Curiouser And Curiouser

So, it's been a while. I know. I've missed me, too.

I got a sneaking suspicion this morning and it turns out I hit the jackpot! Google really is way too into our lives. The entire time my dear Pooh Bear was investigating getting a Nexus5, I couldn't post pictures. He finally caves and we get them, and suddenly it's "which pictures would you like? From your phone, or from your computer?"

Stupid mean Google.

So, anyway, Here's a quick picture/video update on my Tigger and Piglet.

Ah, hat hair. He's so related to me.

How nice of Google to make a .gif of my daughter refusing to sleep.

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.