Morning Musings

DISCLAIMER: This is a testimonial. This isn't a whiney, "take pity on me" post. Any similarity to a "pity party" is purely coincidental. 

A friend posted on facebook how she wasn't feeling well and wished she "had a maid, or a babysitter, or grandma," and it occurred to me that at some point mothers turn into grandma's. I don't mean the obvious graduation from mother to grandmother when one's children have children of their own. I mean the grandma's that are superwomen, totally capable of babysitting and cleaning and organizing and cooking, and doing it all with such grace and aplomb. 

At what point does that happen? 

Because I realized this morning as I lay trying to nap (an exercise in futility, still, as my children seem to enjoy napping like a seesaw - one's up, one's down. One's up, one's down...) that I almost had it. Right before Piglet came on the scene, I almost had a system, a routine, a method for playing and educating and nurturing and disciplining Tigger while still having time to clean and do laundry and cook (sometimes), and have a good time with it. Oh, and wash my hair every day. That was nice.

Sure, I was exhausted, what with my wide load and this unbearable heat, but I felt like I had a pretty good handle on things. I knew that it was going to change drastically, but in the way that someone who's never experienced a car crash knows it's going to hurt if they ever get in one. You know it, you just can't fathom it.

I couldn't fathom it. 

I've only cried from exhaustion twice in my life (as an adult. I can't really speak for my childhood. Pretty sure I threw a lot of tired tantrums then): the second time was just the night before last as I held my beautiful, screaming daughter wishing I could help her quickly because a) it sounded like it hurt (poor, obstinately gassy thing), and b) all I wanted in the world was to get some sleep! 

While in the Blur I've let my Tigger watch far too much Curious George for my taste (which, if I'm completely honest with myself, is any Curious George.), eaten and played alone, and been shuffled off to nap/quiet time earlier than scheduled. All this as I've tried to juggle a fussy little girl whose needs I'm still learning to interpret, while simultaneously trying to figure out how to handle this cranky, but good-hearted little boy who is brilliant but can't seem to understand that he shouldn't step on books and toys (he'll trip and hurt himself and cry in amazement), and he really shouldn't step/sit/crawl on his little sister. Or his mom's feet. She's really starting to hate that. 
(Yes. Hate.) 
Then again, we've never had so many books read on momma's lap, we seem to be making progress in roughly three words (baby, puppy, and car. Maybe even bird) while still digging heels in on others (please and nose), and I've never seen an older sibling take to the younger so quickly. He always wants to sit next to her and give her "kisses" (he leans down and touches foreheads while humming), and when she cries from her bassinet, he alerts me by babbling and pointing, or running to her and gesturing wildly for me to follow.

I've felt like a failure, then lectured myself on such feelings, then justified myself with "it's only until you figure things out"-s and "you'll do so much better once they're sleeping well"-s.

I love my kids. I love what I do. I know I'm not perfect, but at least I'm trying, and I try to remember that that's where the guilt comes from: trying.

And if I keep trying, then at some point I get to add something else to my list of things to love, look forward to, and be grateful for. Someday, I'll have the magic touch.

Someday, I'll be grandma.

Still Hangin' In There

Or, at least, trying to. Here we are. Almost 3am the morning before my due date, and still no sign of this kid wanting out. I'm starting to think that my changing Tigger from "Piglet" and tentatively reserving it for this kid was an act of revelation, i.e. maybe she's just nervous ("Oh! D-d-d-d-dear!")?

Anywho, yesterday (Friday) was a very productive day! Our whole-house fan got installed and I'm running it as we speak, since it's finally below 75 degrees outside. I had swept the entire house in a fit of nesting earlier yesterday morning, only to remember about the impending installation as I was scooping up the last specks of dirt. Oh well. At least my house was totally clean for a few hours. And it made for fun times with Pooh and Tigger.

They spent SO MUCH TIME playing with that box! Pooh would stick his finger through the hole in the top and Tigger would climb up and try to capture it. The ensuing laughter on both sides was adorable.

