Uh-oh

Henry's new favorite phrase is "uh-oh." He knows that it is something you say when you fall or drop something, but like 'Aloha' means both hello and goodbye, Henry's "uh-oh" has many meanings.
It is a fun phrase to say over and over while you are waiting for Mommy or Daddy to rescue you from your crib in the morning. I'm taking this meaning to be: Don't press snooze again, Mommy. Get up. It's time to start the day.
He also likes to say it to get a response and a laugh--i.e. he says "uh-oh" I say "uh-oh" and this goes on for ten minutes. I'm taking this meaning to be: H: I'm cute. EJ: Yes you are.
But sometimes his uh-oh takes a darker turn. He'll throw his sippy cup across the room. Uh-oh. He'll throw goldfish in my face. Uh-oh. I'm trying to teach him the difference between accidents and just plain old bad behavior. That yes, we say uh-oh when something drops on the floor, but how it got to the floor makes a difference.
But I wonder, do I understand this?
Right now I am struggling with the cold hard truth that I'm a pretty self-righteous and judgemental person. I judge people to the point that the other night at Casa Grande I made a joke about a baby. I am struck with horror at this. I'd like to say, "Uh-oh," my sense of humor has got the best of me. But it is more than that. I'm so bogged down with everybody else's flaws that I fail to come to grips with my own. Uh-oh.
There are a thousand ways I judge you. I work out 5 days a week. If you don't, I'm better than you and let me tell you about how much healthier I am than you. But the truth is, I haven't lost a pound in like three weeks. And I make a million excuses as to why I just can't make that spin class my trainer keeps encouraging me to go to. And basically, all I really want to do now is eat Jello sugar free chocolate pudding. Uh-oh.
And I judge your parenting. Does your child sleep through the night? Mine does. And he is very easygoing and rarely whines or screams his head off when I drop him off at nursery. On some level, I am aware that this has nothing to do with me. That I'm just blessed with an even keeled little boy who loves Mr. Bunny, his crib, and his Zzzzs and that they have awesome trucks and a kitchen at nursery and he loves them too. But on a deeper, scarier level, I blame you for your child who doesn't sleep well or cries when you drop him off. Maybe if you stuck to a schedule, cut back on those sugary juices, and didn't let him watch TV your kid would be like mine. (But for the record, Henry set his own schedule, not me, this past weekend he drank probably a gallon of chocolate milk, and one of H's favorite things to do is play Duplos while watching Curious George.) Uh-oh.
And I judge your marriage. Which is totally a sham as I'm a shrew of a wife. I mean I'm a total bitch. This morning I confessed to my Bible study group that it'd be easier to be nice to my husband if he were perfect and never lost his temper or forgot to bring up the laundry. That I'm so consumed with what I want and think I need that I can't even consider for two seconds being compassionate or merciful to the man I love. That I'm so unaware of my own need for forgiveness that I'm just angry all the time. Double Uh-oh.
This is no accident. I'm no victim. Your actions should not determine mine. So when my sippy cup ends up across the room, I can't cry 'uh-oh' because we both know how it got there.

A Week in Review

MMMmmmm. Mommy introduces Henry to Ranch dressing. Not too crazy about these veggies you are giving me Mommy, so I'll just suck off the dressing and then slather on more Ranch.


Daddy wants you to know that never before has such an awesome robot ever been colored. He tells me it could totally beat up the Iron Giant. Mommy is just proud that I'm not eating the crayons. Last week Mommy let me eat a piece of sidewalk chalk. She said it was better than the acorns I kept putting in my mouth. She finds it odd I'll eat chalk but not cucumbers.
We headed down to Davidson, NC for Grandpa Phillips's birthday. Mommy says it is great we are staying in a suite because then I get to have my own room and she doesn't have to go to bed at 7:30. I think it's awesome because it only took me 5 minutes to find where they keep all of the pots and pans and only ten minutes to break the shelves they were sitting on.
The first of Grandpa P's birthday parties. Mommy was a bit stressed because I kept wanting to play with things made of glass at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Grandma told her not to worry, but Mommy is afraid of me bearing near Tiffany lampshades. But my cousins, Violet and Bo, shared some matchbox cars with me and that was cool.
We are warriors. We were not afraid of the pouring rain and still made it to the Billy Graham Library on Friday with Grandma and Grandpa Phillips, Great Aunt Phyllis, and Great Uncle Randy and Aunt Nancy. It was my first museum. It had lots of movies for me to watch and I was a real trooper. I just wish they didn't keep making me be the boy in the bubble. Geesh, Mom, it's just rain. I ain't scared of getting wet.


