Last night we had our First Family Dinner Out since Sam joined the family a little over a year ago. (I know. A little sad. But very exciting at the same time.) We went to a place that has a live mariachi band playing every Wednesday and Saturday night, and they also serve $1.99 margaritas. (I think we all know where I'm headed to get my drink on once Second Baby makes his/her arrival!) I had eaten lunch there before with a friend and her baby and the food was delicious. Hot, fast, cheap, good. Plus there was a sea of camouflage to keep the littles occupied while we chatted and ate.
We hit up Pancho Villa at senior citizen time (approximately 5:30) and it wasn't crowded at all. Steve just knew that this place was shady and was afraid that we would end up like the girls on "Bridesmaids" during the food poisoning scene. But once we got in, got seated (RIGHT next to the live music), and got Steve a margarita, his perception of the place changed quickly.
We had Sam fed before our food even came out, and he ate like a champ while being serenaded by the nice Spanish man. This man continued to keep Sam occupied during the rest of dinner, meaning: Steve and I ate our dinner AT THE SAME TIME. What a wonder.
It was an awesome night and we really can't wait to go back. The only thing I regret? Letting Sam sample my refried beans.
Sam and I? Our schedule? We are so busy. When I'm not picking Cheerios off the floor or fishing toys out from underneath the couch, I am busy dictating letters and memos to my little secretary (when HE'S not busy taking calls on his yellow cell phone from Elmo).
He is quite proficient in Microsoft Word.
He has a tendency to use Caps Lock due to the fact that that button has a light on it.
He also gets sidetracked by clicking OUT of Word and onto the internet. So if Sam has recently sent you an email that made next to no sense, I apologize.
This past weekend we suited up and headed out to the country for some military-mandated family fun time.
It turned out to be more fun that we originally anticipated. The weather was cool, Sam wasn't freaking out about not eating dinner at his usual feeding time, and I got to meet (and stare at) a lot of people that I hear about in daily conversation, but don't actually know. It was nice to put a face to those stories. (And in some cases, not so nice. Yeesh!)
This place had a mini farm/petting zoo/lots of random animals running around. That part was nice in that we've been reading Sam books about farms and farm animals lately. We've made all the noises and he thinks they're hilarious, and it felt EDUCATIONAL to be able to tie all this in with a trip to see living, breathing, honest-to-goodness animals. Not that he actually made any sort of connection to my chicken noises and the chickens that were running around pooping everywhere, but the effort was there.
We also went on a hayride and watched people go down a 40-ft barrel slide what went UNDERGROUND. Um, nothankyouverymuch. All I could think about was the giant mound of earth on top of that plastic slide and what if it caved in? Are there enough people here to dig a kid out in time? Back up. Are there enough ABLE-BODIED people here to dig a kid out in time? Most likely not. Because they started cooking up food right after we got there and most people were completely consumed with that part of the event.
We wanted to do the corn maze, but by the time we got back from the hayride, it was getting super-dark. And the last thing we would like to do is get lost in a giant corn maze with a hungry, cranky kid. The odds of someone WANTING to find us would be slim. Very slim.
So we said some hellos to a few more people and made a sneaky exit with Sam as our golden ticket to Friday-night freedom.
Overall, it was fun.
Also... do you think that Steve might have some secret urge to become a farmer?
Sam threw up cake. And sweet potatoes. And yogurt.
Mama should know better than to give a little boy a big cupcake after a big dinner.
Mama carved that information into her ever-forgetful brain while cleaning up said puke off of the ONLY shred of carpet in the downstairs of her house.
Sam had a party.
He drank a lot of juice.
He refused another cupcake (smart kid!) and opted for a nap instead.
Sam got way too many presents.
Sam is currently only interested in playing with an empty Diet Coke bottle.
I took the dogs to the vet on post earlier this week to get chipped. I thought it was a simple drop-off-pick-up-later situation. Oh how wrong I can be sometimes... What ensued was a nightmarish morning involving the receptionist asking me to fill out loads of paperwork (with what? My THIRD ARM?) while I held two maniac dogs and a squirmy baby. Odie continually slipped out of her collar, running around the entire office like a crazy banshee while Marci yodel-yelped along in encouragement. Sam was on a continuous freak-out cycle since it was something like a bajillion degrees in there. (Seriously? I'm ecstatic about fall's arrival as well. But this does not mean that we should all immediately crank our heaters up to 85. That defeats the purpose of being able to wear cute sweaters and jackets. K?) Then the non-people-person vet asked me if I had a carseat or a stroller for Sam. When I said no, she said, "You don't have a CARSEAT?" in a voice that implied that I drove here with Sam on my lap, or strapped to the roof. I tried to explain (through the child screaming and dog yelping) that it is not an INFANT carseat that I can just pull out whenever the urge strikes me. It stays in the car. Don't question me, you blatantly obvious childless woman! Just give my damn dogs the shots!