Then we canned jam! We made three - count 'em three - tasty varieties, and I'm not telling you what they were because that would spoil Christmas for my family! But suffice it to say that they are dang tasty. I'm so grateful for the help I got from my mother- and sister-in-law, as I have never jammed before and would've totally botched it following Pinterest's advice. They also helped me stay mostly on top of the mess as it accrued...
Ah well. At least my house was totally clean for a few hours ;)

My current conundrum is how to get all these white peaches off my tree and into someone else's house?! There are so many, and I already have a freezer full! Will we have time for Pooh to do a decent harvest this morning? Will I last long enough to take them to church and announce in Relief Society that they are free game and there are plenty more where that came from, please come by? Do I want to "last" that long?! Will I be home for them to come collect?! So many questions!!

Another conundrum I ran across today was the loss of a particular little notebook in which I had planned out meals for the weeks I'd have family over. I had some old, some new, a shopping list, the whole shebang. And it's missing. So I tried to cobble together what I remembered (ha!) and only just now remembered a few I hadn't re-written. Oh well. Maybe I'll have time to run to the store for the extras on Monday... Sigh...

The Final Countdown

I would say I couldn't resist, but who are we kidding? I was DYING to plug this one in!

My pregnancy update emails can't seem to agree (ever) and one is pretty much on track while the other thinks this baby is currently on its way out. After reading the "Congrats! You're 40 weeks" email, I just had to post this for y'all.

Let's see, I'm awake (again), experiencing some strange acrobatics, and congested like I'm back in the late first-early second trimester. I seriously thought her time had come earlier when I was up and she was doing - gosh, I don't know what this child was doing. But it was crazy, it was active, and it HURT! So I tested it out, moved around, walked, laid down, and then fell back asleep, so... yeah, false alarm. Again.

In the meantime, Tigger is showing us a whole new world of baby-proofing that needs to happen. He climbs and unloads with abandon, which is okay until it's my bookshelves (both the climbing and the unloading), so mothers with experience in this area, I invite you to not hold back. Advise me! He's flippin' adorable, though.

See?

Oh, and he loves water. Did I ever mention that?

Seriously, this kid loves getting into stuff.

He's got practically all his teeth, which means if you've got some PB&J smooshed on your finger that he wants, watch out! He'll get it, and you won't like it.

Let's see, what else is new...? Oh yes! We discovered that we not only have two peach trees in the backyard, but they're both white peaches. Quite disappointing to us both. Pooh was hoping for a bit more of a variety, and I was hoping for tasty yellow peaches.

Roo <-- not a fan of the white. 

Tigger does not care. It is fruit, and therefore it is delicious, and it is his. He may be willing to share his binky with Pooh (sometimes), but fruit is off-limits. In fact, the act of your eating fruit is in direct violation of every law of the universe. It is his fruit, not yours.

We believe this to be his opinion on all food, but that varies from day to day.

Well, I think that's it for me. Time to try for another hour and a half of sleep before the young slave master awakeneth.

Early Morning Trending and Water Works

Ok, so, here's the thing: if we were to exactly follow this trend of early morning rising then I've got at least another month gestating here.

This is unacceptable.

It could just be that I took a 12hr decongestant last night and my body just couldn't fight it anymore. Here's hopin'!

In other news, (and no, I probably won't be filling in the gaps in timeline here, so if you don't know and you want to, you know where to find me) Pooh got a job teaching Chemistry! Woot! He starts early August and he seems pretty stoked about it, if really distracted by all the Scouting he's doing. He was called as Assistant Scout Leader (putting him over the 11 year olds, including our nephew, mwahahahahaha!) and just in time for "Scout Season" as I like to call it.
He's on a campout right now, so it's been me and Tigger since yesterday morning. We've had quite a fun time of it, though.

We had a play date with a friend's grandson who was, sadly, not feeling well and wasn't up for much playing. One of these days we'll get Tigger socializing. He will play with others. He will! 
Anywho, we went to Lil Boy's grandma's and then over to HER mom's to swim in their new backyard pool. It was 3 feet deep and big enough for us adults to sit in and still have room for the kids. It was fabulous! Tigger thinks the water is the BEST thing in the WORLD! When momma was taking too long to get in, he just rushed over to momma's friend and insisted on being let in. She was more than happy to oblige and teach him the ways of going underwater (with momma's approval and supervision). Even when his poor little teeth were chattering he didn't want out. The only thing that enticed him was the sandbox.
We finally got him home for an early afternoon nap, which he had to be roused from nearly 3 hours later. By then, his aunt and cousins were over and we had dinner, and played, and made brownies with ice cream, and he got to play in more water (yay! Bath time!), and finally snuggle down for the night. 

