A Real Crappy Conversation

It's my own fault.  While at the beach, bathing the kids meant literally hosing them off in the outdoor shower at the Beach House.  (Which worked well for Gracie. We were able to sort of power wash her folds.)  So we needed to bathe the kids.  And because Henry had spent all day locked in his car seat, I let him play with all of his bath toys while I put away the towels and emptied his dop kit.   

Henry:  Mommy?  What's dis?
Me:  Huh?
Henry:  Dis?  (Henry is holding in his hands a large turd.  And I mean LARGE.  And slimy.)
Me:  Oh my gosh.  Henry, that's poop!  Put it down.
Henry:  It's brown. 
Me:  (Searching for the slotted kitchen spoon that found its way to the bathtub.)  Henry put down the poo.  (He starts to smash it into the side of the tub.) But don't smash it.  Here put it in the spoon.  Yuck, Henry.
Henry:  Poopy go in the potty.
Me:  Yes, Henry.  Let's go take a shower wash down in Mommy's shower.  You have poo-water all over you.
Henry:  Henry go poopy in da baftub and Mommy put it in da potty.  Now Henwe go to da wash down.  Poop poop!!
 

People are Strange...

We are on our way back home from the beach.  Despite the fact I'll be sleeping in my own bed tonight and expect my new Droid to be waiting for me, I am a bit sad.  It was nice having nothing to do but be together.  Over the course of the week, Gracie went from wobbling while sitting up to being able to sit up unasisted for entire afternoons.  (Sand is a big help.  So is hour upon hour of tummy time while on the beach.)  She has also begun the backwards scoots and up on all fours gyrating that is a precursor to crawling.  Sloan is trying to show her how to crawl while I am encouraging her to be immobile for as long as possible.  

But, the last bit of beach quotes come mainly from other people, or our reactions to other people.

Overheard while I was standing in line at the Red Box Movie Rental at the Piggly Wiggly (which Henry calls the Pig 'Tore.)  It should be noted that I had to bite my bottom lip and cross my legs in order to refrain from laughing and peeing in my pants.

Woman 1:  Oh my gosh, do they have "Dear John" in?  I just can't wait to watch it. 
Woman 2:  I'm not sure.  Have you seen "The Last Song"?  I just loved it.
Woman 1:  The only thing better than Nicholas Sparks movies are Nicholas Sparks books.  Don't you agree?
Woman 2:  I think Nicholas Sparks is the greatest novelist of the 20th century.

At this I could not contain myself.  I laughed in their faces and tried to disguise it as a cough.  I really wanted to say "You've GOT to be kidding me.  You mean to say Nicholas Sparks is a better writer than Hemingway?  Fitzgerald?  Lee?  I'd even accept Theodor Geitzel.  Heck, I'd even give you John Grisham before Nicholas Sparks."  I find it as a mark of maturity that I said nothing.

*********

Yesterday, at the beach.  I've titled this section "I hold this truth to be self-evident".

Elizabeth:  I just think that if you are over 60, overweight, and have a  hairy stomach with a clearly marked happy trail, you should not wear a bikini.
Sloan:  So you're saying it is okay for me to wear a bikini now since I'm still in my thirties?

Foot problems...

At Maverick Seaside Kithen, in the Pawley's Island Hammock Shops.

Henry: I can't go on the playground; my feet fell off. 
Me:  What?
Henry:  My feet fell off.  Dey on da fwoor.
Sloan:  What?  You just got bloody stumps down there?
Henry (with a puzzled look on his face):  No.  Dey just fall off.  Can you help Henwe put Henwe's feet back on?
Me:  (Looking under the table):  He means his Crocs fell off. 
Henry:  Das what I said!  My cwocs fell off!

My Funny Boys

Yesterday we went to Brookgreen Gardens.  Part botanical sculpture gardens, part zoo, part park.  And great source of entertainment.

Sloan:  One of the great things about having two kids in diapers is that you can rip one in public and just blame it on the kids.

In the butterfly house:
Henry:  I wanna give da butterfly a fist bump. (Which he did.  Right in front of the lady who told us not to touch the butterflies.)

