There's Pinterest, and then there's Real Life. You know we're on the Real Life side of things.

I promise that once I recover from The Trip From Hell, I will share details. But for now, we are living in a tiny hotel room, Molly is sick, and I am not sane enough to relive the journey over here just yet. We are really close to finding an apartment, and hopefully we will be moved in soon. In the meantime, I'm going to show you how to take family pictures that will never get pinned on Pinterest. Because not every child has the innate ability to say "cheese" on demand.

This was as good as it got for Molly. No smiling, but at least she wasn't screaming.

You can hardly tell I'm sweating through my dress.

You can tell they're concerned about where this is going. No worries, little people. Nooooooo worries.

Gotta love how cooperative toddlers are.

Apparently you can threaten him enough and he'll actually smile!

Not this one though.

Here's the money shot.

And another! Did I mention that we all stripped down and changed on the side of Campbell Blvd? I have no shame anymore.

Oh the humanity!

This was totally forced and they were both screaming here. A lovely display of sibling affection.

I don't know how Jackie got this one, but I swear she's a wizard.

Annnnnd we totally cropped the screaming children out of this one. We look somewhat normal, right?

And there you have it, folks. Real life.

((And #10 is done!))

Don't worry, I'm not recapping all 21 months, just the last one. So it's still long, but not as long as you'd think.

I realize that I haven't updated on Sam in a while. Not wanting to make him feel left out or like a second child, where the only pictures taken of you are taken with an iPhone, I will do a 21 month baby book post.

Sam,
You are something else, mister. You have your days where you can push me to my absolute limits (ahaha, like, say, for instance, YESTERDAY) and other days where you are such a sweet pleasure to be around (today! yay!).

You weighed yourself at Petsmart the other day and clocked in at 22.1 pounds.

You have recently started accepting more foods so long as you can use your fork and have ketchup readily available. You usually take a few swipes of ketchup on your fork, I'm assuming to make sure it's not rancid, and then you go for your actual food. Still resisting the vegetables pretty hard. You go bananas for, well, bananas, but you also thoroughly enjoy watermelon, strawberries, and grapes. You have most recently deemed my BBQ baked chicken edible, as well as turkey dogs. You hated the OMG chicken, and to be honest, I wasn't feeling it either last night. You win. You are still enjoying yogurt, but ONLY fruit yogurt. You can't be tricked into apple/sweet potato yogurt. You're no gullible baby anymore.

You recently received a lawn mower from your Aunt Amy. You push that thing around the house like it's your JOB. Sometimes you even bend over like an old man and creep around with it. That is especially entertaining to watch.

You are loving to play with whatever Molly is playing with. If she's under the fish mat, you wanna be right next to her, pushing the buttons and watching the lights. If she's in the jumperoo, you need to be there, flipping the animals and showing her how it all works. You are very sweet with your sister, rubbing her hair and belly (kinda like you do with Odie). I think it might be sinking in (finally) that this extra kid is here for good.

You also love to dance. You still do the high-step and twirl in circles. Sometimes the twirling is followed by falling down, which you play off like it was totally intentional, by lying down and doing a couple ab exercises (current faves: bicycling and some sort of weird reverse hump- let's cut that one out before preschool, yes?).

You will hold just about anything up to your ear and say, "ah, AH?" We think this means, "Hello?" and that you believe you're talking into a phone. Except you aren't usually holding a phone. Usually you're holding a pretzel. Or a bottle cap. Sometimes just your hand smooshed to your face. Regardless, if you answer the "phone," your daddy and I stop what we're doing and talk back with you. "Hello? Pretzel? Are you there? Hello?" This easily amuses you. You usually hang up shortly after. I have no clue what to say to a pretzel, I'm sorry.

When you throw the ball to Odie to fetch, you tend to throw it directly at her. I know that smushy face is cute, but it doesn't need to get any smushier, thanks.

You still don't say anything. Well, except, "BeDOWeeDOWeeDOW." That usually means, "Let's go outside/I want some strawberries/Where's my lawn mower?" Your daddy and I respond accordingly and you answer us like we said the right response. I just can't wait til we can have actual MEANINGFUL conversations. You know, something deep, like, "Mom, I just pooped."