So, good thing Pooh's fully employed, because it looks like we're going to be enrolling this little boy in swim lessons sooner, rather than later.

Father's Day

So, the plan was to make this Father's Day extra special because it would be - literally - Pooh's first EVER.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "Tigger was born last March, so last year Pooh had a 'real' Father's Day. Silly Roo..."

But no. No he did not.

For the past 30 years or so, Pooh's family reunion has taken place over Father's Day weekend. We'd show up Thursday evening, and head on back home Sunday morning. So the whole breakfast in bed, here's another tie, special songs at church thing was never part of his life.
Last year, the tribe voted to move reunion to the week after Father's Day so some members of the family could actually come, and the fathers could actually be celebrated in ways that didn't involve threats to pipe down or I'll pull this car over, so help me!

So, like I said, the plan was to make it special since it'd be his first. I was going to get up and make him pancakes (because Pooh loves pancakes more than just about anything else in the world. Besides Tigger and me), but I rolled over to get out of bed and hurt just about everywhere, so that didn't happen.
We went to church where we did not sing "O My Father," which I found more than a little ironic considering the two years previous (not including this year) we had sung it for Mother's Day. 
Yeah. I know.
The fathers were treated to a brunch of cinnamon rolls, sausages, milk, and orange juice (which Tigger reportedly drank for his father), and while it was wonderful and sweet it was a bit disappointing that the Snickers "ties" in the kitchen were for the other ward. (I totally would've stolen that, making it fully a not-so-special Father's Day...)
I think the special-est part was getting to Skype my dad and Facetime Pooh's dad, wishing them a Happy Father's Day: something we haven't been able to do since we've been married. With his dad it's always been a, "well, happy Father's Day. Drive safe" as we leave camp and a hurried and sketchy call on my cell while there's still service to my dad on the drive home.
So that was our First Father's Day.

Two In The Hand...

Remember how this blog was supposed to be a book review/rating blog so I could look back and remember why I did or didn't like that one book and why I should or shouldn't recommend it to certain people?
Yeah. I'd forgotten, too.
SO! First of all, I'd like to comment on how sad it is that these two books I'm about to review were the ones to remind me.

Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers

Set in Brittany back when it was its own entity and feeling the threat of colonialism from the expanding French nation, this is a country torn religiously. While not the main point of the book, it does play a role in the minor conflict between the Catholic Church and the Old Gods - now in "hiding" as "saints" revered by the locals. One of these being Saint Mortaine, or the Old God of Death. Tradition holds that unwanted daughters born despite attempts at abortion are in fact Mortaine's children and that is why they lived. They are feared, reviled, and if they are lucky they make it to Mortaine's abbey where they are trained as assassins, meting out his justice as revealed through their Seer and the Abbess.
One of these young ladies is young Ismae (whose name, I'll admit here, was pretty much THE reason for me reading this book), a young woman given in marriage to a brute of a man who proceeds to beat her when he discovers the scar marking her as a Daughter. She is spirited away by some believers in the Old Gods and taken to the abbey where she becomes an assassin-in-training who's good enough to start going out on assignments, but average enough to be perplexed as to why she was chosen for these tasks.
On her first big assignment she is sent undercover to try and find out who in the Duchess of Brittany's private council is a traitor, and to kill him. Because that's how the Daughters of Mortaine roll. Death is justice, justice is death, yadda yadda. 
She's teamed up with the Duchess' half-brother who she unwillingly finds increasingly more attractive and wonderful which makes her hesitate despite being told to kill him on several occasions.

Ok, so because of her rough past with men (abusive father, abusive "husband") she dislikes men in general and this man in particular. Ah, what the heart will do to protect itself.
It honestly got really annoying how much she'd want to touch him, but recoil when he got close, y'know, all that nonsense. But it was literally every interaction with him (and that was a lot, since they were playing "lovers" for their cover), every look, every sound the man made threw her into this bipolar love-sick pandemonium. How did she get anything done??
I figured out who the traitor was long before she did, but stuck it out to see his motives. And they were surprisingly satisfactory and unsatisfactory all at once.
Constant references to sex - while not explicit - and violence make this a teen+ book. 

