Monday, February 26, 2007

Apropos, no?

What a cute t-shirt. How absotively PERFECT for today, as we (and by we, I mean city officials and plowers) deal with the aftermath of 15-ish inches of snow!

A close up, too, in case the hairbrush he's eating (natch) blocked it.

Oh and check it out-- he can pull up on (one of his many) toybox(es). Cool but not cool at the same time, know what I mean?

Cutie Bear in Dad's (can you believe I've had this thing since undergrad?)hat

And we have some really cute naked pics, but I don't think so, Internet-- how trustworthy are you, really?

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Snowed In

And when you're snowed in, you'll do ANYTHING for amusement. At least we will.

Boy is it snowy. Shocker in Wisconsin, huh? Harry's Grandma and Grandpa J, his Aunt Jen, Uncle Maurice and cousin Max were supposed to come visit us today, but we're having a BLIZZARD, so no visitors.

We're pretty much apartment bound, which is cool because we freakin' love listening to the dog downstairs moan its neglected head off 24 hours a day. And when the dog's owner is home, we freakin' love istening to her TV through the fireplace.

We're watching as many Oscar movies as we could rent-- because we don't go to the movies anynore-- and we've really gone overboard stocking up on food, firewood, and matches. And beer. Hey-- you never freakin' know, okay.

So, here're some pics, and I'll post some more randomly throughout our weekend. Hope we don't go stir crazy and pull our own mini Shining. Yeah, I know, it's just a weekend, not a winter. And heck, 1000 pages of "All work and no play makes Sarah a dull girl" would be major dissertation progress.

Red rum, my friends, red rum.

He sure does heart Dad.

Look at those chubby little legs-- love them!

Here's Harry eating toast-- this picture appears to be like the many, many, many other pictures of Harry eating until you look at the ridiculously sized chunks of bread on his face. Nice one, Messy Bear. They look like he had a shaving accident and he's trying to stem the blood flow with peach-smeared toast squares. Which is what I always use on my legs.

A little crabby lately. Notice how Harry looks like a conehead when he cries.

Sad eyes, huh? This is when I would call him Saddy Bear. I always call him some sort of Bear, with a 2 syllable descriptor-- Grumpy, Poopy, Freindy, Harry, etc. Has to be 2 syllables and has to end in y but not in ly, thanks for asking. And no, that's my thing, so you can't copy-- even though it IS totally awesome, I know. Ben always calls him Harry J and sometimes says he's the Harry J-est. And that's HIS schtick.

Oh my gosh, scrambled egg yolks ROCK-- they rock so hard that Harry has to really hunker down to enjoy them properly.

Eew. Squishy.

Getting ready to go for a walk. He he.

Ben coming in from shoveling out the car and picking up last minute emergency provisions. Like syrup.

We're supposed to get way more tonight....

Eating his grooming kit-- yummy

Now CRAWLING for his grooming kit

On the way to Menards to look at paint samples AGAIN. I would have taken pics of the process-- which, by the way was really funny because we were lugging around these really large floor samples. Seriously, the linoleum sample is big enough to set a toilet on, and the wood (-like product) sample has some deadly metal edges. BUT Menards sucked my will to freaking live, let alone take pictures. Now I know how Ben feels in the Soap Opera. You should have seen him-- like a kid in a candy store, especially when he learned that the tarps he wanted are FREE with a MAIL IN REBATE. Wow.

Playing with Tupperware while we made dinner-- we totally recommend the chicken recipe on the back of the Stove Top box, byt the way-- the one with the soup, veggies, and sour cream. BUT it's a little bland without mushroom soup and Italian chicken breasts from the butcher.

Chewing on his hammer-- the very tip of his top left tooth is finally showing, but it really seems to hurt.

Playing with his shape sorter. He cannot short shapes, by the way. Not even by the sea shore.

Pouting with Elmo. He likes Elmo okay, but this is his teething face.

Trying to escape from the inevitable bathtime mowhawk.

