All work and no play

The pre-school newsletter that Harry brings home in his backpack (his back pack! his teeny, tiny, rocket-ship-shaped back pack full of extra Pull-Ups, wipes, and a spare pair of jeans!) suggested that we tell our child the story of the day he was born. On Sunday night, Harry had a terrible time going to sleep. He usually tosses and turn and reads several picture books to the audience of animals in his fire truck before he passes out on his back, his arms akimbo, a sippy cup wedged between his chin and his shoulder. Sunday night, springing forward kept him up longer than usual, and we heard him flinging himself off his bed repeatedly, yelling, "To infinity and beyond." We ignored him as long as we could, but it was almost time to hang with our new friend Kenny Powers, so I went upstairs, squeezed myself into his bed, and talked to him about the day he was born. I didn't really give the story a lot of thought before launching in, so I didn't really know how much detail to provide. In the end, I definitely overshared, and Harry thinks that the phrase "my water broke" should be accompanied by a huge bang. Don't ask. He was still banging around twenty or so minutes later, so Ben sulkily abandoned his wine and went upstairs. He was gone for a really long time, so I put down my iPhone long enough to creep up the stairs and listen at the door-- Ben got way sidetracked in the story of Harry's birth and was talking about his job, telling Harry how much better it was to BE the man than to work for the man. Hmpf. Between my story that inspired a violent, banging outburst and Ben's birth narrative turned capitalist lullaby, Harry still doesn't know very much about the day he was born, and he didn't fall asleep until well after 11. That's the last time we follow the advice of child development experts, that's for sure. Back to our strict policy of completely ignoring the kids after we say "night night."

Not sure exactly what all of this has to do with anything, except that I have a hard time remembering exactly what happened the day Harry was born because oh my god. He's so big.

He and I had breakfast at a coffee shop on Saturday morning. Then we took a cold, rainy walk downtown to my office


Harry was amazed at all the pictures of him on my office wall

Here he looks so serious because he is studying the Simpson's poster that hangs classily above my desk

Here he is making his best thinking face

and dong his professor impression


I spent some time working on Saturday, knowing I was missing out on all kinds of quality time and adorableness. Not to mention naps. I am making steady progress, which is good. I am working on the 4th draft of my introduction and the 3rd draft of my fifth chapter. I also need to write a conclusion, and just for extra freaking fun, I get to redo all my effing endnotes because even though I cited my archival documents exactly how the Sophia Smith collection suggests that I cite them, I need to make my citations more specific and quote box and file numbers. Which would be annoying if I had kept things organized by box and file. Unfortunately, it is MADDENING because after I researched proper source citation format, I organized my material by chapter. Spring break here I come! Woo-hoo file boxes! Maybe I'll take some roofies while I work or wear a bikini or put a keg in my office for the week. I owe my advisor a draft on March 23rd, and I hope the final, final, final draft will be in my committee's hot little hands by April 15th, so I can maybe enjoy my baby's first birthday.

My baby's first birthday? Unbelievable. Ben and I better start brushing up on his birth story.

'Sup?

Harry's random fever seems to be a onetime thing (we hope), which is good because we so did not want to make another trip to the pediatrician only to hear that it's just a virus. As you can see, he still loves to model my shoes. How awesome does that baby swing look all jammed in that too-small corner? We'd take it out of the room, but Jack sleeps with the lullaby rainforest music playing all night long.

Ben and I stayed up until midnight last night (and it wasn't even New Year's Eve) because for the first time in years, we weren't tired because our kids actually SLEEP. (And then Jack woke up at 3 screaming. Ben thought it was Harry playing his recorder, and I had a dream about an air strike. We did not go comfort Jack because we are giant cry-it-outing assholes, and he went back to sleep and slept until I got in the shower at 7-ish and woke him up by daring to run water in the bathroom that is connected to what used to be my bedroom. I almost brought him a bottle and slept with him, but in my 3 a.m. stupor, I could not figure out how to make a bottle, so I dumped a bunch of formula on the counter and then stumbled back to bed-- and by bed, I mean the couch).

This morning, Jack and I had our first conversation. I was changing his pants, and he said very quietly, "Baba?" I babbled back to him, and we played with some of the chokey little toys Harry had dumped around the room. Then Jack put down the Diego figure he'd been gumming, put his hand on my arm, and said a little more firmly, "Baba?"