Icons by Margaret Stohl

In the future, we've been visited by aliens. Rather than violently attack everyone in all major cities on all major continents, they just pick one major city per continent and essentially shut it down. Totally. Stopping hearts instantaneously and everything. In North America, that city is L.A. - now referred to as the Hole - and there have been few survivors. Among them are children born on The Day with strange birthmarks which they have always somehow known to keep hidden. Two of them grew up outside the Hole on a small mission and on their birthday they are abducted and taken to the Embassy (the human-run liaison between humans and aliens) where they are tested and finally brought together with the other two kids "like them." Soon after, it is revealed that their existence is not nearly as secret as they'd all grown up thinking and that pretty much everyone wants them for some purpose, though whose is nefarious and whose they should side with they are unsure of.
So, supernatural abilities are cool (who doesn't want to be a superhero?!), except when they all involve emotional telepathy and manipulation. What fun is always knowing what everyone is thinking through their feelings? Think about it...
So, the names also reflect their abilities. I found this to be creative, yet trite. Something I did in middle school when I'd fantasize about writing my own fiction and I'd look up name meanings to match them to my character's personality/abilities. 
The drive to find out how they could possibly beat back the alien overlords/work together as a team when they don't even trust each other/etc., was not enough to finish this book. It may have been because I read it immediately after Grave Mercy (which, as I said, I only finished to find out the traitors motives), and so I wasn't willing to go the distance on this one. 
Wouldn't recommend it at all. But if I had to rate it, I'd go with pre-teen+. The violence has been minimal (aside from the sadistic teacher, but that's mostly innuendo), swearing minimal, no sexual content (up to page 244), so yeah. If you've got a reader who really wants to experience this dystopian world, go for it. But don't say I didn't warn you.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other books to read. Hopefully I'll enjoy/blog about those.

Let Me Count The Ways...

My husband loves me. And it's gonna take a while to build up to it, so I give you permission to skip to the end IF you promise to go back and read it later. I've got my eye on you.

So, he loves me.
I know, it should be obvious. He married me, I bore him a son to mess with and teach all his weird ways to torment me and my family with, yadda yadda yadda.
But the past 24 hours have just been amazing to me.
We woke up early and started cleaning the house together before the gas and electric company's representative came over to make sure our a/c was functioning in top condition for summer (to save money, woot!). We were doing really well, and Tigger wasn't being too much in the way, until he was. And I was exhausted and couldn't bend anymore. And our dishwasher was proving to not actually be cleaning anything. 
So I did my best with Tigger (who was our reason for the earliness of our rising. 515am is NOT OK!), trying to keep him entertained and out of the way while still remaining actively helpful in a cleaning capacity (unsuccessfully) and watching Pooh try not to lose it as Tigger tromped through and played in his dirt pile.
Oh Dude came and went, and Tigger and I napped for two hours (yikes!). It was glorious, and the standard length of his morning nap. Pooh had washed dishes, swept the living room, replaced our couch back against the wall (we have a very long living room, so when we watch a movie, we pull it waaaaay up closer to the tv), put away all Tigger's toys, hung up and taken down laundry.
Then we ran to the store to get diapers (because we kept forgetting we were out) and dishwasher cleaner ("maybe it's just gunky, and not actually a piece of junk?") and grabbed lunch while we were out because we completely missed lunch because, let's be honest here. Yeah.
Then my visiting teacher and her son came over - as previously arranged - to help clean/watch my kid so we could clean. This is something Pooh had asked me to cancel and I honestly kept forgetting to do. Turned out to be very helpful (I thought) since he got to talk scouting to people involved but not resistant to him and help an aspiring Eagle figure out what and how to get his stuff done.
So we got even more stuff done, like 3-4 loads of laundry folded and dishes washed, kitchen swept and mopped, and the whole time Pooh was down-right pleasant for going through something he'd been asking me to cancel. 
And before you say something like "why on earth would he be upset about people helping clean?", it's one thing to have family help clean and asking you where everything goes, and another to have someone who is a virtual stranger to you doing the same. I get it. I'm just beyond caring that someone else is cleaning my space. It needs doing and I can't do it, so I'm cool.
Anywho, so the day progressed and I honestly can't remember what else we did (scary!), but we went to bed a bit on the late side, like, closer to 11 than I like to, and I struggled for the next 2 hours with being hot and feeling like little bugs were landing on me. Not biting. Just landing. It was driving me batty!
So I just gave up at 130 and surfed the interwebs until 5 when I crawled back into bed completely exhausted but not even remotely falling asleep (curse you, pregnancy! Stop making my body and my brain team up to thwart my sleep; it's RUDE!) Eventually I must have because Pooh brings in Tigger and I look at the clock and it's 645. They go to the living room, and the next thing I know it's an hour later and Pooh made me soft-boiled eggs and english muffin!!!
He brings them to me in bed and announces he's taking Tigger and going to JoAnn's to get fabric for scout neckerchiefs, so I should just relax and enjoy my breakfast. In bed.
Er go, he loves me.

