A Real Conversation

Clearly, my son is not also reading the children's version of 7.  Or making any plans to give up HFCS anytime soon...

Henry:  You know what, Mom? 
Me:  No.  What?
Henry:  I like cupcakes.
Me:  You do?  I did not know that.
Henry:  My favorite thing about cupcakes is eating them.
Me:  That makes sense. 
Henry:  They are a good food to have at parties.
Me:  Yes.  You are right.  Cupcakes are good to have at parties.
Henry:  Chocolate cupcakes are my favorite.  With chocolate icing.  But, you know, sometimes I have to eat cupcakes that aren't my favorite.  Sometimes I have to eat yellow cupcakes with white icing. 
Me:  I'm pretty sure you don't HAVE to eat the cupcakes.
Henry:  Yes I do.  If there are cupcakes there, I have to eat them.
Me:  I understand the logic, but again, you don't have to eat the yellow cupcakes if you don't want them.
Henry:  YES I DO!!! 
Me:  Okay.  Okay.  You can eat the yellow cupcakes even though they aren't your favorite.
Henry:  Wait. a. minute.  We have cupcakes?  Where are the cupcakes?
Me:  We don't have any cupcakes. 
Henry:  BUT YOU SAID I COULD EAT THE YELLOW CUPCAKES!!! 
Me:  If I let you play with your Leapad will you stop talking about the cupcakes we do not have?
Henry:  Yes!


(Fifteen minutes later, screaming, because he likes to wear headphones while he plays with his Leapad)

Henry (to no one in particular): I BET IF I ATE THREE CUPCAKES I WOULD GET SICK.

Fridge Food

Turns out, a lot of the restaurants I frequent are fast food.  I was thinking fast food would mean "No drive-thrus."  But my version of the council made a judgment that if there was no waitress, it was fast food.  Restaurants that our are typical go-tos that now don't foot the bill are McAlister's, Jimmy John's, Qdoba, Panera, and this barbeque place called "Q". So when Sloan came downstairs after a morning of work yesterday and offered to take the whole family out to get BBQ, I died a little inside.  Which tells me I am one of the four most spoiled people on the planet.  The other three being the folks who live with me.  I went to the refrigerator to look at the "fridge food" I could eat for lunch. 

For me, eating "fridge food" is something for, well, I can't really type this without feeling horrible, but "fridge food" is for other people.  Not for me.  Because typically, what is in my fridge is the following--Dora yogurts, cheese sticks, a rotting onion, a fogotten bag of salad best sold by two weeks ago, leftovers from that time I attempted from scratch chicken cordon bleu (epic fail), and a baggie of turkey pepperoni.  Oh, and six containers of reduced fat Sour Cream, because apparently I'm incapable of going to the grocery store without buying sour cream.  It's no big shock I don't find that appetizing. 

Then it occurred to me that I was, in fact, the person who purchased said products that went into the fridge.  That as an adult, I could fill that fridge up with whatever I wanted, so long as it didn't contain High Fructose Corn Syrup.  That maybe if I bought yummy things to top that bag of salad, it wouldn't have turned into brown water.  (Briefly I thought about buying an actual head of lettuce and chopping it up.  Baby steps, folks.)

I know some of you people have known about this adulthood thing for awhile.  Adulthood doesn't come naturally to me.  I'm still flabergasted that I'm old enough to have two kids, much less to have been out of high school for over 15 years.  I mean, I still count  8 am as waking up at the butt crack of dawn. Last night I slept in a Care Bears Tshirt circa 1998.

So this morning, at the grocery store, I bought real adult food.  And for lunch, I made an adult salad.  I know my friend who is doing 7 who has actually reduced her intake to 7 foods will see this as extravagant.  I see this as my way of getting Pita Delite without having to drive to Greensboro.  So glad Gracie decided to toss in a few cans of sliced black olives by surprise.  And it'd be very anti-7 to waste them...

