Grocery Store Debacle

So usually, being a parent of two is pretty awesome.  You know, unless you venture out with a five year old (who believes he is an emerging track star) and a teething four month old, to the grocery store.  Then you pretty much just want to gouge out your eyes with the metal skewers that are in the grilling department. Not the wimpy wooden ones.  Maybe if I were gushing blood, someone else would jump in and push my cart full of crackers and kids which weighs twice as much as I do. 

Any who, I spent over an hour at Coborns when I was just planning on “picking up a few things.”  I spent a large majority of the time chasing my Chase (how appropriate, right?) through the aisles. Up and down, up and down until my legs started to feel like Jello. Then, finally, I get to the check out, just in time because I was almost ready to rip my white T-shirt off and make it into a flag to wave at the check-out lady, half distracted by the random grapefruit that was in Ryder’s car seat and started searching for my coupons.  I mean, for real, I took time to cut out coupons, I sure as hell am going to find them. 

So here I am searching, searching, searching.  I look in all of my 900 pockets (I swear to God my pants grew more pockets as I’m searching frantically), in the diaper bag, in Chase’s pockets (because who knows what he keeps in there and where the hell he found that grapefruit), under the bread at the bottom of the cart (damn, how do my buns and chips always end up under a case of pop and canned corn?) and just when I was on the verge of saying, “F*ck it” just like my own personal hygiene these days, I looked right in front of me at my smiley, babbling, little baby and there they were, in his mouth.  That’s right.  My baby ate my coupons.  Oops! I forgot he knew how to work his hands.

So I did what every other mother of a coupon-eating baby would do.  I grabbed what was left of the soggy coupons, did a one pointer-finger sweep of Ryder’s mouth, and handed what was left of them to the checkout boy (luckily, I was about 15 years his senior so I was banking on either the fact that he wouldn’t question his elder or praying he thought I was a MILF so he wouldn’t make this an issue.  Who am I kidding?  A MILF? More like 'Mother I Would Like To Forget' (ya know, due to my obnoxiously, greasy sweat pants and aroma of two day old breast-milk.  Cute picture, huh?). Any who, I handed him the coupons fully expecting to have to argue my case that Coborn’s competitors would price-match half eaten coupons.  Luckily, I think the cashier just wanted to be done with my crew and quickly scooted us along our way. 

By the time I got home. I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and not reemerge as an adult until the next morning, but then I remembered I had to put away the groceries, while nursing a 4 month old and simultaneously finding the newly purchased box of fruit snacks at the bottom on the 700^th grocery bag for my eldest nugget before he told me, again, that (and I quote) “I’m ruining his childhood.”  #justanormaltuesday    

 

On a side note here was my conversation with Chase the other day:

Que in the sound (and smell) of Chase farting. 

Me: “What do you say?” (You know, expecting him to be a gentleman and excuse himself.)

Chase: “Wow, I’m gassy.” 

(He may be the death of me.)

Our little Ry, Ry. Chillin' the day away. 

Dancing Dust and Booger Boobs

Just wanted to give everyone a quick update on my little nugget-faces:

So, here is the latest with Chase, my five year old nugget-

Yesterday, I walked into my room and saw something disturbing.  My five year old was on my bed (okay, not so disturbing so far), kneeling with his head poped forward, mouth open chomping on floating dust that was dancing in a sunbeam, shining through an opening in the curtains.

I mean, kid, I get it.  I’m not Betty F-ing Crocker, nor will I ever be, but I could totally pop a waffle in the toaster for you, so you don’t have to literally feast on filth. 

After I have observed as much as I could stand of this, I asked Chase what he was doing.  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “What, I’m hungry.”

I literally turned around, walked out the door and closed it behind me. Hoping that maybe, I was confused on what he was doing.  But no, I wasn't.   

My newest nugget, Ryder, is 3 months old already and is the happiest, most round, babbling baby you will ever meet.

   

This morning I was nursing my little nugget and looked down at my baby eating, fully expecting to see my little ray of sunshine smiling back at me as a simple, “Thank you” for being his personal milk vending machine 24/7.  Instead what I saw was my boob smeared full of boogers that were still semi connected to his nose. There are many things I have wanted for my chest, you know, like to finally fit into a size 32A cup or to not be jealous of the chest of any, and all, 13 year old boys.  But I guess we all can’t get what we want.  Not only have I never been able to fully fill out a training bra, now that I finally have a bit of a chest (thanks breastfeeding), I get a chest full of boogers.  #momlife  #nothinggrossesmeoutanymore 

Please Tell Me...

Please tell me…

I’m not the only adult who has to remove toy pirate ships, alligators, and dinosaurs from the bathtub before you get in.  (Please also tell me that I’m not the only one who occasionally finds themselves playing with the toys before you take them out. After all, I needed to prove that the T-Rex could do a backwards somersault off of the ship’s tiny plank.)