In the aviary:
Sloan:  This place is scary as hell.  It's dark.  We're in a swamp.  In a cage with a bunch of big birds.  Did you see Jurassic Park 3?  It happened in a place like this.

Seeing a fox in the tree:
Henry: Would you eat it in a box?  Would you eat it with a fox?  I do not like dem Sam I am. 

(And just as a side note, foxes really smell.)

And it is quite possible that Henry is ruining Gracie for my future son-in-law.  No less than 30 times during breakfast this morning he told Gracie, "Gwacie I wuv you."  Sometimes he even is quite militant about it.  "Gracie!  I wuv you.  Do you hear me?  I wuv you!"

Heavy Artillery

It should be noted that as soon as I said the following, Sloan said, "Well, I guess we know what today's blog quote will be..."

Elizabeth:  Tonight I'll put cheerios in the potty so that you and Daddy can practice shooting at them with your pee-pee guns, which are your penises.

B.O. and the Time Bandit (Yesterday's Quotes)

Two Quotes. 

And just the general statement that in a public place we took our son's shirt off so he could have a Fudgecicle.  Which is just about the only icecream in those ice cream stands that does not contain Red40.  Oh well, when in Myrtle Beach, do as the Myrtle Beachians do and all that jazz.

Quote 1.
Getting out of the car--finally at the beach.
Sloan:  Dear Lord, do you smell that?  What is that smell?  It's horrible.  Oh my gosh, I think it's me.  Smell me.  Smell my stomach.  I haven't smelled this bad since playing sports in high school.  Smell me; it's bad.  (Lifting his shirt)  Smell my stomach.  Smell my stomach!!!  Dammit woman, smell my stomach!

Quote 2.
While eating Alaskan Snow Crab legs for dinner.
Elizabeth:  I like to think Andy Hillstrand has touched what I'm putting in my mouth.

Automatic Out of Office Reply

It's official!

We are on vacation.  We were so ready that we left town and are staying in a hotel in the booming metropolis of Smithfield, NC.  Henry is bouncing and  not sleeping on his "magic" bed (aka pull out couch) and Gracie's bed is in the bathroom.  Although she is rolling about on the bed next to me.

We are going to be at the beach a week.  A year ago, while on this very vacation, we learned we were not pregnant with Q and Tenderoni and began the journey of adoption.  As I type this, Henry has left the magic bad and is giggling and cooing with Gracie.  He just wrapped his arms around her shoulders (which makes her crinkle her nose) and said, "Gwacie I wuv you and you tink I am da bees knees."  Other then the sudden onset of fear that I'll be getting no sleep tonight because of the 2 crumb snatchers whose Daddy has invited them to sleep with us, this is pure bliss.

Also, instead of posting, I will attempt to simply select one quote of the day.

Today's quote was during a rousing game of hotel hide and seek.  Sloan was hiding under the covers of the king size bed.  Henry was counting to ten.

Sloan (laughing, from under the covers):  I'm pretty sure this is going to end with my balls getting stepped on.

Real Chinese Conversation

A friend of mine has a recurring item on her blog called "Real Conversations".  To be truthful, I've never actually met this friend.  She lives in China, is a blog buddy, and the sister of a "brick and morter" friend here in Richmond.  (I think I may have just coined a new term.  In the 21st century we have cyber-friends, facebook friends, and brick and morter friends.)  So in honor of my Chinese buddy's blog, I mention to you now the following Real Conversation.  Or not so much conversation as declaration that makes me think of China.  Or at least menus at Chinese resteraunts.

Henry (to Gracie):  Gracie, I wuv you super big huge a lot.

Henry is a big, big boy

If you ask Henry if he is a big boy, he will emphatically tell you, "No.  Henwe a big, big boy."  He got this terminology from Thomas and the Big Big Bridge.  More and more I realize, with both pride and sadness, that he is growing up so fast and needing me less and less. 

No.  We're not out of diapers.  We hopped off the potty train after the 10 hour car ride to Florida and a bout with bum strep.  As in, Henry had strep in his nether regions.  But other than that, I feel like I am the parent of a twelve year old.