Oh, My Margaret, Little Margaret Grace

This girl is sweet as pie.  She loves to kiss and cuddle, particularly her Daddy.  She talks ALL the time.  Sometimes she even uses words.  If she is really emphatic, she'll use words and her entire body. 
Say, perhaps, she wants more milk.  First, she'll bring me her empty sippy cup.  To which I'll say, "Oh, Grace, you have an empty sippy cup."  Then she'll start signing "more".  I'll say, "Oh,  you want more.  More of what?"  Then it is full body signing, jumping up and down, saying "Mo, mo, mo!!!"  Were I to ask if she wanted more juice, she would throw the back of her hand up to her forehead and say, "No, no, no!"  and then she would once again start jumping, chanting "Mo mo mo!"  So I say, "Oh, you want more milk?" at which point, she chips "Yes" and gently tosses me her cup.
She also says the following words (yes, it's a long list): Momma, Dadda, Budder (brother), Aimee, more, up, down, dog, monkey, duck, NO!, yes, hi! (and dang it you better wave at her when she waves at you!), poopy, diaper, jump, ball, moo, woof, quack, shoe, truck, choo choo, baby, share, mine, juice (although, to be clear, she says "Jews" and I really hope no one is offended by that), cracker, cookie, book, chair, hug, kiss, thank you, please, and done.

I've taken to changing the tune of the folk song "Eliza Jane" and changing the words to Margaret Grace.  We like to hold hands and dance around the family room as I sing, "Come my love and go with me, Little Margaret Grace, come my love and go with me, little Margaret Grace!"  Henry is more of a willing dancer, holding hands and sashaying around the room with me, while Grace prefers to freestyle.  And sometimes she just wants to hold Henry's hands and not mine, which makes for dancing in a cirlce kinda hard.  So we just promenade in a wonky line.
She also is a fan of just jumping up and down.  And has been for awhile.  In fact, she can get more air than her brother.  And I'm not talking that whole body seizure that is most toddlers jumping a piddly quarter inch off of the ground: my baby gets hang time.  

 She likes to put things away.  If she sees shoes laying out around the house, she will quickly take them and put them in the shoe cabinet in the foyer.  She also, without being asked, is quick to put her empty sippy cup in the sink.  When she finishes her meal, she lets you know by waving at you (one half of the all done sign) and then handing you her plate.  It doesn't matter if you are still eating or if she still has a pile of untouched green beans on her plate, if she hands you her plate--you should take it.  If you don't take it, she will slowly and carefully, one by one, take each and every item off of her plate.  But not to worry, because then, just as methodically, she will neatly rearrange it back on her plate.
She prefers to simply carb load.  Gone are the days when she would eat any and everything I feed her.  Now that she is self-feeding and eating everything we eat, she is more picky.  It used to be that if we were having steak of fish or something chewy, I'd also serve her sliced turkey.  At one lunch, because I was multi-tasking and not really paying attention, and just handing her more turkey to keep her quiet while I  Facebooked cleaned the kitchen, she ate a half pound of sliced turkey.  Now she has gone on turkey strike. (Hmm, wonder why?)  But she loves rice (brown, curry, Mexican, white, fried), yogurt, Cheerios, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Oatmeal squares, peanut butter, apples, pears, bananas, french fries, strawberries, cheese, spinach pizza, chips and salsa, quesadillas, pasta (both with and without sauce), taco meat, McDonald's chicken nuggets (don't even think about getting her to eat a Chick-fil-A nugget--it looks far too much like actual chicken!), quinoa, bacon, any and all types of Girl Scout cookies, macaroni and cheese, avacado, and crackers.  I promise she gets served vegetables at every dinner and most lunches.  I got really excited the other night when we were having steak, potatoes, and sauteed zuchini and squash.  But no, she was just dipping her zuchinni in the A1 sauce and then sucking it off.  And she is too young to enforce the same rules as Henry.  For Henry, we have the "No, thank you" bite rule.  He has to take one bite of everything on his plate before he can say "No, thank  you".  Last night, I tried to tell Grace that a green bean was like a green french fry and she saw right through it.  So yeah, a lot of nights she just eats rice at dinner and then cries as she sees Henry eating his dessert. 