I said, "Oh! Do you want a bottle?"

He smiled, ducked his head, and bleated, "Yeaaaaaahhhhhh." Then he chugged 8 ounces so fast it would make his future frat self proud.

Jack is a very long baby, and that drawer that he is opening? Full of dangerous products.

Luckily he abandoned my wrinkle creams and went back to having the best time ever with some feminine hygiene products.

I tried to catch him totally inside this cabinet but was too slow

That's snot making Harry's hair stand straight up. Delish.

Sometimes, Ben and I ask ask ourselves what the eff were we thinking having these two kids so close together? But then we look at Jack, who is just such a squishy delight, and we totally understand. Babies are so damn cute when they are 9-13ish months old, it is very easy to want to have more of them and to forget how much they suck for many weeks in the beginning. But we are not going to have anymore right now. We just finally remember why we did.

Mainly for the toes

The sibling moments are a nice bonus

But it's really the toes

Aaaaaand, right after I took that picture, Jack got carjacked and beaten up and abandoned on the side of the rug-- I did not get a picture of that because I was too busy breaking it up.

But Jack is very Rhianna, and he noticed Chris Brown building a block tower in the toy closet

and decided to give him another chance

Just as Harry set the last block on top, Jack crawled over and knocked the whole thing down

Harry almost hit him again (note the fist)

But then he remembered me and the camera, and gave him a pat and a smile.

Ok. Enough of this. Back to the old dissertation.

Baby Talk

Jack can talk! He says Harry (Hahe), Mama, Dada, Jack-Jack (ack-ack), bottle (baba), ball (ba), and hi (hhhhaaaaaaaa). I love baby babble-- it's just the cutest noise I've ever heard. And he flashes his tiny little teeth, which I also love. Note that you have to be trained in Jackanese to totally understand these words, but he definitely knows what he's saying. He has also perfected the scream-and-point which should serve him well until his vocabulary develops further.

Our giant little baby finishing his morning nap

What a sweetie-- he's happy enough to see us, even though we woke him up taking pictures

Notice the scrape on his upper lip? He face planted on Harry's wooden Melissa and Doug sandwich tray

He HATES getting dressed-- here is is clothed on top and pajamaed on the bottom.

This little munchkin? Has a fever again. Probably all day, but I only noticed while struggling him back into his pants after his postnap pee. He was all, "It's too cold in my bed. Can I have a blanket?" when he woke up, and I was like "No way, man. We're going to Trader Joe's and the gym." He was bummed to hear that, and I got kind of pissy, and then I realized he probably has the chills because he's sick. Again. Mother of the Year.

The Boringest Family on the Block

If you have read this blog for awhile, you know that my sense of humor is not, erm, sophisticated. But the thing that has been cracking me up more than fart jokes lately? Harry exercising with these 3 pound weights-- you should see him strain and grunt-- like a cartoon muscleman with a bulging barbell, forehead sweat beads and all.

Not funny? Harry's brand of knock knock joke. Like most little kids, the non sequitur or totally nonsensical punch lines make him scream with laughter. Sometimes he actually prefers NO punch line (Knock knock? Who's there? Witch? *hysterical laughter*) The catch? He will NOT be the one who initiates the joke ("I hate saying knock knock," he says emphatically). Instead, he directs the whole thing ("Mama, say knock knock and it's a witch," or "Dada, say knock knock and interrupting cow.") A barrel of laughs, I tell you.

Also, I cannot stop dressing them alike. Here, you see it was jeans-and-plaid-shirt day. I really can't help it-- I pick out one kid's outfit, and then when I am choosing clothes for the other, I can only think in matching terms.

I finally wised up and took the phone out of the phone cover when Jack plays with it. This has stopped him from calling people at random (most of the time my advisor-- at really bad moments-- like 7:30 a.m. when we were on our way to the gym playroom and I was using my not-so-nice voice to be heard over the washer dryer as we stopped in the laundry room to put on our shoes, for example).

As you can see, Harry is still totally into Toy Story 2. Here he is being Woody and riding his horse Bullseye, whom he implores to "Ride like the wind."