Yesterday, he refused to wear what I picked out for him for church.  It was a pair of madras overalls with a little tug boat applique on the chest.  He informed us that it was a baby outfit and he needed to wear pants. 

He can pretty much dress himself.  Of course, when doing so, he will always put on a Thomas T-shirt, elastic waistband shorts, and his "Dragon" crocs.  (He has a pair of the World Cup Soccer crocs.  He picked them out himself at the shoe store.  Apparently, we're rooting for Korea.)

Not only does he not need to be reminded to clean up his room after naptime, he can create his own Thomas train track scenarios with no help.  And we're not talking simple circles.  He's using Tidmouth shed, a cave, the aquaducts, and the turn table. 

He prays for the meal.  Okay, so he doesn't use verbs.  He justs says, "Jesus, food.  Amen."  But God knows what he is talking about. He pushes in his chair after a meal.  He takes his fork and big boy cup to the sink without having to be asked. 

He has a favorite Bible story which he acts out at least once a day--Daniel and the Lion's Den.  He will not, however, act it out upon request.  It is just something he does when he is playing by himself and I overhear the following coming from the family room.  "Daniel pway to God.  King say (in angry voice) "No, pway to me!"  Daniel sweep with Lions.  God make Lions sleepy.  ROAR.  ROAR.  ROAR. King say "Wake up Daniel, It's morning!!  God save you!"  Now sing Jesus Love Me."  And then he proceeds to sing Jesus Loves Me.  I love that he tells himself to sing.  It is the most adorable thing I have ever heard in my life.  Cuter than a box of puppies, I tell you.

He stays with me in stores with little redirection.  (And by little redirection I mean that about every three minutes I have to say, "Henry, stay with Mommy.")  He refuses to ride in the front of the cart anymore and when I went to our new Martin's store and saw that they had no car-carts, I was very afraid.  I reminded Henry, "You need to stay near Mommy.  Stay where you can see me.  If you can't see me, then I can't see you and not seeing you makes me sad."  Of course, this makes the shopping last longer because he is the slowest grocery shopper on the planet.  He has to touch every item like he is Adrian Monk. He also likes to help push the cart, never mind that he cannot see over its top.  In the cereal aisle, he looked at a box of Fruit Loops like a dog eyeing a T-bone.  Upon the reminder that red makes him sick, he said, "Then can we get Cheerios?"

Upon getting home from the grocery store this afternoon, he said, "Mommy, it STILL raining.  Can Henwe put on PJs and look at books in bed?"  I hugged him so tight he coughed, saying, "Henry, that is a wonderful idea!"  And then, after rest time, I tought him how to play hide and seek.  He loved it.  Of course, each and every time he hid beneath a blue blanket, but still, he has reached the age where we can play games.

He helped me to put Gracie to bed tonight.  He rubbed her back and sang her "Jesus loves me" after I read the two of them Angelina Ballerina.  And before I put her in her crib, he hugged her, gave her a zerbert, and said, "I wuv you Gracie."  She is the only person in the family who gets unsolicited declarations of love. 

And he has started making up his own prayers.  Usually, I say something and then he repeats it.  Not so tonight.  This was my son's prayer tonight.

Me:  Dear Jesus
Henry: Dear Jesus
Me:  Thank you for today.
Henry:  Tank you today.
Me:  Thank you for Mommy.
Henry:  Tank you for Thomas.
Me:  Thank you for Mommy.
Henry:  Tank you for Percy.  (Giggle)
Me:  Thank you for Mommy.
Henry:  Tank you for Wall-E.  (More giggles)
Me:  Thank you for Daddy?
Henry:   Tank you for Pwincess and da Fwog.
Me:  Thank you for baby Grace?
Henry:  (screaming)  TANK YOU FOR GWACIE!!! SHE IS PRETTY!!!
Me:  (laughing)  And please keep Daddy safe in North Carolina.
Henry:  Daddy safe.  Pwease have fun at beach.  AH-MEN.
Me:  Amen.