As she gets ready to do the shots, she tells me that maybe I should just reschedule. Because I am responsible for holding the dogs during the shots and chipping procedure. I just looked at her like she was an alien. I mean, REALLY? You don't have one single person in this office that qualifies as an assistant that can hold my dogs still during this? You want ME to hold my screaming-at-the-top-of-his-lungs child, a squirmy dog, AND a dog being given a potentially very painful shot? HAHAHAHAHAHA.
I guess she caught my drift because she got someone to come in and hold the dogs for me. For the record, they didn't really move at all. I think Odie enjoyed the attention. Then the clueless vet asked me to fill out MORE paperwork. Only this paperwork was SAT-style format, where you can only put one letter in each square. And of course, it asked for my name, address, phone number, email, alternate contact, blah, blah, blah. I asked if I could fill it out later (perhaps when there isn't so much CHAOS happening around me?), but when I suggested that I fill it out at home and send it in to the microchip place myself, she gave me a haughty "Ugh. NO." So. I continued to chicken-scratch out my info onto TWO separate SAT sheets of paper and handed them to her. If that had been ME, I think I would have opted to rid myself of the stressed-out mother, two nervous dogs, and wildly screaming, overheating baby and maybe filled the info in myself since, Hey! I have all of her information right here in front of me on these 50,000 forms she filled out earlier! Get outta here lady! But no. She is clearly more in tune with the animal kingdom than she is with real-life. After I finally filled everything out, she proceeded to give me intricate details about the recovery, billing, yadda yadda, I wanted to punch her in the face for wasting my time like this! I don't care! Trust me lady- I'm not going to give these dogs a bath in the next week, or rub their injection sites profusely, or brush their fur where they got their shots! I AM NOT AN IDIOT (no matter how much I might be giving off that vibe by bringing a wild child and two dogs by myself to your stupid clinic). Then the receptionist wanted to give me a detailed breakdown of what they were charging me for. At that point, with the door in sight, and Sam still shrieking, I would have paid a thousand dollars. Just get me the hell out of here.
Then the vet rushed out and told me to bring them BACK in 30 days so they could scan their chips and make sure that everything worked alright. HAHAHAHAHA And she thought I was out of my mind. No, vet lady, I trust that you did everything just fine. I will probably not show up here ever again, unless perhaps, one of my dogs randomly bursts into flames and all the other vet clinics in Clarksville are shut down for some reason. THEN I might come back here. But the flames must be real. And big. And not capable of being put out with my very own fire extinguisher.
Y'all, I was literally sweating through my shirt after that was over. My hair was SOAKING wet and there was a giant wet spot on my shirt where Sam and I were apparently having a fun sweat-exchange with each other. It was 50 degrees outside, and once I put the windows down and started driving home, everyone shut up and calmed down. So maybe the only problem with that whole visit was the sweltering temps? Nah, probably not. But it sure didn't make it any easier.
All the way home, all I could think about was, "What would that visit have been like if I had had TWO babies with me? Would I have thought to call ahead and ask for more details about the appointment? Would a double stroller even fit in that tiny waiting room? Is there such a thing as a four-seater stroller that I could potentially strap the dogs into as well as the kids?"
This pregnancy, while it still hasn't fully sunk in, has the ability to freak me out at times. My attached neighbor just delivered her baby last week. Whenever I hear those wild little newborn shrieks through our shared wall, I get the chills. I silently thank God that it's not me. I'm so thankful to sleep straight through the night (mostly).
I heard the newborn cries the other night while Steve and I were watching a movie, and when they didn't stop, I went over to see if I could help. Not because I think they can't handle it, but because I am aware that teeny tiny babies can push people to their breaking points with those incessant little cries (especially when enough sleep has not been had). Sure enough, my neighbor looked like he was close to that point. His wife is still in the hospital, recovering from complications that happened during her c-section. He was alone with two kids and the newborn. His 5yo daughter was trying to be helpful, but I could see from the baby's perspective that having a pacifier shoved forcefully into your mouth might not be the most comfortable of situations. So I picked the kid up and he fell asleep right in my arms. After he pooped quite a few times. Which, I gotta say, didn't bother me in the least. Those baby poops don't stink! While I was so happy to be helping my neighbor and providing him with a little bit of time to vent and pick up his house, I was never happier to hand a baby back. I loved walking back to my house and hearing the quiet and knowing that I could go to bed right then and sleep straight until 7am. (So this is what it feels like to be a grandmother!) I have offered up my services of holding a screaming baby anytime he feels like it's too much to handle.
I love Sam, and he was a cute cute cute baby, but I can honestly say that I don't miss him being a tiny, helpless newborn. I love the interaction we have now, his ability to hold a sippy cup to his own mouth, his smile when I've done something he finds funny. Lord, HELP ME when Second Baby comes. I can say that I am very thankful that we are given a full nine months to prepare for this extreme life change. But with only 22 weeks to go, I'm already feeling the pressure..
On this day last year, Sam was working on making his grand entrance into the world.
TA-DAAAA!!!!
We were living in Virginia, my parents were in town, and we had eaten at the ever-lovely Olive Garden the night before.
This year, we live in Kentucky, my parents won't be in town until this weekend, and we ate at the still-lovely Olive Garden yesterday (total coincidence).