We had a super boring weekend, the highlight of which might have been a trip to Word Market for more covered baskets in which to hide our unsightly clutter. We also spent Saturday night at Super Target which was equally intense. (Although, we did note that World Market has the cutest Easter basket stuff-- retro wooden toys, stuffed spring animals, adorable candy-- this side of Pottery Barn Kids, and we are definitely going to take a trip there to help the bunny out as soon as we can finagle a babysitter because we are party animals). We were riveted by Big Love and cracked up a thousand times watching East Bound and Down, but we remain too stupid to appreciate Flight of the Conchords. Oh! We unlocked a new character in MarioKart, and Ben discovered he hates the steering wheel. Also, we can only play for a few minutes because we start to get really, really mad at each other (Was that your red shell? &*^% you, you piece of... you get the idea). We try to play after bedtime, but yesterday we grabbed a quick game during Jack's morning nap, and on the way to dinner last night, someone honked at Ben, and Harry said, "Dada. That guy honked at you. I think you need to say bad word." We are so classy.

Haircuts: DID NOT LIKE

Bemused driving

Dora-induced tolerance

Joy riding

Is-his-chair-funner-than-my-chair consternation

Total freaking meltdown upon being asked to "look down for a second" while she trimmed the nape of his neck

One sad, sad tear rolling down one sad, sad little cheek

Tootsie-roll induced tolerance/ no-lollipops? disbelief

Bemused cruising

Self- feeding-- Jack's excellent adventure

He was puzzled to see his breakfast in tiny pieces all over his tray, but he'll eat anything soaked in butter-- it doesn't have to spooned through his little lips; he'll use his fat fingers if he must.

He even got some organic, preservative-free, whole grain* waffle in his mouth

How big is Jack? So big. Duh.

How big is Jack? Too busy eating this crap on his tray to fully answer the question, that's how big. Look at that mushy handful of mush.

Look at all the organic, preservative-free, whole grain cereal bar in his hair. Crunchy. And hard to remove.

He's very proud of his new skillz.


*I was going to make some sort of joke about the yuppie food he eats, but I couldn't think of one-- so now it just sounds weird.

Plagued

Oh my god. I have been so sick. I have whatever the kids have/had (have, really, even though it's been over a week-- poor Jack had a low fever just now when I was putting him to sleep which means he probably will not sleep tonight-- and why should he, really-- he never STTN on Sundays, the little weirdo). It's some sort of horrible virus that brings with it fever, body aches, a rattling chest cough and an upset stomach. Also a really bad attitude. Also the inability to sleep from 2 am to 5:30 am. I thought this was just Harry and Jack trying to kill us last week (We did not sleep last week at all. On Thursday, in fact, we literally only slept from 11:30-2 and then I slept a teeny bit from 5:30-7-ish and Ben got up with Harry the early riser), but then I laid awake from 2-5 the last 2 nights, achy and shivering and miserable despite my Tylenol and Motrin regimen (the same meds we give the kids). So I'm sick. Harry is better except for a runny nose and the aforementioned bad attitude (Seriously, he took off his pants and underpants and peed all over his Build a Bears who were minding their own business in his IKEA tent. He is only happy when he is eating crackers in his airplane cup while watching Toy Story 2, which he calls-- inexplicably-- "The Girlfriend Movie."), and Jack still appears to be under the weather. We went to the doctor on Thursday, and he said it was a cold. Awesome.

Since I already felt like total crap, we thought we'd have lunch Saturday at Chuck E Cheese.

Jack dressed for the occasion

Harry brought his 'tude

We took turns playing ski ball one-handed while holding Jack

and still had to pay seventy-four cents for this pirate get-up, argh

When we got home, Ben noted that I appeared to have vomit on the back of my sweater. Odd. Neither of our kids puked. I took a picture of it just for you.


Here's Jack sporting a particularly nice bath mohawk




Ben and I had a ridiculous fight this morning about me being sick because he was sick one Sunday a month or so ago, and I yelled at him and told him nobody gets to be sick on Sunday because Sunday is CLEANING DAY. I bucked up and cleaned the house, but first we took Harry and Jack outside to play in what we hope against hope is the last snow of the season.
Bundling up is always a bit of a struggle.



Okay, so here are a lot of Jack pictures. His blank stare CRACKED ME UP-- this is how he looks when there are bubbles in the air.






Ben and Harry shoveled.

Okay. So. Here's the thing. I want to be done done done done with my dissertation in 5 weeks. So, for the next 5 weeks, it's just me and Planned Parenthood, at least when I am in front of this screen. I'll post when I can, but I really need to work. And not update my Facebook status 56 times a day. Wish me luck!