchen is. Crap. I hate that damn spikey plant! I’ve tried to set it out on the deck to die multiple times but Dan always discovers it and admonishes me. It’s two freaking years old! I guess now would be the time to admit I’m generally openly resentful towards houseplants. heh heh.