Last year, we had our apartment in Virginia set up a few weeks after we moved in.
This year, we are still scrambling to get our house "finished" so that we can comfortably host company this weekend. I know my parents and in-laws aren't expecting The Ritz here, but it sure would be nice if there were a picture or two hung on the walls and maybe a freshly scrubbed toilet.
But let's hear more about the star of this show: Mr. Sam. (Note: this IS your baby book entry, ok?)
Sam, you love eating your fake Cheerios (a special, gluten-free kind), bananas, grapes, raisins, carrot cereal, pumpkin muffins, YOGURT (which we refer to as "ice cream"- don't know how long we can keep that up), chicken, peas, sweet potatoes, cheese, corn, peaches, and random other fruits. The veggie portion of your diet is somewhat lacking. You have decided that you don't like the texture of "real" veggies. Instead, you much prefer the goop that comes out of a jar. We are currently working on remedying this. I think more teeth might help the situation tremendously. In the meantime though, we are shoveling veggie goop into your maw so you don't end up with a vitamin deficiency (because man cannot live on fake Cheerios alone).
As far as activities go, pulling thin mints and moon pies out of the pantry far outranks playing with any toy in the house.
You also enjoy standing at the front door, staring out, and attempting to climb the stairs (side note: stair-climbing doesn't usually end well for you).
Another favorite pastime of yours is noticing that someone forgot to shut the bathroom door, then crawling at warp speed and touching every square inch of the toilet while I scream and chase after you. You love being chased. If you start heading towards the bathroom and we say that we're coming after you, you giggle so hard while you race in there. It's KIND of funny, but at the same time, extremely gross, especially when you remember that I'm not real up-to-date on cleaning my toilets (see second paragraph above). So.
You love sitting in my lap while I read you stories. Note: This is the ONLY way you will sit in my lap for more than three seconds at a time (unless I'm fully stocked with the fake Cheerios). You're not a real snuggly child, Sam. But that's ok.
You started saying "dadadadadadada" again after a brief period of reverting back to saying absolutely nothing at all except the high-pitched squeals and incessant whining. I told your Daddy the other day that I can't wait until you can talk because then I will at least know what you want or need. But then I realized that you might continue the whining, just with WORDS added in, and now I'm not so sure that we should rush the communicating part of our relationship. You just take your time, ok?
You love playing with your trucks, cars, and plastic train and get especially giddy when Daddy or I make noises to accompany your toys. Also, your Daddy holds quite the conversations with whoever calls you on your plastic cell phone. A very Chatty Cathy, that Daddy of yours.
Odie is your favorite dog, and I may or may not have everything to do with that preference, although I will add that she pays the most attention to you, and you two sit at the back door and stare at each other for unbelievable amounts of time.
You are very well-behaved when we go out on walks and think it is HILARIOUS when one (or both) of the dogs are acting up and I have to get on to them. Other things you find funny: Daddy's dancing (hint: we ALL find this funny), Mama making farm animal sounds (especially the pigs, horses, and cows), yanking soap out from under the sink, Odie scratching her ears, being chased (usually into a bathroom), having Daddy or me blow on your tummy, and the gator chomp.
Of course, we do these things repeatedly because we love nothing more than hearing your squeal-y baby laughs (even though the gator chomp is technically against our college football religion).
Some random things you do: You sometimes wake up at 4am and start chatting with yourself (or the teddy bear) and laughing uncontrollably. (Lucky for me, you usually put yourself back to sleep after you finish discussing whatever is on your mind.)
You chew on the socks that I put on your feet and usually end up taking them off with your teeth.
You wave at really odd times. And not just any wave, the Miss America wave.
If you ever find my nasty pair of black flip flops on the floor, you seem to have one, and only one, option. And that is to stick them directly in your mouth.
You like to have these grunting contests with whoever will grunt back at you. And if you ever appear to be losing the grunting contest, you switch it up immediately to a who-can-squeal-the-loudest-and-highest contest. And you always win.
You are the cutest, sweetest baby boy that I have ever laid eyes on and I'm so ridiculously happy to have you as my son. Daddy and I love you SO MUCH and can't wait to see what being a big one-year-old is like for you.
In years past, the beginning of October had me excited solely because the weather was starting to cool off.
At the Syrup Sop in Loachapoka, AL. Clearly we didn't have a whole lot going on in those days. But look how YOUNG Steve looks! That hair! And Odie's wearing clothes? Priorities have certainly shifted since 09...
Then last year, the beginning of October had me reflecting on mine and Steve's last few days of being a "childless" couple. We were going on dates, sleeping in, taking naps, and prepping for our new addition.
He appears calm, but there were many expletives uttered during the putting together of this crib...
And this year? I'm gobsmacked that my BABY is turning a year old.
Those blue eyes, my GOSH...
I asked him yesterday if he was ever going to grow up and be bigger than one. He shook his head "no." (That seems to be the only head movement he really enjoys doing.)
So, you heard it here. He's going to stay my little boy forever.