Flashback With Me

In a bygone day...

Today...

And weep because he's getting bigger and staying adorable.    

Photo Bomb

No, this won't be the typical internet photobombing that you may know and love (at least, I love). This is a "Roo finally dumped the SD card from her camera onto her computer and look at that! Pictures of Tigger!" Hence, the explosion of cute you are about to see.

Buckle up, folks.

Chowin' down on leftover fruit salad from his 1st birthday party.

Enjoying some Mr. Rogers with his favorite paint roller.

He really loves that paint roller.

New game! Pull the "flingo" clip off momma's hat!

NOT showing the appropriate amount of love for the South Korea Red Devils. Eh, to be fair, he hates anything on his head.

In the aftermath, all he wanted was that dang camera. Presumably to destroy the evidence of there having been anything on his head.

And now, the video bomb.

Ok, the video bomb is going to have to wait. Roo blew it (hehe) and needs to remember how she fixed that last video to actually play, because apparently now ALL videos are not actually playing. Grr.
As a consolation, here's more pictures!

Daddy had fun styling his hair. Behold: the Back-Hawk!

Birthday wagon. Look at that smile! LOOK AT IT!

Checking out the birthday wagon.

First donut store apple fritter, courtesy of daddy.

Went shopping with daddy. Daddy puts bags on the floor. Tigger discovers pear.

Pooh doesn't realize until too late that pear was doomed... Poor pear. Never stood a chance.

And now for some flashback fun.

And still making this face...

Remember ladies, this Valentine's love is for you.

An apparently recurring favorite game: climb into momma's lap, climb out. Climb in, climb out. Repeat, repeat, repeat...

3 days old and already beginning to understand how much weird he's going to have to deal with for the rest of his life.

Yes. He is eating that pumpkin shell. My little fruit 'n veggie lover.

Ok, This Is Getting Ridiculous!

Seriously, you'd think I'd forgotten all about this silly little blog! Have no fear, citizens! I'm back and I have news.

We're having a girl! I'll post a scan of her beautiful profile when I have one, because I feel like you all deserve to see a much less blurry version of what went up on facebook.
She will be lovely because she is mine. She's already nicer to momma than brother was. Well, except for all the vomiting and crying at commercials. Piglet -  I mean, Tigger - was a thrasher, much like he is on the outside. Little Girl is much more calm. In fact, when we were trying to get a good look at that cute little mug of hers, she kept wiping her face with her hands and then gave a big ole yawn. Cutest. Thing. EVER.
Instead of the unseemly excitement I was expecting to feel, I instead just feel relief at being able to actually use the name Pooh and I have been waiting to use for, well, since before we were even engaged. 

Yeah, we were that couple. Planning our kids' names before we were even sure we were going to be moving on from the dating stage (which honestly didn't last that long).

In other news, Tigger's turning a whole year old and we're going to celebrate with a Very Hungry Caterpillar themed party. I am not ashamed of following the crowd when it's such a fabulous idea. So I've been perusing the internet to get ideas for decorating, food presentation, and - most importantly - seeing what I can get away with leaving out, because, let's face it, we's poh.
He's adorable, by the way. He's grinnin' away and learning new tricks (thanks, Aunt Diane) and generally charming everyone with his going-on-ten-teeth. He's getting much more confident with walking and standing. He prefers to stand and walk when we're not going anywhere. I tell ya, the kid can't handle being still!
We have doors! Woot! And hopefully tonight we'll have a security door (so Tigger can watch traffic without momma fearing for his face) and a working washer! Fingers crossed!