Please tell me…

My mother isn’t the only mother who laid down plastic bags and towels in her car whenever her daughter sat in the passenger’s seat of her car in her third trimester because she didn’t want to wash her seats if  her daughter's water happened to break while traveling together.  (For real? If my water broke on your seat, I would gift you a car detailing from Groupon.)

Please tell me….

I’m not the only one who takes off their Fitbit because it makes you feel slightly sloth-like and I would rather be oblivious to my lack of exercising than feel shame in regards to it. (Speaking of sloths, please tell me I’m not the only one whose Amazon Prime account recommends sloth merchandise for you.)

Please tell me…

I’m not the only one who has had to lick Cheetos cheese off of my fingers before my spouse could hold my hand. 

Please tell me…

I’m not the only one who woke up by being serenaded.  Serenaded by my preschooler singing, “I just farted and it kinda smells like fish sticks.”  Not necessarily the tune I want to wake up to. But I guess, beggars can’t be choosers.

The Chronicles of Being a Parent of Two: Chapter One: "A Baby Girl And a Bloody Wad of Cash"

When you envision your four year old meeting his brand-spankin’ new brother for the first time your heart melts with all of the cute emotions you expect your four year old to exhibit and then you are snapped back to reality during the actual moment.  Here was our reality:

Chase walked into the hospital room, looks at my stomach (which is still swollen. And although I am no longer pregnant, my stomach still looks like I could be carrying twins) and says, “Oh, are we going to have a baby sister too?” Harsh child, harsh.   

In all reality, Chase was so happy to meet his brother for the first time and didn't waste any time snuggling him.  Ryder even gave Chase a big brother present.  Cory and I searched and searched for the perfect gift.  We ended up choosing a teddy bear wearing a blue shirt that says, “I’m the big brother.” We thought we captured everything that Chase loves deeply: stuffed animals and his brother.  And we wanted to make sure that Chase felt included in the special day. Chase was gracious for the gift while in the hospital room but when he got out into the car with my Mom he was singing a different tune.  Here was their conversation:

My Mom: “Wasn’t that nice of Ryder to get you a big brother gift?”

Chase: “Yes, but that wasn’t really what I wanted.”

My Mom: “What else was it that you wanted?”

Chase: “Ryder could have just given me cash to buy my own gift.”

Apparently, Chase thought that Ryder was going to pop out of my vagina holding a big wad of bloody old cash.  Go figure.

On a completely unrelated note:
Here are two creepy things I have heard kids say to my newborn that gave me a chill down my spine, although, in their own creepy way, they were trying to be loving…. I hope.

Holden (my 2^nd grade nephew) grumbled/whispered in Ryder’s ear before leaving the hospital room: “Remember, no one will love you like I will.”  (Creepy? Possessive? Absolutely.)

Chase to Ryder as he kissed him good-night: “I hope you wake up in the morning.” (And the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Thanks for the bedtime nightmares buddy.)

So far we have adjusted to being a family of four quite nicely.  Ryder is the missing piece to the puzzle that we didn't know was incomplete until he arrived and we couldn't be more thankful that he is healthy.  

This was from Chase and Ryder's first night together. 

Birth plan, Hospital Bag, Gas Station

Preparation for your second child is different.  Not that I care less about the preparation, but I care differently- ya know, in a more mature, confident way.  (Yeah, let’s go with confident. It sounds better than lazy.)

Firstly, I have been working on my birth plan.  Which, by the way, I had completed by week 20 with the first pregnancy.  Now I’m at week 37 and just finished it.  Once, I had my initial thoughts down I brought it to Cory to discuss it with him.  With Chase’s pregnancy, I had many wishes for my labor and birth, including: low lighting, music playing, taking a warm bath, etc.  This time around Cory laughed at me when all it said under “my relaxation preferences” was, “TV on.”  But it’s true.  I wouldn’t mind watching something other than PAW Patrol or Teen Titans Go for a day or two in the rare few moments when the only child I am in responsible for is the one that is still inside my uterus.     

I have also had the thought of bringing my laptop to the hospital to, ya know, shop on Amazon Prime or to work on my taxes in-between contractions.  That wouldn’t be odd would it?  I’m sure other people do that, especially if you are birthing a nugget out of your lady parts right in the middle of prime tax season. 

Secondly, my hospital bag looks a little different this time around.  With my first pregnancy, I packed lots of clothes, diapers, wipes, make-up, etc.  This time around my hospital bag has been renamed, “My Hospital Snack Bag” which is filled with ho-hos and granola bars (and beef jerky for Cory).  Make-up is nowhere to be found.  It has been replaced with a bag full of quarters for the vending machines.  I wonder where my 50 pound weight gain during this pregnancy has come from?  It will always remain a mystery.