 And while she is super extra sweet when she is sweet, if you tell her no, she jumps up and down and beats her chest while screaming "No! No! No!"  It is not unlike a gorilla.  No idea where she gets this willful streak from.  (Though my mother tells me she's seen this move before in a little girl...) 
Sometimes she'll even laugh at me when I tell her no.  So I try not to poke the bear. 
And should you be her older brother and kindly ask to take a turn at a toy (to which she will respond, "NO! NO! NO!), and then you take the toy anyways, prepare for total meltdown that you'd swear he poked her with a steak knife.  But she can stop the meltdown on a dime which tells me she is almost as good as her Momma at manipulation.  So Grace, be warned, challenge accepted.

She is loyal.  She will go easily into nurseries and play well with others, but upon seeing me to come get her, she jumps and leaps into my arms and snuggles her curls into my neck.  She adores her Daddy most of all and loves to smother him with kisses.  And sometimes while playing, she'll just randomly go up to Henry and give him kisses.  She'll kiss his arm, his knee, his toes.  This makes Henry fall on the floor with laughter and then they are both lost to giggling for at least ten minutes.
She is also a big fan of blowing kisses.  Big fan. 
And I am her biggest fan.

Oh, my darling, Margaret Grace, you make our lives extraordinary.  Thanks be to God for your sweet life!

Techno-Parenting

As I type this, I am sitting at the dinner table.   I actually cooked tonight--meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas.  (Write it down.)  Henry just said, "Dang it.  Dang it, Gracie stuck" because I literally just had to shake the bumbo seat off her fat body.  (Yes.  He says "Dang it."  Perhaps this is the phrase I should have given up for lent...)
So why am I blogging at the dinner table?  Why is Sloan facebooking on his Blackberry?  Because we have a little boy who won't even try his dinner.*  Not even with the opportunity to dip it in kethcup.  He has, however, eaten 4 spoonfuls of ketchup.  We're not even telling him he has to clean his plate.  He just has to try one bite of each item.  He refuses.  Sloan tried to feed him a spoonful of mashed taters and he drooled it out.  Pit.  E.  Ful.  I'm not trying to be that psyhco mom who makes her kid eat stuff, it is just that I know that he will like all of the things on his plate if he only breaks down and tries them.  We've told him we will sit at the table and wait until he tries a bite of each until it is bedtime.  If he hasn't tried his dinner, there will be no Thomas or Lightning McQueen stories.  Just toothbrushing and then lights out.


But thanks to wifi, a new laptop, and a chubby bunny now sitting in my lap, waiting until your kid eats his dinner just got a whole lot easier.

*I blame my mother for this.  She prayed I would have children like me.  When I was a kid, I could go days without breaking down. My mom would serve me the same food over and over until it rotted.  I will not be serving him meatloaf for breakfast. I seriously never ate cucumbers until college out of spite. Stupid. Cucumbers are awesome. 

Because Lionel Richie is Da Bomb

*******Warning.  This is the premier post for one of Elizabethtown's newest blog contributors:  Gracie Phillips.  She found out Henry has posted before and also that her one true love Grayson was a blogger and she wanted in.  The following comments do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions held in Elizabethtown, but are the sole property of the aforementioned Gracie Phillips.*****************

Hello!  Is it me you're looking for?

I would like to take a pause to tell you that I am three months old now, people, and so I have some wisdom to share.  The first is that I have discovered a way to get what I want in terms of wardrobe--and it is easy like Sunday morning, yo.  I am writing this down so my teenage self will remember--when Mom dresses you in something you don't want to wear, poop in it.  And I mean really grunt and groan if you have to.  Get that poo all the way up your back.  Don't be afraid of the poop.  Who cares if it collecting in the bottom of your tights or gets in your hair?!  Whining is for amateurs.  If you really want to drive the point home, poo as soon as your diaper has been changed.  If you poo enough, if it is really stuck on you, you will get a bath.  And bathtime is what I like to call Awesome time!  Am I right?