Can't you see where I get my good looks from? The Phillips cousins (aka Marshall and Holly's tribe)--Violet, 7, Bo, 6, and Gigi, 23 months. All dressed up for Grandpa Phillips's 2nd birthday party at Quail Hollow Country Club. Mommy and Daddy wanted to visit some of Mommy's sorority sisters, which was cool, because you know how I love the ladies. Apparently Jenna Cowley (2 yrs) hasn't gotten the memo that trucks are for boys because I don't care if she was playing with it first, I want it now. Mommy, you can say the word "Share" all you want but I think we're making it pretty clear that we don't like that word.


This one (Caroline Harkness, 4 months) is more my speed, Mommy. Although you keep saying "gentle." You do know I'm a 17 month old boy and this is as gentle as I get.
Busted.
Now that I've taken down the shelf in here, Mommy, I can climb all the way in.

Thank God I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. Next trip, Mommy, you'd better not forget Mr. Bunny.

Thank you, Mollie

Henry is napping. Sloan is playing golf. I am wasting time, thanks to my good 'ol Kamp friend, Mollie. Thank you for making me aware of this awesome site.

Me, circa 1960.
Sloan, circa 1980. (When I look at this, I pee a little bit in my pants.)
Henry, circa 1976. (What a stud. Do you think Sloan would allow Henry to grow his hair out?)

BLUE DOGS!!!!!

Thursday night we took Henry to Swinging on the Tracks at the Science Museum of Virginia to see the totally rockin' band, the Blue Dogs. Let me first explain the awesomeness of the Dogs. I first fell in love with them in Chapel Hill, along with my Green Street girls (aka my roommates) Lindsey, Beth, Jessica, Lindy, and Theresa. Many a night we could be found in a frat house or bar, hollering in the front row, doing the "Beth." "The Beth" is a dance that is fabulous--it consists mainly of standing still as to not spill your drink and shaking your hair about. Several times I danced along with a pint of Southern Comfort in my hand, only to hand it to the lead singer, Bobby, and then have it passed around amongst the band. I like to think that I'm known to them as the SoCo girl, but having asked them about my self-given nickname, I'm pretty sure they have no recollection of this. There also was an incident where The Blue Dogs were playing at the Cave where I danced like mad all by myself to the point where I cleared a large space in front of the band that coined the phrase "blue dog drunk" amongst my circle of friends. In my defense, I'd gotten in a fight with my boyfriend earlier that night. The fall after we got married they played in a bar in Richmond on the rainiest Thursday ever so there were maybe 12 people at the show. So we got to hang out with the band, talk to them, and make requests. There was even a kazoo solo by the drummer. So Sloan and I like to think we are the band's friends. (I'm pretty sure, however, by the blank stare they gave me last Thursday when I said Hello, that we are not. But in my mind, we're totally BFF.) Since then, we've seen them every time they've been in Richmond, which hasn't been enough.
So it was with much anticipation that I was finally able to take Henry to see the Dogs. We've been dancing to them in the living room for weeks and Henry has heard me sing "Make Your Mama Proud" and "What's Wrong with Love Songs" too many times to count. And it must be said that the Blue Dogs did not disappoint. I was a bit worried that he wouldn't like the loud noises, but he was enthralled. He couldn't take his eyes off Hank and his stand up bass. He thought the lights and the music were the best thing ever. And he loved dancing and twirling with me and Sloan, cackling until he had tears in his eyes. By about 9pm, he was so tired he looked like he too was "blue dog drunk," but then again, he walks like Frankenstein anyway. He has "the Beth" dance down, he's just holds a sippy cup of Milk rather than a cold 22 of Bud Light.
I was worried about how a show would be stone cold sober. But when I had Henry in my arms it was fantastic and I was twirling and shaking it just to get a laugh. I put him down and we'd spin and laugh and he'd run into me and motion for me to pick him up again. But when he'd dance with Sloan, I was suddenly aware that I was just standing there doing the white guy head bob. But because I'm a big tool, I of course took Henry to meet the band and even had his picture taken with the one Mommy has a wee bit of a crush on.