Lastly, in my last few weeks when I was pregnant with Chase I felt I was ready to give birth on any day and would have welcomed it at anytime.  This time around I always have thoughts of, “Well, maybe he shouldn’t be born on Monday because I have a meeting that night, and Friday morning wouldn’t be ideal because Chase has a dentist appointment that would be challenging to reschedule.”  Not that I’m not excited to give birth at any moment, I just want to know when so I have time to clean up the house a bit first, get in a quick nap and make sure Chase has recently had “hygiene night” so he’s not the smelly kid at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a day or two.  Totally legit thoughts right?

Any who, we are beyond thrilled to be welcoming a new little nugget into this family any day now and when he chooses (Wow, that is hard for the over-compulsive, planner in me to say).  Chase even had us bring a swaddle blanket to our doctor’s appointment last Friday.  You know, in case the baby was born then because he “would be so cold” without it.  It also melted my heart when Chase kissed my belly and said, “I hope you are healthy baby” right before I walked out the door to the appointment.    

On a side note: Yesterday, we celebrated our last family Christmas.  Before we left town (you know, to venture out on our 30 minute drive there) we stopped at the gas station to “pick out a little snack” for the car ride.  As the gas station attendant was ringing up our little snacks he asked, “So, are you guys stocking up for a long car trip?”  Cory’s face turned a little red when he responded, “Nope, we are just heading out for a 30 minute drive,” as he grabbed our two grocery bags plump full of treats and walked out the revolving door.

Happy Chilly Sunday.  (Oh chili, that sounds delicious.) 

So, this is our last family picture (on my side) before the baby comes.  I just want to apologize in advance to the baby for bringing you into this crazy family- clown noses and all. :)    

Jewelry and A Beer

You know you are a parent to a boy when you are at a store looking at jewelry and a necklace catches your eye.  But it caught my eye for all of the wrong reasons.  I didn’t notice it because it was covered in diamonds or jewels. I had to glance at this necklace three times because I thought it had the word “Fart” written on it.  As it turns out, it didn’t have the word fart on it, but instead it had the word “Faith” written on it.  But of course, my mind immediately went to fart instead of faith.  How does that happen?  Oh yeah, probably because Chase happened and I’m sure I spend more time smelling farts than I do wearing jewelry. 

On a completely unrelated note, we are less than a month away from our due date so we have been talking about our baby a lot. And Chase is already head over heels obsessed with his little brother.  He wakes up every day and asks if today is going to be the day he gets to see his brother.  And every day I reply, “We will have to wait and see.  Baby gets to pick the day,” which he is getting pretty annoyed of. We have been talking a lot about what we all think the baby will look like.  Chase asked me what I thinks the baby will be wearing when he is born.  I told him that the baby will be naked when he is born and that is why we bring the baby clothes to the hospital.  Chase paused for a minute and asked, “Oh, he will just be holding a beer?” 

Um, what?  Why in the world would his little brother be born holding a beer?  But then I started thinking less about why Chase would think that and started envisioning a baby coming out of a vagina holding a beer (In a can of course, because you can’t have glass in a pool, so I’m sure that having a glass bottle would be frowned upon in a pool of amniotic fluid as well and it would just be ridiculous for a baby to be born holding a red Solo cup.  The beer would spill everywhere- what a sticky mess that would be.) and couldn’t stop laughing.  And although it is because of Chase that my mind goes directly to fart before faith, he is totally the reason I laugh all day long and couldn't love him more because of it.     

Any who, Happy New Years!  

A Taffy Chaser and Breast Pads

You know when you have that moment when you realize your life is nothing like you thought it would be. And you wonder to yourself- "Who am I and how in the world did I get here?"  And then you can't quite tell if you are seriously winning or seriously in need of a one way plane ticket.

This was one moment:

Me to Cory (while sitting in the passenger seat of the car with two pounds of saltwater taffy on my lap): "Do you want a piece of taffy?"

Cory: "Sure."

Me: "Here is a green one. It's a little sour, so I have a vanilla one here as a chaser."

It was then that I stopped and realized that I offered my spouse a "taffy chaser."  How did I get here? I used to be the girl who could beat anyone in a keg stand and now I'm in need of a chaser for my taffy.  I mean, I used to chase beer with cookies, so not much has changed, but really, taffy?  When did I get here?

Here is another:
The other night, I found myself and my four year old little nugget playing a game entitled, "How many breast pads can I fit in my pocket."  I think the title speaks for it's self.  But again, how did I get here? I mean, am I prepared for the birth of my child? Yes.  Am I #cool? Not so much. (Ya, Ya, I know. I can't really pull off the hashtag stuff.  Well, technically it's a pound sign, but whatever.)

On a side note, we are 30 days away from our due date, unless we are going with the word of my psychic who believes baby Rev will be born on January 16th.  And frankly, why wouldn't I believe the psychic?