My mom wanted to take my three month picture in this "G is for Girl" shirt and giraffe jeans my Aunt Pam gave me.  Don't get me wrong.  I look super chill in this outfit.  The jeans have a giant pink bow at the waist.  It is just that, well, I really wanted something a bit more girly for the photo shoot, seeing as I am three times a lady.    So I pooped on my shirt.  Not my pants, mind you, but my shirt.  Because I like to see Mom be confused.  So then Mom changed me into this little bunny outfit with purple leggings.  Also cute, but not the look I was going for.  So I pooped on them before we even got on the matching cardigan.  And then I looked at Mom and said, "Ha Ha Ha!"  Mom said because I am young I can get away with such blatant acts of disrespect, but sooner or later she would drop the hammer and that laughing at her would not be tolerated.  Whatevs, peeps. 

All that being said, I would, however, not suggest pooping this often for a week.  I got so good at pooping that I kind of have forgotten how not to.  I kind of like to poop during every bottle.  And everytime I sneeze.  Mommy calls it "poop soup". She had stuck me on some type of probiotic junk.  This apparently did not stop my pooping so she called the doctor and now it is Pedialyte for me.  Now she is going to starve me.  Maybe this is what her dropping the hammer looks like?  She and brother get to have pizza and meet Auntie Robin at Palani Drive and I'm stuck with unflavored Pedialyte. 

Which brings me to my second bone to pick with the 'rents--my weight.  You see, I like to eat.  I like to eat A LOT.  As in every four to five hours, and sometimes every three in the daytime, I like to have 7 or 8 ounces of formula.  I have been getting better about sleeping all night long.  I sleep through the night now about half of the time.  I never sleep through the night when it is Daddy's turn to get up with me.  Mommy thinks it is because I love her the best.  It is because I think Daddy is very handsome and he lets me watch shows like Modern Marvels.  Mommy justs sits with me in the dark and says things like "Night time is for sleeping".  I swear I've even seen her nod off mid bottle.  I really question her parenting skills. 

Also, I would like to take this opportunity to set the record straight.  I'm not fat; I'm thick.  It's a cultural thing.  So please, could you stop calling me "chubby bunny", "chunk-style", "chunkaliscous", "Mommy's little Sumo wrestler", or "Buddha".  My preferred nickname is "Brickhouse".  Because I am mighty mighty and I like to let it all hang out.

Shake it down, shake it down now.

47

The number of laps around his room it took for Henry to "run" off his pee pee diaper tonight.  Having already commited to sitting on the floor, pajamas in hand, I was too tired to wrangle him.  This was after an afternoon where instead of a nap Henry ripped all of the pop-ups out of a book, emptied his humidifier onto the floor and proceeded to attempt a clean up (I'm assuming) by dumping his entire hamper of dirty clothes on top of it, and decorated his newly changed sheets with a tube of Desitin. 

But the good news is that I am so blissfully baby tired that I find all of this hilarious.  (Except the having to change the sheets again.)  But still, pretty darn funny and totally worth the hour of sleep I snuck in this afternoon while Grace napped.

Grace is doing well.  Since being home from the hospital, she has gained about a pound and a half.  I'm guessing this because last Wednesday, when I took Henry to the Dr for Croop, she had gained a pound.  She has begun to thicken up and I'm guessing that by Thanksgiving she'll have completely traded in her old man legs for yummy chunky Turkey thighs.  And her cheeks are beginning to fill out.  Everyone who meets her for the first time is amazed by how tiny she is.  But she's a beast compared to how she was when we first met her.  Probably because in true Phillips fashion, the girl likes the grub and is averaging 24 ounces of the high calorie formula a day. 

She is doing well with her meds and we hope to have her completely weaned off of the Methadone by December.  She has only had one rough night--this past Saturday night--where she was awake for around 6 hours, cranky, needing to be held, and too amped up to eat--which in turn made her franticly hungry.  Finally, around 3 am, I gave her .05 mL extra of the Methadone, which calmed her down enough to eat 5 ounces and then fall asleep.  I've never been more pissed about sin in the world as I was that night.