Speaking of poop, we have switched you over to Lactaid milk per the allergist's request. We will see if this helps your bowels any. We go in next month to have you tested for a few other allergies. I'm anxious to see what we find out. We also will receive an epipen! Yay! You enjoy giving yourself "shots" with your doctor's kit needle (it's fake! for the record!), so maybe the epipen won't be so scary. (And hopefully we will NEVER have to use it. EVER.)

You can throw quite the tantrum, boy. Some of them make me laugh at you because you get so frustrated over nothing. Other times..... well, they are not so funny. The whining. Ohmygah the whining. When will it stop? You make this sound like an irritating buzzer that just. won't. quit. Whining that doesn't cease after my asking three times gets you a quick trip to timeout. And that happens A LOT. You have recently begun having these little meltdowns in stores. Out in PUBLIC. Which is not only humiliating, but troubling as well, since I have no clue how to properly punish you in public. (Not that we hit you at home or anything, oh no we do not (yet), but I typically ignore you at home, and that somehow gets your attention. Ignoring your screams and flailing about in the middle of Target seems a little bit... how shall we say this... frowned upon? So yeah. Just quit acting out in public. Thanks.)

Ok enough about your incessant, drives-me-to-drinking whining. Let's end this 21 month recap on a high note, shall we?
You love to read books and your current favorites are: Roadwork, Little Blue Truck Leads The Way, Baby's First Catholic Prayers, Jesus and the Children, and Penguins.
So from your book selections this month, one could deduce that you might grow up to be a mechanic, a priest, or a zoologist. Whatever makes you happy, baby. ;)

Oh wait! I can't forget the haircut! Ok, so we tried taking you to a new barbershop to get a haircut before we went on vacation to PA. But we get to the barbershop and the guy sees you flipping out and refuses to cut your hair. Just says he can't do it. Afraid he'll lop off an ear or something. So. Awesome. We go back home and I manage to cut it myself. Your father was quite afraid, oh yes he was, but this had to be done. And I gotta say, you didn't turn out too shabby. I mean, there are LOTS of stray hairs around your ears that are very noticeable during storytime when we're right up on each other, but from a distance, you look fabulous.

I love you to the moon and back, sweet boy, and canNOT believe that your second birthday is only three short months away. (My BABY! <sob>)

I smell like brownies and urine, but I totally won today

Whoo y'all. Today was one for the books. I was very happy to put the little stinker to bed, close his door, and do a happy dance. It was, indeed, ONE OF THOSE DAYS.

Everything started out fine- he slept in (sort of), but that was because I kept him up til EIGHT PEE-EM last night. If you're new in town, that is ridiculously late for us. Sam is usually passed out by 6:30 and Steve and I follow suit around 8:30-9. So since there was an ill-timed nap yesterday afternoon (stupid mama never saw a nap she didn't love), he was practically flying around his room last night, rediscovering every single toy that he could possibly launch at my head. I, of course, was lying on the floor and being the best obstacle course and roadway for my son that I could. (Have GOT to remember to purchase some sort of giant pillow for future floor-lying. My giant hips. OUCH.)

Back to today though- Today was the day our lovely FRG was having a bake sale at the PX. I know there are question marks just EXPLODING out of your brains right now. A bake sale? On a Sunday? At the PX? Why? Isn't that a bit of a JV idea? Who wants to buy your homemade crap? Especially when we all know that you bought the pre-made cookie dough at the commissary late last night?

This is not poop on a wire rack.

Well! I will have you know that I had the extreme foresight to purchase boxes of brownie mix a whole TWO DAYS in advance and some mini muffin pans, because I was signed up to bring brownie bites. I even got cute little Valentine's Day bags to put them in. Heh! I'm so on top of things! Except time-management apparently, because the bake sale started at 10am and I was still standing in my kitchen at 9:57. Luckily for me, nothing was ready when I got there, so I didn't appear late at all. I was just someone to vent to about the un-readiness of everything! Whew! I can handle that!

I dropped off my brownie bites and watched our FRG leader arrange them on the table with the other baked goods. It was a lesson in self-control as I held back from placing them the way that I thought looked best.
You can't just scatter them all over the table! Line them up! Arrange them neatly! They are already too close to resembling Cupid's turdlets, there is no need to sacrifice presentation when we're already running late!
But alas, I kept my mouth shut and left. SOMEONE was whining (go figure!) and rubbing his eyes and yawning. Ahh, sounds like the signs of a morning nap to me! Jackpot!