Henry just chillin' with his trucks before the show. (We had to trap him because he found another kid with a bunch of matchbox cars on a blanket and it made Henry angry that I wouldn't let him steal them. He even tried to put one in his pocket.)

The band starts up.Dancing with Daddy.

Mesmerized by the band. Maybe he'll be a musician one day.

Sweaty mommy and Henry pose with Hank Futch, Jr. (My favorite Blue Dog, the bassist. I like to think we're buds because he too has a son named Henry that is just a bit older than mine.)

In the wee small hours of the morning...

My body is betraying me. It is making me into someone I never thought I'd be. It is making me wake up early to work out. Ugh. I'm becoming an adult.

Last night I took Henry on a walk around the neighborhood. While pushing the stroller I sensed the need for speed. I felt my body saying "Elizabeth, it is time to start running."

I'd read that the best way to begin running was to use interval training. So I decided every 6th minute of my walk around the hood, I'd run. I tried this out last night, but after about 30 seconds, I almost killed myself and my son. For starters, I don't have a jog stroller. I quickly learned there is a reason that jog strollers have breaks and don't put their wheel locks on the backs of the stroller. I was going down a hill and trying to keep my pace but was also trying to keep up with the stroller. As I did this, I accidentally stepped on the stroller's locking mechanism, making it stop dead in its tracks. I slammed into the stroller, almost knocking it over, and Henry's sippy cup catapulted out of his cup holder and began to roll down the hill. My Ipod fell and as I was bending down to pick it up, I knocked my water bottle from the carrier at the top of the stroller onto Henry's head. So my first lesson of running is that I might not be coordinated enough to do it.

This morning, knowing I had a full day ahead of me, I woke up at 6am (yawn!) to see if I could tackle this running thing on my own. I learned more lessons about myself, my running, and this whole exercises thing. Apparently, walking without pushing a stroller is confusing to me. I don't know what to do with my arms. Do I pump like one of those power walkers at the mall? Letting them dangle felt awkward too.

Also, when you are exercising in the wee dark hours, it is a different neighborhood. Used to seeing ladies walking their dogs or pushing strollers, I was suddenly the lone girl amidst men. Men biking and men running. Women may be from Venus, but the men in my neighborhood are from somewhere weirder than Mars. There was the one man who looked like he was still in his pajamas riding a bike. A little too nonchalant about exercising for my taste. Then the guy on the opposite end of the spectrum--complete biking garb with matching water bottle and helmet. And then there were a couple men running, shirtless and in basically a shiny loin cloth. And while I have no problem with them not wearing a shirt (Hey, I plan on running around the neighborhood in just a sports bra one of these days, say 60 pounds from now), but please, gentlemen, can you buy some running shorts that are a bit longer? I'm covering my wobbly parts and I would appreciate you doing the same. Men running do not wave to women walking. They throw the peace sign or salute. Do I look like a hippy or a soldier? I was wearing addidas shorts and a pink ZTA t-shirt. And around 7 I got to see all of the high schoolers walking to Monakan. When did skin tight jeans on boys become popular? And apparently it is not just my nephew Anderson who loves his cologne. High schoolers also do not wave. They do not even hint that they see you, even if you are only three feet away and say hello. Not even a nod.
But back to more about running. Serious undergarment issues. And it makes my entire body hurt. I hurt my shoulder running (is this even possible?). And my tendinitis is acting up again. My feet and ankles have been throbbing all day, so I'm going to get some new shoes. But the major problem is that after about 45 seconds of running, I'm sucking wind. At the end of the minute, it was all I could do to keep walking and not just bend over and try to catch my breathe. I'd like to think that maybe I've made it 30 years without knowing I have severe asthma, but I'm pretty sure I'm just being overly dramatic. And oh yeah, I was thirsty, but didn't have a stroller with a cup holder with me. And when I ran, my Ipod fell off my pants and I stepped on it and once again almost ate pavement. I ended up having to keep taking it off and putting it back on every five minutes. (Remember, my Ipod is 4 years old. It is what they call a 40GB "classic." It weighs about 17 pounds.)