There is no escape from the bathtime mowhawk. That's why it's inevitable. Duh.

Time for night night. If his hair looks weird, it's because I accidentally towel dried his hair with the part of the towel that had A&D on it from his diaper change. Yuck.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Harry Is a Bug

We started Little Gym today, and that's the name of his age group. In June, he'll be a Bird, and when he's 18 months, he'll be a Beast. He's actually a little beasty these days with the forward motion and the teething and the utter crabbiness after 4 pm. He takes his morning nap at 9:15 and his afternoon nap by 1:30, so by the time 4 o'clock rolls around, he's been up for his longest stretch of time, and he starts getting pissy. By bedtime (7), he's absolutley had it. There is much rubbing of eyes and burying of head in the carpet. We are actually trying to slowly slowly slowly move his bedtime back an hour or so because he's been waking up disgustingly early-- but his crabbiness makes that difficult.

We had a fantastic time at Little Gym, and I promise to take pictures next time-- in two weeks because we CLOSE ON OUR HOUSE next week durning Gym time.

Helping Mommy with Chapter One, "The Rhetorics of Motherhood." No seriously-- that's really what it's called.

Chillin' in the crib

I couldn't find Harry anywhere-- and then he giggled from under Ben's bathroom counter. We're gonna miss our huge bathrooms, by the way.

Swinging so he'd stay in one gosh darned place for two minutes so I could empty the dishwasher, or fold the laundry, or wash my breast pump-- you know, do something for ME.

He just looked so cute-- I had to take a pic

Playing as the sun rises-- disgustingly early, I say.

Swinging at the park-- he laughed the whole time. Not as hard, though, as he does when I do my "Bikini Body Boot Camp" workout dvd.

Enjoying some toast with banana puree, mashed banana, and cheese chunks. We're branching out with the finger foods, but we're still worried.

Cracking up at Ben

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Crawling! A Milestone Alert From Harry

Me and the Handsome Baby playing in the living room while my parents cooked an oddly proportioned dinner-- tiny little weird chickens, itty bitty cabbages, mini potatoes, and a petite cake. Why do they want to eat baby things? Should I be worried? They have been feeding me a lot lately... Gretel? Don't get in the oven, Gretel. Whatever you do-- stop eating the house! But I digress. About my milestone.

Finally. I can finally go where I want when I want. I am my own man.

It's probably not 100% accurate to say that I am crawling-- more like creeping. The point is, I can move in a straight line. No more rolling around in smaller and smaller circles to get something in front of me. No siree, now I go right to the jar of Vaseline, the bottle of Little Noses, the can of Behold (which is generic Pledge, since my parents are too cheap to buy the real thing. $1.79 is just too dear, huh guys?), the cup of Starbucks coffee. We only want what we can't have, right?

Here I am at my Dad's state speech tournament. I was so tired that I fell asleep mid bite, and I usually love bananas. In case you're wondering, the UW team got 2nd-- way to go, guys!

Here I am with my Mom, who was all dressed up because she did some public speaking seminar thing for some company or something. Come home and bring me my milk, lady-- that's what I say.

My Dad is so freakin funny, man.

Yep. I'm crawling. Or scooting or screeping. However you describe it, I am moving toward my goal IN A STRAIGHT LINE, not a circle. So much more convenient.

My parents said they had a dog who used to make a face like that.

Ever since my parents lowered my crib matress, I can't quite fit underneath it, but I would really like to. By the way, ask them how much they love thier IKEA furniture-- that'll make my Dad turn red and say the funny words.

Hmmm...Somebody seems to have let their babhy spend too much time on lying on the back of his head durning his formative weeks and months. Way to go, guys. T.U.M.M.Y T.I.M.E, you idiots.

Apparently I DO have to spell it out for you.

The rest is just me and the Handsome Baby thinking of ways to crawl the heck out of this palce before Mom and Dad decide that baby BABY would make a good dinner menu. I'm fattening, you idiots! Find a trimmer baby to eat.