We head home, I change his diaper and put Sam down for a nap. Usually there is resistance to the morning nap. It almost ALWAYS dies down quickly and he passes out, realizing that his screams are worthless. But not today. Today he had the fight in him. Today he battled with me for TWO AND A HALF HOURS STRAIGHT. One of the times I went up there to make sure he hadn't hung himself from his mobile, I walked in and he was lying down with his eyes almost completely closed, but was still yelling. Of course I had gone in there all storm-trooper-style ready to give him the stern "it's NAPTIME, young man" talk, but once I saw that he was lying down, I tried to stop and slowly back my way towards the door. But it was too late. I had been spotted (am very easy to spot these days) and was deemed an appropriate audience to scream for once again. DAMMIT I CAN'T WIN.

Do you have any idea how many of those chocolates I had to eat before I got to this message??

I figured that was probably his last stand since he was already horizontal that time, so it would only be a few more minutes of crying. Except that it wasn't. I finally just went and got him out of bed. First time I have EVER done that. I don't want to send mixed signals to him. Like, Oh if you cry long enough and hard enough, I'll come rescue you from that awful crib. But it was pretty obvious that his crying was not going to cease anytime soon. I fed him lunch and he just chatted away while he ate his cheese, oblivious to the fact that I was SO PISSED at him for not napping. And listening to his crying only made my blood pressure rise, so "naptime" was not even enjoyable or productive! Gah! But it was hard to stay angry at him for long. He is pretty cute.

My plan was to keep him up for the rest of the day. I know, classic rookie mistake, but I figured I could at least get an early bedtime out of him if he didn't nap. We waited until the afternoon to run errands. The mixture of driving on the interstate, having the heat on in the car, and Chris Daughtry playing softly in the background (I KNOW you guys, I finally ponied up and slipped in a new CD! We are saved! For now.), was the recipe for sleep apparently.

We get to Target and NOTHING is waking him up. Rats. He had probably been asleep for all of fifteen minutes. I fiddled around for a minute with different things in the car and then started getting ready to go inside. All I had to do was return one stinkin' item! What an awful day to not have a copilot/babysitter.

So I was a mean mom and woke him up. He was kinda pissed about it, not gonna lie. But once we started walking, he was fine. I tried to make up for waking him up by not browsing at all. We literally went straight to returns and walked back out. That, for me, is unheard of. It was hard too, and I think he was oblivious to my sacrifice. I was under the impression that groggy Sam would get buckled back into his carseat and fall asleep on our drive home. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sometimes I even crack myself up.

Went to Kroger, got my prenatals filled (I guess, technically, they are just "natals" at this point in the game. We are so far past "pre" that it's not even funny.), and filled up with gas on post.

By the time we got back home, we still had a LOT of time to kill. So we went walking to the playground. Sam doesn't ever want to PLAY on the playground, he just likes walking around the perimeter of it, admiring it from afar if you will, and screeching random obscenities at the dogs we pass in the backyards along the way. It didn't take long for us to turn into popsicles and we headed back inside. Play, play, more play, ignore a tantrum or seven, and realize that it's dinnertime! Yay! After dinner is BED! Mama's most favorite time of the day is now within sight!!! YEEEEEEEHAW!

He was very cooperative eating dinner tonight and I even gave him a special Goldfish treat for correctly pointing to my nose when asked. (It's only a matter of time before I am nominated for some "Mom Of The Year" award, I know.) After eating something like half a box of Chex cereal (in addition to a normal amount of regular food containing some actual nutritional value), I call it quits on his dinnertime and haul him upstairs to change him. Nice timing too as his entire bottom is soaked in urine! Fabulous! I wrestle to get his clothes off of him (since sitting in urine is a HOOT apparently) and he proceeds to pee all over me. Breathe, breathe, breathe, just gotta lotion this kid up and brush his teeth. It won't be long now. He happily gets into bed and I shut the door without so much as a whine from the crib. I. WIN. YES.

Now it's time to have my requisite bowl of Cheerios and text Steve warning him about this extreme winter weather we're having and remind him to stay warm. (Like he isn't already completely aware of the weather situation since he is currently LIVING out in it. But it makes me feel helpful. Sort of.)