So I'm not so sure about this running thing. I'm wanting to run my college sorority's 5k in Chapel Hill in the spring, but I also kind of think that maybe I should just walk the thing and not kill my body.

More than anything, I missed the stroller and the little guy in it. I missed one of my little secret treasures of motherhood--being able to talk to yourself under the guise of speaking to your child. And I missed Henry talking back to me, pointing at every barking dog, barking back at them, and shrieking at the passing school buses.

I blame Marishka Hargitay

You know you've watched too much Law & Order: SVU when you happen upon a chain in the ground in your backyard while raking leaves and you are too afraid to pull it up for fear of finding some underground sex dungeon in your backyard left by your home's previous owner.

I wanted to pull it up, but then the thought of some mysterious trap door from beneath the ground flipped me out. I seriously began imagining little girl bones and the Chesterfield County coroner in a backhoe in my backyard. Ugh.

Looking for Narnia

MOM, I thought you said I'd find Narnia. All that's in here are stinkin' tablecloths and board games.

Why we're going to hire someone to clean the gutters

I got scared and instead of helping me, Sloan took pictures.

Gigi and Papa visit the Shrieking Shack

Despite the threat of Hanna, Gigi and Papa (my parents) came to town and took us to one of my favorite restaurants--Bonefish Grill. We discovered here Henry's love of zucchini. In addition to some salmon, lobster, and tuna, he cleared all four of our plates of the zucchini and squash medley garnish.
Henry fell in love with Papa. Much in the same way he prefers his Daddy over me, he prefers Papa to Gigi. I think this is because Gigi and I are always trying to cuddle him, and the men just let him roam around and build blocks with him. It could also be that it was Papa that fed Henry ice cream. Papa also gave Henry all of his zucchini the next night when we went to dinner with my sister's clan at Kan Pai Japanese Steakhouse. It is new to the Short Pump area. All I am saying is that I know Kabuto, I love Kabuto; Kan Pai--you are no Kabuto.

Henry also loved seeing his cousin Isabel at Kan Pai. They both shrieked with delight upon seeing one another. This is a new thing that Henry does--scream for no reason. It is the first truly annoying thing that he has ever done. It's worse than when he tosses his sippy cup at me to let me know it is empty (also a new trick--I'm trying to teach him to say more please, but apparently tossing the sippy across the room is more fun). He shrieks while eating. He shrieks while building towers with his new Duplo blocks (A BIG HIT WITH DADDY TOO!). He shrieks when you change his diaper. He shrieks while riding in his car seat. He shrieks during the benediction at church. (Awesome.)

He also has begun to play with his tongue. I think this is because Isabel loves to roll hers up. Well, Henry can't quite do that yet, so he sticks out his tongue and then holds onto it with his fingers. Then he shrieks. Then he'll make a fish face and then we're back to holding our tongue. And shrieking.

I have a little crush on Sarah...

So I'm not going to talk too much about politics. But there are a couple of general things I want to put out there about the upcoming election.

1. I hate campaign speeches and slogans. I particularly hate when candidates say things like "I am for the children." Is there a candidate running that is against the children?