Me:  You sort of went off book tonight Henry.  That's cool.
Henry:  I know.  Henwe cool.

My little apple, you have not fallen far from the tree.

Kitchen Pics

Sorry if you are my FB friend and you've already seen the after shots of the kitchen. The only problem with the spankin' new kitchen is that is sort of makes the rest of my house look like a dump and I feel compelled to keep it sparkling clean.

 View from the foyer.  We will be replacing the carpets with Zebra ones I found (thanks to Angie and my sister) at Ballard Designs. 

Best thing about the new farmhouse sink--makes cleaning babies and dishes so easy and rather enjoyable.  Although, the touch technology faucet is a bit tricky when your baby keeps touching it at odd times to make the spray go everywhere...

First breakfast in the new kitchen.  Henry is stoked to be back in his chair to eat Mini-Wheats with Gracie.

New pantry and magnetic chalkboard already in use. 

We're still moving into it.  I'm sure I'll reorganize things a thousand times.  The church's preschool yard sale is benefitting from the kitchen purge.  Who needs 8 spatulas?  And four muffin tins?  And really, do we think I'm ever going to use an Ice Cream Maker?  And with my instant hot spicket, I got rid of the ice tea maker.  The instant hot is money.  Have drunk 6 cups of hot tea today.  Perfect for a yucky rainy day. 

Am I a bad mom?

There was an "art gallery" show Wednesday night at Henry's preschool.  They hung up some of the kids artwork on the halls of the church and I'm guessing there were refreshments served. 

Am I horrible that I think that is ridiculous?  He's three.  And we have loads of his stuff on our refrigerator. There are gallery shows here all the time and I can attend them in my pjs.

We did not go.  We went out for pizza.  It was $6 large pizza night at Angelo's and they have fish in an aquarium.  And Sprite.

Happy Hoppy Mother's Day

We got Gracie a Johnny Jump Up. 

Actually, it is called a Jump and Jive because it has this pad that she jumps on that makes music.  She loves to jump and jump and jump.  Take no mind that she is not smiling in the picture.  She gets upset if you take her out of it.  Henry loves to watch her and dance around her and make music.  He calls it "Gracie's dance party".  And yes, he is the one who decorated her with the pink snake.

The kids brought me a Diet Dr. Pepper and treats in bed. Henry was yelling, "Happy Mommy Birthday!  Happy Mommy Birthday!"   It was pretty much the first time I'd held them in awhile as I've been down again with this stupid sore throat.  (I woke up Friday am coughing up blood with my throat almost swollen shut.  The Doctor said it was a good thing I have no tonsils or my throat would have been completely shut. You could see my lymph nodes from across the room and I was having trouble hearing.  Sloan woke up at 5am to me googling my condition on my laptap while in bed.  I wrote on a pad and handed it to him...I'm going to the doctor.  I think I have throat cancer.  I do not have throat cancer, WebMD. Apparently, the virus I had turned into several ulcers in my throat with were bloody and infected.  Yummy.  But armed with Lidocaine gargle, a dospack and a shot of steroids, antibiotics, and painkillers for both day and nighttime in both pill and liquid form, I am now at about 70%.) 

We went to Fleming's for lunch.  Henry told the waiter we were having steak for Mommy's special lunch and he told anyone who would listen that red makes him sick. 

And how about them parenting skills on Mother's Day?  She danced til she could dance no more...

End of Week One

We had some set backs. 

It took awhile for them to move the lightbox for the new chandelier. 

And I decided to repaint the trim white. 

But the walls and trim have been painted.  The walls are Heartthrob and the trim is called Nude.  So yeah, there's a nude heartthrob in my kitchen.  Not unlike the nude blonde that is painted in the dining room.

Beneath the chairrail we've made it into magnetic chalkboard.  Sloan is a bit peeved that we now have a Georgia kitchen.  Oh well, my friend Meg and my cousin Jake will like it.