Other than driving me a bit bonkers, Henry is very sweet with Grace.  He enjoys rubbing her head, wiggiling her piggy toes (wee wee wee), teaching her her body parts (probably because I totally forgot to teach him where his nose was), and helping Mommy burp her.  He also is quick to cover her with a blanket whenever she cries.  I'm trying to teach him not to put the blanket on her face, but also recognize that he really is being quite sweet.  I do miss the just sitting around and holding your babyness that is having your first child.  I feel a bit guilty the amount Grace ends up in her swing, bouncy, or shoved into a sling across my chest.  But I suppose this is the nature of being the youngest.  Hey, I was the youngest in my family and I turned out...ok, maybe this is a problem.

 A note about why the blog posts are few and far between.  I try to only be on the computer either during naptime or at night when Sloan is out of town.  Well, I've been sleeping during Henry's naptime or simply cuddling Grace and tonight is the first night that Sloan has gone out of town for work.  There's also the knowledge that I am so very tired.  This morning I wore my bedroom slippers to bible study and while I led my small group in prayer, I was a total prayer hog.  This wasn't because I'm super spiritual, it was because I was afraid that if I didn't keep talking I'd totally fall asleep. 

Also, I tried uploading some extra photos, but blogger is doing something weird. I'll try again tomorrow for a photo only post while the Pickle is at preschool. 

The one thing Chocolate can't cure

There is not enough chocolate pudding in the world to make up for my son's breath. And the training toothpaste for toddlers is just about worthless. When you've eaten a shrimp and chorizo burrito and dug raw purple onions out of your mom's salad that is dressed with Garlic Expressions vinaigrette, you need more than cocoa and baking soda to get out the stink. Having no fresh mint in the house for the boy to chew on, the pickle went to bed with breath that resembled hot garbage.

And yes, I DO think Henry has unusual tastes for a 2 yr old. He loves chorizo. Loves raw onion. Loves salmon, mahi mahi, and crab. Loves steak. Drinks the Ginger Dressing from Kabuto straight out of the bowl, the giant spoon taking far too long. But do not fear, he also has never met a hot dog he didn't devour. At the mere mention of a chicken nugget, he clucks like a chicken. And this morning, at breakfast, when faced with a bowl of cheerios, he looked at the bowl, then at me, then back at the bowl. He pushed it away, saying, "No cheer-o. Co puff."

A Pig says Oink

Henry and I just split a pizza.

Down the middle--4 slices for each of us.

Now granted, it was a thin crust California Pizza Kitchen White Pizza. A pizza that, if forced to, I could eat entirely on my own. A pizza that I have, in the past, eaten entirely on my own without having to be forced. But today, I was being disciplined and hoping to get 2 lunches for Henry out of it. No deal. Oh well, at least it had spinach on it. He'll be strong to the finish.

I think Henry is taking this "Feed a cold" thing seriously.

Fun with Food

Hair design: Henry. Product used: Hot Dog grease mixed with banana. Beautiful hair with a hold that lasts.
So if I bite my tongue trying to prematurely climb into the tub, you'll reward me with a Popsicle? Cool.
Mom, this thing melts pretty fast when you dip it in the tub. This bath still counts, right?

It's always more fun when you share with everyone

Henry and I have been sharing a lot these last three weeks while Sloan has been out of town. Cuddles, chores, kisses, germs.

Henry has allergies. Like his mother. Like his Papa. Sorry, buster. The reason you get a hacking cough when you play in the leaves? It's because you and mold, and trees, and grass, will never be friends. Or maybe you can be friends but you're going to have to be high to play with them.

Let's just be thankful you're not allergic to Peanut Butter because Reece's are awesome. And if you develop an allergy to Nutrigrain Bars you will probably starve to death.

But it is at least good to know what is going on. Particularly because
"extra phlegm from the allergies"
+"extra saliva from bottom molars coming in"
+ "any milk at all"
= puking once a day for the past week.