Ok, that's all I've really got time for today. Gotta go pick up Pooh from school.
As they say in New Orleans, bayou!

And Now On To New News

Which is probably not so new to anyone who reads this blog... Eh, c'est la vie.

We're pregnant again!
Yup, you read me right. #2 is already here. Turns out that epic Thanksgiving weekend was the trigger for my morning sickness. After everyone else had recovered and a week later I was still sick, I started to get suspicious.
We'll find out what we're having around Piglet's birthday. 
Poor Piglet. He'll never know what it was like to be the only child. At least sharing won't be as much of a problem.
Maybe.
As I sit here thinking about what on earth our new baby will be like and which personality will fit it from the Wood, I realize I gave Piglet the wrong name. He's nothing like Piglet.
At all.
He's more like Tigger, or Roo (but I'm Roo, and I'm not giving that up); he's giggly and gregarious hard to contain. So yeah. Tigger.
I'll think about it.

On Sappiness

So, I said I'd do the birth story, and I will. Especially since I just took a quick stroll down memory lane and read his happy 6 month post and saw the pictures of my little baby and saw how much my little baby isn't such a little baby anymore (sob!).

It was to be a lovely, sunny Tuesday, and I'd been up since 2 (because that's how pregnant Roo rolls). Around 3ish I started to feel pressure pretty regularly and was wondering if I was finally feeling those Braxton-Hicks monstrosities I'd kept hearing about. It's been a long time so I'm not entirely clear on the timeline, but I texted my mom around the time she'd be getting up and going to work and told her. She got all kinds of excited, absolutely forbad that I go into labor a week early! and generally celebrated with me in the possibility of all this nonsense being over.
I warned Pooh when he got up to get ready for work that I'd be going to the hospital to let them peek at me and send me home like the loony I am. We agreed he should go ahead on to work since there was likely nothing to worry about. However, by 630-7 it became clear that I would not be able to wait as long as I'd hoped and I called up my good friend and volunteer, Natalia, to come get me. Bless her heart, she hustled her darling 9 month old girl into the car and took me to the hospital where I was entrusted to a nursing student.
A nursing student. Let's ponder that a moment, shall we?
730am I'm being monitored. I keep being monitored until around 1030 when the sweet girl comes in with that IV on wheels thingy and starts poking me and when I ask what on earth is going on she tells me I'm being admitted.
Uh, ok.
Soon afterward I go ahead and get an epidural because I'm nowhere near ready to start pushing and I'm so tired! I also alert the masses (aka my family) and dear Natalia is still there! I will never be able to repay her for that. She stayed the whole day (we watched "Dogs 101" and took a lovely collective nap) until Pooh was finally able to get away from work (roughly 1-2pm) and then a little extra, only leaving when her husby would get home and need a quick bite before rushing off to class. Bless you, girl.
Luckily for me, my mom was able to get a flight out that afternoon and she showed up just in time! Like, the last hour of pushing. And boy, am I glad she did! My new nurse (they "upgraded" me once they admitted me) was also a sweet, dear girl, but her counting was driving me insane!!
Sample: "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... You're doing so great! Keep going!... 6... 7... 8..."
If you don't know what's wrong with this, you've likely never been in labor nor in a band.
So, my mother who not only had gone through labor and been in band, she'd also been in the Army! So counting is easy-peasy to her. And she did it well. Bless you, mother.
So, with mother and husband in the delivery room, sister and brother-in-law (who brought mom down from the airport) in the waiting room, at 724pm, our dear Piglet James came protesting into the world. He hasn't really stopped protesting since.
He is my favorite little monster/stinker/"Toots McGee" in the whole world and I love him dearly. He was worth all the hours of no sleeping. 
Not so sure about the current hours, though.

Been A Long Time...

That applies to so many things at the moment. Like, it's been a long time since my last post. Been a long time since I took any pictures, mostly because it's been a long time since I did any laundry so there's clean laundry strewn around and heaps of dirty in strategic locales. Been a long time since I should've posted Piglet's birth story, so I think I'll do that here in a moment, assuming he's still asleep in the next 5 or so minutes.

So basically, this post was just to remind everyone I'm alive and let y'all know everyone survived Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year to boot.

Now the title applies to when this post was written. Sheesh.