2. Everyone is talking about change. Isn't that what an election, by nature, is for? Why are you pointing out the obvious to me?

3. Barack Obama will you please stop saying "Yes you can." Yes I can what? I think this is a bit "Vote for Pedro and all your wildest dreams will come true". However, if you are really trying to say "Yes I can have a maid" you have my vote.

4. I'd really like to vote for someone rather than against someone.

5. Let's give it up for women who are smart and beautiful. Michella Obama, Cindy McCain, and Sarah Palin--bringin' sexy back. Not a cankle in sight.

When I think about you I tag myself

My sister sent me one of those quizzes you are supposed to forward and all that jazz. I just love those things. I think it is because a chance to tell you about my favorite person (er, third favorite since Sloan and Henry came along). I stole this one from a friend's blog.

You’re feeling: hungry
To your left: bookcases
On your mind: housework to be done before my parents arrive tomorrow
Last meal included: cheesestick, diet dr. pepper, and a bowl of mini-wheats
You sometimes find it hard to: get out of bed
The weather: hot
Something you have a collection of: antique hobnail glass
A smell that cheers you up: bacon cooking
A smell that can ruin your mood: a diaper pail that needs emptying
How long since you last shaved: 5 hours
The current state of your hair: about 1 inch too short
The largest item on your desk/workspace (not computer): Greater Richmond Street Map book
Your skill with chopsticks: pretty good, can manage rice and udon noodles
Which section you head for first in a bookstore: fiction
Something you’re craving: cool weather and Chicken Curry
Your general thoughts on the presidential race: frustrating--when did everyone become socialists?
How many times have you been hospitalized this year: 0
Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: shower
You’ve always secretly thought you’d be a good: hairdresser
Something that freaks you out a little: slimy things--bugs, snakes, the hair in the shower drain
Something you’ve eaten too much of lately: ground beef (it is all we have left in the freezer)
You have never: seen the movie Schindler's List
You never want to: have a desk job

Labor Day Pics

Labor day was a bit more relaxed, as we merely had my sister's youngest three. The rest of the fam went on a dove hunt. So we took the kids to the pool and the playground by our house.

Henry shows Isabel the fountains at ACAC.
Isabel does not like getting her hair wet. (Typical girly girl.) She spends most of the time at the pool chilling in a chair with her toes in the water.
Jonathan coming down one of the water slides. Thank God for Gortex casts. I'd also like to say that I fell in love with Sloan all over again at the pool on Monday. He went down the slides with the boys which they thought was a blast. He started a trend so that at adult swim, a line of dads formed at the top of the slides.
Isabel shows Henry the ropes on the playground.
The hulk. You say to Isabel--"Isabel, make the face." This is what you get.

We're still alive

If you are my facebook friend, then you know that Sloan and I kept my sister's kids whilst she and Biff went to the Homestead for their 20th anniversary. (If you are not my facebook friend, you should be.) You are thinking, wow, what a great sister. What you should be thinking is--SLOAN AND ELIZABETH ARE SAINTS AND THE BEST SIBLINGS EVER! Why?

My sister has 7 kids.

And they just moved so their house is, well, not the neatest. That is being kind. Sloan likes to say it is the house that crap built. That is not being fair to the house, because as I've written before--the house is absolutely gorgeous. It is that it has all of their stuff in it. It made me kind of itchy. Nine people's things. School books for 6 home schooled kids. 2 drum sets. 1 electric guitar, 2 acoustic. 1 piano. 7 bikes. 3 big wheels. 1 go-cart. 2 kettcars. The world's largest swing set, aptly named the big enchilada. About 18 boxes of legos. 1 rabbit. 3 large boxes of Popsicle sticks that seem to have simultaneously exploded and multiplied. Each meal's dishes filled the dishwasher. We went through 4 gallons of milk over the weekend.