Here's to hoping that tomorrow is easier nap-wise and hopefully we won't get any snow. Probably the first time in the history of EVER that I'm wishing against snow, but geez, my honey is going to freeze his hiney off out there. It would be like rootin' for the Russians.

FIrst haircut, Santa, and THIS

First, we'll start with this.

Looks like we'll stick with the zip-up pajamas from now on.

In less stinky news, Sam got a haircut today at the PX and we planned on visiting with Santa right afterwards since we are idiots and seem to enjoy torturing our son.
We started out waiting at the regular barber shop for a haircut, but the lines were long (ODD for a Monday at 1pm... ??). So I ran down to the "beauty salon" and asked if they did baby haircuts there because this salon had doors on it and I figured there might be some screaming taking place during this traumatic event.
Trust me, I was under no impression that this was going to be a happy, let's-do-this-every-week occasion. I clipped the child's nails this morning for goodness sake, and he reacted about as well as if he was having bamboo shoots shoved up under his fingernails. He just isn't real good with sitting still and behaving for longer than 0.05 seconds (which is why the upcoming Christmas flights are STRESSING ME THE HELL OUT).

So he sits down with Steve and I was already picturing how the poor stylist was going to lop off an ear or two while trying to trim the hair around his ears (because that was really the only hair that needed trimming). But she was a PRO and deserved a $100 tip if we're being fair and honest. Steve and I swapped places about 2 minutes in, because he kept reaching for me and I thought MAYBE he might calm down a little bit if he sat on me. But no.

After his hair was trimmed and the waterworks stopped, we collected a little sample of baby hair and I might remember to glue it into his baby book one of these days.
And since we are glutton for punishment, we went right down the hall to see SANTA.

Sam has no clue who this man is or what he represents, but he sure doesn't like him. He kept staring at his beard (he has a thing about beards) and not looking too sure about what was coming up. I handed him off as soon as the lady was ready to snap the picture and the wailing commenced once again.

Classic.

I don't know everything, but since I'm aware of that fact, I technically still know everything that I need to know

I made a HUGE mistake this past week. I didn't drop Sammy on his head or feed him beer instead of milk or leave him in the grocery cart, but I did get rid of his jumperoo. No need to tell me how AWFUL and STUPID I am, because I already rode on The Guilt Trip all of last week.

You see, I started thinking it was time to say sayonara to the jumperoo since Sam's feet were slamming into the ground harder and harder every time he bounced, and I started to worry that he was going to break a kneecap or stunt his growth or slip a disc out of place in his back. It was already raised to the highest level possible and I just didn't see any need to keep it around if it might potentially hurt him. (This is where the stupid starts: Hello Jenn, did you REALLY think that you would never have another child who might also love to jump and bounce around as if s/he is half-kangaroo? Maybe just break it down and place it in the attic? No? Wanna be stupid? Ok, keep going with your current train of thought then.)

 The last bounce. Sadly, I even recorded it.

Notice the smiles, the enthusiastic bouncing, the lazy, sleeping dog in the background.

So I sold his jumperoo to this lady who told me that she had to have it TODAY. I was thinking, Oh poor her. I know the feeling! I'm glad this jumperoo is going to someone who is really going to appreciate it and enjoy it! I'm glad some other baby will be distracted for minutes on end so his/her mother can get the dishes washed, laundry folded, bladder emptied, coffee poured, etc, etc. (Jumperoo, I could sing your praises all the live-long day.) So I meet up with her and we start talking about how truly AMAZING the jumperoo is, and yes, we loved it, it saved my life/sanity/bladder on numerous occasions, you're going to love it too, blah blah blah, by-the-way, how old is your baby? 

Y'all, the child is ONE MONTH OLD. But she says he can hold his head up very well. Yes, I'M SURE. Typically when people prop you up on Boppies and Bumbos and pillows and want to see things that aren't there, children at one month of age can hold their heads up like you and me. I, um, IMMEDIATELY realized that I was making a mistake, but there was really no going back from that decision so I had to let her keep it in her car instead of flinging my body over it and begging for it back. 