But the biggest set backs are that they didn't install the sink correctly and so they weren't able to make the granite template.  It needs to be lowered an inch and a half.  They're installing the tile floors tomorrow at 8am, so they are coming to lower the sink tomorrow at 7.  Which would be fine if my kids were normal and woke up early, but we've trained them to sleep in.  And they also need to reset the top cabinets.  They aren't flush with the ceiling and are unlevel.  Can you see how they are wonky? 

But still, isn't it going to be grand?

Cranky is a crane, not a little boy...

A sorority sister of mine's recent facebook status was that she was moving into Meltdown City.  I responded that I owned a timeshare in Meltdown City.  But folks, we haven't visited the timeshare lately.  Or, rather, we haven't visited the three year old's timeshare.  Adult meltdowns are par for the course in Elizabethtown.  Volitile weather is one of the things Etown is known for.

We've been roughly a week on our super serious no RED40 diet.  And while I do not want to overstate the matter, Henry is a different boy.  Or rather, the real Henry has stood up.  The eczema on his arms and ruddy cheeks are pretty much gone.  His heiny no longer looks like the flag of Japan. He has consistently napped every afternoon and we have in no way been playing on playgrounds more to induce this change.  I no longer hear him chatting to himself in his room at 10pm.  He's zonked out by 8:30, having been in bed since his 7:30 bedtime.  He no longer freaks out when it is time to put up Lego Thomas and have dinner.  He may not be jazzed about it, but he doesn't fall apart. 

At the playground, when a little girl stole his sand shovel, he didn't push or shove, just said, "Hey, that Henwe's.  Say pwease."  She said please and he handed the shovel to her, promptly telling her to say thank you. 

Yes, he is still a three year old.  Tonight, we had dinner at Auntie Ann's and she made a special Cookies and Creme pudding for him.  He was excited about the pudding.  In theory.  Upon seeing it was not chocolate pudding, he snapped "No.  No thank you!"  But he did not throw it, yell at Ann to take it away or fall down.  When asked a second time if he wanted the pudding, sure, he was annoyed.  Hadn't he turned it down just ten minutes ago?

Simply put, he is less irritable.  Not more mature.  But it IS something.  A noticeable change. 

I've also begun trying to say Yes to him as much as possible.  Not to spoil him.  Just that the other day I was praying about how I could love him better and be more compassionate toward him and I thought about what his day must be like.  He wakes up and he's not allowed out of his room until an adult comes to get him.  And by this point, he's been sleeping in his own mess for 12 hours.  He doesn't get to pick his own clothes.  Or his own breakfast.  Or what to do for the day.  He wants juice to drink but is given milk.  He wants a second cup of milk but is given water.  He wants steak for lunch but is served hot dog.  (This was his complaint today at lunchtime.  I can relate.)  He wants to look at books but we have to go to the grocery store.  And yes, I know that this is just a part of life.  Learning to handle not getting what you want.  However, when I'm tired, my default answer is no. I need to listen to him more.  He's not a baby.  His opinion, while not the only determining factor in my decision making paradigm, does matter.  He has a voice and wants to be heard.  That in as much as he is sometimes going to have get in line with my schedule, I need to adjust my schedule to meet his needs as well.  He now gets to pick his breakfast.  Praise Jesus he wants Cheerios, a banana, and an Apple Cinammon Zbar.  He doesn't want me to give him his medicine.  Imagine my surprise when he put the Nasonex correctly up his nose and dosed himself and promptly downed his little cup of Zyrtec.  And when we got home from Ann's tonight, he even reminded me he needed to eat his "Singuware" candy. 

It may not be much.  But even small steps are long strides when you are walking in a three year old's shoes. 

Especially when he wears a size 11 shoe.

Demo Derby

My dining room.  That shiny thing on the right is the fridge. 

After eating breakfast in here, Henry said, "Mommy, it smart to move milk close to da table."  Thanks for having a good attitude, buddy!

This is my current living room.  Not much living being done in here. 

Today's demo was super noisy.  They had thought they'd be removing only three layers of super cool vinyl floors. False.  6 layers. 

Groovy faux slate vinyl found at the bottom of the foyer.  Didn't think to get a pick of the last layer in the kitchen.  It was uber 70s orange, green, and yellow, faux Mexican vinyl.  Even uglier than the version of this we had in the kitchen in our old condo--a feat I once thought impossible.