Here is the rundown of kids--
Anderson, 15. Like most teenagers, he is certain that his parents are plotting against him. He also wears cologne. All the time. To the pool.
Caleb, 13. Even more so than his brother, he is sure the world is against him. According to him, he has to do all of the chores around the house while his sisters get to watch "Suite life with Zach and Cody" all day long. I told him that if that we're true, he was doing a horrible job as the house is a mess.
Rachel, 11 going on 21. We couldn't have made it through the weekend without her. She cooks, cleans, and even does diapers. All while talking non-stop.
Rebekah, 9. The perfect little babysitter for Isabel and Henry. So long as she doesn't have to brush her hair or change a diaper.
Joshua, 7 going on 72. He was up, dressed, with socks and shoes on and with brushed hair by 7 each morning.
Jonathan, 5. He is the Master of Disaster, He is on his second broken arm of the summer.
Isabel, 23 months. She is the loudest screamer I've ever heard. In the morning or when you put her down for a nap it sounds as like you are hacking her arm off with a machete.

We're saints. Or crazy. But we learned a lot.

Lesson One. Teenagers are the devil.
It is not that my sister has 7 kids that made the weekend exhausting. (The fact that her bed was uncomfortable and we ended up sleeping with our feet at the headboard didn't help.) No. It is the fact that she has 2 teenagers. Anderson and Caleb rode their bikes to the gas station down the street and managed to break a tail light out of a parked car. Anderson learned to never use the excuse "I got distracted by Caleb" while operating any mode of transportation. He also learned that when calling home to report an accident, the first words out of your mouth should be. "No one is hurt."

Lesson Two. Poopy diapers are effective disciplining tools.
Tired of hearing the older kids call each other stupid and retarded, I put into effect the poopy mouth rule--every time bile comes out of your mouth, you have to change a dirty diaper. I'm not so sure it reduced the mean talk, but I didn't have to change many of Isabel and Henry's diapers.

Lesson Three. Never underestimate a teen's ability to find a loophole.
We were at lunch on Sunday and I was sitting with Anderson and Caleb. They were making fun of one another and I reprimanded them saying, "You two are brothers. You should be blessing one another and building one another up." Their response?

Anderson: Caleb, you're not always annoying.
Caleb: Why thank you, brother. You know, sometimes you don't act like a girl.

Lesson Four. Bill Cosby is right--Kids do say the darnedest things.

Jonathan, on why he doesn't like his new house as much as his old house--"When I jump off the top bunk, I hit my head on the top of the room."

And every night at dinner I'd pose questions. Here they are.

Q1. If you could meet anyone dead or alive, who would it be? And you can't say Jesus.
Anderson: Adam. I'd tell him not to listen to Eve.
Caleb: Jessica Alba.
Rachel: Joe Jonas.
Rebekah: Cole and Dylan Sprouse. (The kids from "Suite life." They are not cute.)
Joshua: Toby Mac.
Jonathan: Tony Hawk.
Sloan: Tom and Jerry.
Elizabeth: Johnny Cash.

Q2. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Anderson: Protein cubes
Caleb: Airheads
Rachel: Sushi
Rebekah: Seafood
Joshua: Chocolate Fountain (This is my favorite answer.)
Jonathan: Bubble gum
Sloan: Lollipop Paint Shop
Elizabeth: Homemade Macaroni and Cheese

Q3. If you could give one gift to the world, what would it be? You can't say world peace.
Anderson: Inexpensive food and clean water.
Caleb: Plasma bombs (Cause this is just what the world needs.)
Rachel: A cure for cancer.
Rebekah: Puppies. Or rabbits.
Joshua: Cookies.
Jonathan: Cool stuff for their room.
Sloan: Roads.
Elizabeth: Cold fusion.

Q4. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Anderson: Professional soccer player or the first man on the women's gymnastic team. (He has a bit of a crush on Nastia)
Caleb: Venom from Spiderman.
Rachel: An actress and a singer.
Rebekah: Veterinarian
Joshua: Ironman
Jonathan: Batman
Sloan: Nightcrawler (one of the Xmen)
Elizabeth: A famous author