<SIGH>

Obviously, I immediately had to go searching for a jumperoo to replace the one that I had just sold because what was Sammy going to do when he woke up from his nap (YES I AM THAT EVIL TO SELL HIS FAVORITE THING WHILE HE WAS ASLEEP) and realized that his jumperoo was no longer there??? Chaos would ensue and I could already picture the dishes overflowing out of the sink, laundry piles stinking up our house, me, standing in my Depends, trying to make the crying stop.

Well I found one. He actually seems to enjoy it slightly more, but I can't tell if that's because it's new (to him) or because the toys are different or it plays different (but equally annoying) music. Anyways, he loves it and you should have seen the look on his face when he first got in it to bounce. Pure joy. I realized that I had made a HUGE mistake in selling his old jumperoo and have not gotten out of my guilt-funk yet. Steve tried to console me by telling me that we would have had to get rid of it sooner than later anyway since the old one was at the highest setting, but it doesn't make me feel much better. Because in-between the old jumperoo and the new (to us) jumperoo, we got a (new to us) walker. And he HATED it. He stood there and tried to jump up and down, but instead, would just run straight into the couch, or on top of a dog, or into the wall, and it looked very confusing and frustrating for him. Being a new (and very ignorant) parent, I assumed that walker was the next thing on the list after he outgrew the jumperoo. I think the walker will hang out in the garage for quite a few more months. He is SO not into that thing.

 Evidence of walker-hatred. Stupid mommy going on in the background like he might actually be enjoying himself (while he runs straight into the kitchen counter).

And now, finally, the new and improved jumperoo. Thank goodness.

I will try and think through these things (you know, from start to FINISH) before acting like a crazy person again. And I'm already DREADING the day that those chubby little legs don't fit into those holes in the jumperoo anymore...

Ohmygosh help, Help, HELP

Good morning!
Hope y'all slept well last night. It seems that we are falling back into some sort of regression as far as sleep goes. So we only say "good morning" here because it is customary and for no other reason obviously...
I don't know what Sam's problem is. Our sink here in the kitchen is divided, so we started using the baby tub in the bathtub, which, heaven forbid, does not fully recline like the sink experience, so Sam has started hating baths that take longer than 14 seconds. And remember when bathtime used to calm him down and get him ready for bed???

NO MORE.
So now he starts getting crabby and wanting to go to bed at 5pm (holy geez) which means that we have to alternate who entertains him for the next hour and a half because all hell breaks loose if you try to put him in his jumperoo or swing instead of holding him and dancing around the room. So once 630 comes around, Steve usually starts his bath while I start dinner, but usually I have to go in there to make sure Steve isn't using hot pokers on him (he doesn't) because Sam screams until his face turns purple... and for no apparent reason. The first night he did it, it scared me to the point of taking his temperature rectally. (That's saying something!) Now I know it's just a sad part of bathtime.

And after Screamfest 2011, it's a race to get the little person lotioned up with a bottle stuck in his pie hole. More screaming. Stick him in the crib with pacifier and mitts to prevent another case of Bloody Baby Head. More screaming, and after a few checks to make sure he's truly not being smothered by anything, he finally goes to sleep.

But the major regression we've experienced is the amount of time that he stays asleep. When he was starting out with the sleep training, the first hunk of sleep would last 5 or sometimes 6 hours straight, with 2 to 3 hour intervals after that until it was time to wake up. Now he will sleep from 7 until 10, and then scream bloody murder on the hour, every hour after that. So while it is a success that he's finally sleeping on his back in his crib, and he's finally coming around to this whole pacifier phenomenon, it BLOWS that we're getting less sleep than before. Most of the time that we go in there because of the crying, his eyes are closed, pacifier in mouth, and nothing else is wrong. WHAT THE H, MAN??? That is especially frustrating.

Steve tried giving him a bottle last night because we figured he was hungry. He would only take an ounce or two (meaning: not hungry AT ALL) and then kept on fussing. We probably listened to him cry from 3am til 630am. Straight. For no reason. Lucky for Steve and me, we can sleep through that kind of thing. And lucky for everyone else, we live in a single family home where we don't have to worry about driving an upstairs neighbor to the brink of insanity with all the incessant fussing.

What are we supposed to do about this?? I can't believe that we are the first ones to experience some sort of sleep regression like this, but at the same time, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we were! We will do literally ANYTHING for some shut-eye around here. Suggestions are more than welcome.