Being held hostage upstairs in Mommy's room.  And to answer all of your questions...

Yes, Gracie is trying to roll under the bed.  She rolls around everywhere as though she was Tina Turner on her Proud Mary tour.

Yes, That is the little round table I had when I was a little kid. 

Yes, Henry is pointing at the camera telling me not to take his picture.

Yes, I took the picture anyways.

And, finally, yes, those are the ugliest curtains known to man in the background.  Courtesy of the previous owner.

Shockingly, both of my kiddos were still able to nap. Despite the loud banging.  This is shocking as G is teething and not normally a good napper.  (Who cares?  She is never cranky and sleeps from 7:30pm-9am!!!)  But halfway through Henry's nap I heard yelling from H's room.  "Mommy!!  Mommy!!!  I need you."  "Yes, Henry, what do you need?"  "I know Mommy sick, but I need kiss.  Can you kiss my head?"  "Yes, I can kiss the top of your head."  "Now  kiss my feet?"  "Yes, I can kiss your feet."  "I wuv you, Mommy.  Henwe can rest now." 

BE STILL MY HEART.

The end of day one.

Tomorrow the painters are supposed to come to paint the walls and ceiling.  But we discovered that the previous light fixture was hung askew and the light box needs to be moved and a new hole cut.  My contractor is trying to get someone in there Wednesday, and I haven't been able to get in touch with the painter to see if he can paint the walls tomorrow and the ceiling on Thursday, pushing the cabinet install to Friday.  But my painter is awesome, so I'm praying this doesn't turn into a whammie. 

Oh, and where is Sloan during all of this?  Playing 36 holes of golf in the annual YoungLife Golf tournament. 

Please don't think ill of me when I smirk if he is sore tomorrow...

RIP Old Kitchen--BEFORE PICTURES

What started as a little leak meant that we needed to replace the floors. 

Which meant we decided to replace the island and light fixture. 

Which then made us decide to get granite countertops.  Which of course would mean that the old cabinets would look horrible.  So now, new kitchen.  Gutting it all save the appliances. 

They come tomorrow to demo.  Tuesday and Wednesday they repaint the kitchen a color called "Hearthrob"--a red that has more blue in it than the red that is in there now, with magnetic black chalkboard beneath the chairrail.  Thursday they install the cabinets and white ceramic farmhouse sink, complete with my no touch faucet, and soap and instant hot dispensers and measure for the countertops.  Friday they hang the new light fixture and electrify the island.  Over the weekend, Sloan and I hang up the closetmaid stuff for the new pantry.  Monday and Tuesday the lay the new tile floor in the kitchen and foyer.  And then hopefully, by the end of the week, they come in and put in the countertops and install the hardware. 

So this weekend was spent emptying everything and organizing the contents from the pantry, kitchen and foyer into our living and dining rooms.  Who knew we had soups that expired in 2006.  Which means that we moved with them.  But it has been a good time to clear out all of the Red40 foods and meds.  And bonus with the Tylenol, Motrin, Benedryl recall--we'll get coupons and then get Dye Free. 

All the while I am the sickest I've ever been in recent memory.  I've been the to the doctor twice and he's crossing his fingers that the nasty virus I have doesn't develop into pneumonia.  My throat feels like I'm swallowing razor blades, I've got a nasty productive cough, and get tired easily.  Yesterday, I thought I was getting better.  I told Sloan, "You know, I think the worst may have past.  I can now swallow without having to brace myself."  His response?  "Um, perhaps it could just be that the Hydrocodone you took 30 minutes ago is starting to kick in."  Perhaps.  Today I've been ok so long as I keep taking the non-narcotic pain meds to Dr. gave me. 

Fingers crossed that we don't all kill each other shoved into the family room and dining room, that I don't get the kids sick, and that they are able to keep to the time table.  I'll post pictures of the progress. 

And just to warn my Richmond friends, the Phillips family may be inviting themselves over to see you. 

I'll bring the chubby baby, you put the kettle on.