Baby G is seven months old!

The stuff her hair does cracks me up:

This is what it looks like after a pony tail all day.

She is so fun. This time I understand how truly brief the baby stage is, and I’m trying to soak it up.

She is rolling as a form of transportation, sitting up without flopping backwards anymore, eating solids like Gerber puffs (in fact, now that she’s had those she’s not terribly interested in purees), and pushing herself in circles and backwards with her arms when on her tummy.

She is at that golden baby stage where they’re interactive, they sleep pretty well, they can entertain themselves, and they can’t crawl off and stick a butter knife into a light socket. Perfection.


You gotta know when to hold ’em;

know when to fold ’em.

“’em” in this scenario would be questionable footwear choices.


I learned something about myself on Friday.

I wouldn’t last long in the wild.

On Friday morning Dan and I slept in a bit. I woke up a little after 7 a.m. I stared at the ceiling, stretched, and then turned onto my side to check the clock. I turned to face a set of blue eyes.

My reaction? I gasped, flailed my arms, and yelled “Jesus Christ!”.

Awesome survival skills there.

Then the blue eyes said “Hi Mommy!”.

He had a collection of toys spread out on the floor, y’all. He was playing in our room while we slept. I’m seriously contemplating installing a master bedroom security system.

The last 24 hours.

Sibling snuggles:

These are pretty much my life blood at this point.

Pig Tails:

“If I eat the comb she’ll be interested enough in avoiding further E.R. trips to avoid buying more combs, right? No combs = No more torture sessions. It’s a plan.”

Pig tail aftermath:

“Wait, what are we laughing at?”

If you didn’t yell “CHEESY POOFS!!!” at the screen, you’re a better person than myself.

And yes, that bib reads “My Mom is hotter than Your Mom”. Dan bought it for her while I was still in the hospital after her birth, so the odds of that statement being correct were infinitesimally small…

And finally, my kid Lady GaGa’d me at Target. I’m dead serious.

Warning: Nearly obsolete pop culture reference ahead.

Last night Payne was in the car with the family and sort of babbling on in his own imaginary world.

After watching a train go by, he said in a tone of great agitation “Dere’s nakes on a twain!”

(cue hysterical laughter from Dan and I)

Aaaand the remaining car ride might have involved with quips about mother effin ‘nakes on mother effin twains.

Mr. Awesome.

Boring people simply unwrap and eat their fortune cookie.

Mr. Awesome constructs a fortune cookie system of transport:

(This is my new favorite shirt. An ant eater sucking up ants? Come on!)

Genevieve fell asleep on the floor and Payne wanted to join her “seepin“:

Payne has a bit of an emptying/unrolling fixation right now, so he’s been logging some hours in time out. Tonight he was chillin on the ottoman of shame for destroying a roll of paper towels and I told him that I needed him to stop pumping hand soap into thesink/unrolling toilet paper/wasting paper towels. He was appropriately contrite.

About five minutes later he said “Mommy, my deed you to dop putting me in time out.”

Why I should really stick to just the two children: Reference day #1.

This morning:

– Genevieve cried during a nap attempt, as Payne cried through a morning bath.

This afternoon:

– Genevieve napped for 20 minutes
– Payne did not nap, and promptly ended his nap attempt by pooping in his underwear, taking them off (and leaving his poop on my parents’ guest room carpet), and earning his second bath of the day.
– Genevieve did a mean pro-wrestling impression as I tried to clip her nails for 15 minutes.

This evening:
-Payne peed his pants. This included soaking his sneakers through.
– Payne went into pre-dinner hysterics after the pee incident. He was cured with a cheese stick.
– While waiting for a table at a restaurant, Payne pulled his post-accident reserve sweatpants down (due to circumstances beyond my control, he was going commando under the sweatpants) as I was distracted by trying to feed Genevieve baby food out of one of those AMAZING pouch thingies as she sat on my hip. I looked down to see my three year old boy bent at the waist with his pants around his ankles. My kid flashed a hefty portion of the patronage of Cheddars. I just….I still don’t know quite what to do with that.
– Payne spilled his chocolate milk.
– Payne stole most of my portion of chips and queso.
– Payne spilled his water, onto my leg.
– Genevieve lost it because she was up late.
– I left dinner early to get them both to bed. As I was making Genevieve’s laaaaate bedtime bottle she smacked it with her hand, sending water logged formula powder chunks all over the kitchen counter, into the drawers, cabinets, and my diaper bag. I cried, while laughing at myself for literally crying over spilt milk.
– Payne opened the bag of our dogs’ food for our friend’s dog, as he cheerfully said “Der! Dat’s all you need!”. It took me a couple of minutes to process that statement, so Fido had probably 180 seconds or so of pure bliss. I’m dearly hoping there are no gastrointestinal consequences for my poor friends to deal with.

These kids are more than I can handle as it is! No more. No more. No more!

I do have to say though, there was one moment when Genevieve was crying and Payne insisted I pick him up to face her. He took her face in his hands and said “Right here, Gen-veeve. Right here!” trying to calm her. He does this because when he does it works most of the time. That fact makes all of the crazy worth it….sometimes. Heh.