But it wasn't like the pukes from last time. He was not puny. Rather, he'd be building with blocks, simply turn his head, vomit, and then continue on his merry way. Because of this, sometimes I wouldn't realize he'd puked until he was splashing his hands in it. And to make matters worse, I kept thinking that maybe he was just sticking his fingers down his throat (because he keeps chewing on his hands while he is teething) so I kept giving him milk. Augh. Apparently, it made more sense to me for him to binge and purge rather than just his tummy was too full of snot to handle milk.

And also for awhile I thought he had a parasite. Or maybe African Sleeping Sickness. This is because when Sloan is out of town I watch hours of House at night. I just can't seem to get enough of Hugh Laurie.

But we are on day 2 of allergy meds and so far so good. (Meaning less coughing and no puking.) I'm not going to give him milk for at least a week. And he has yet to slap me in the face when I give him his nose spray. (A face slap being standard procedure for Saline drops and the aspirator.)

But I have also shared with my son some good gifts. He is a fabulous dancer, in particular, he likes to shimmy his shoulders. My friend Robin said, "Of course he does. I wonder who he's seen doing that." But he does not like to dance alone. He's not the type of kid where you just turn on the music and he'll start breaking it down. Rather, I'll put on the music and he'll climb up on the coffee table, reach for my hands and we'll rock out to Jack Johnson. He'll shimmy, shake, nod his head, and see just how low he can go. It is a hoot. (If only I hadn't set a bad example with letting him climb on the coffee table to dance party with Mommy.)

He also is an expert tower builder. This morning, we built a tower so tall he had to stand to put the blocks on top. And he'll even put the blocks away when asked. Okay, that's not quite how it works. I have to put a block away and then say, "Oh! Good job, Mommy!" And then he'll start to toss blocks into the bin and I have to say, "Good job, Henry!" every time a block makes it in. And he also has pretty good aim. He did not get this from me.

But most of all, I have shared with him, for better or worse, my sense of humor and a strong sense of self. Henry's new bedtime issue is that he doesn't like to lay back on his changing pad while you put his pajamas on. He wants to stand and put his pants on one leg at a time like a normal person. So we stand him up and face him towards the mirror while we put on his jammies. And then Henry goes nuts. First, he smiles. Then he laughs at himself. Then he'll play peek-a-boo with himself a couple of times. Then laugh. Then wave at himself. Then clap for himself. And then finish off with a couple of kisses. That's right folks, my son kisses his own reflection in the mirror.

And it is rather difficult to put footy pajamas on someone who is making out with themselves. Just so you know.

Henry is a stud

So we had our 18 month check-up today. (Because we wanted to make it a 3 co-pay week!) And Henry is such a stud--he didn't even cry when getting his shots! I was so proud of him. If only he'd let me read that magazine in the waiting room instead of trying to escape the well waiting room to get into the sick waiting room. But he is 34 inches tall (90th percentile), 26 lbs, 9.6 ounces (60th percentile--although I'm guessing the fact that he had a full diaper at the time could've skewed the results), and his head circumference is (do you even care?) 48 cm (just above 50th percentile). His favorite thing was playing with the head circumference measuring tape and the light button on Dr. Snowden's stethoscope. And he showed Dr. Snowden all of his awesome puzzle doing skills for most of the check-up. (And he didn't put one puzzle piece in his mouth--a minor miracle!)

I think he sensed that today was his check up as he's been carb-loading the past 2 days. (Also probably due to his cheerio, rice, and banana diet he'd been on for most of the post-puking weekend.) This morning he ate a sandwich baggie full of frosted mini-wheats while at the Polling place, then an entire banana when we got home. On the way to the airport to drop Sloan off for another business trip he ate a box of pretzels. And then for lunch he cleared his plate at Ruby Tuesday's--kids fried shrimp and french fries and then proceeded to munch on my fries as well. He also is a fan of dunking the same fry over and over into the ketchup. This is because I won't let him just dip his fingers into the ketchup. I tried explaining that condiments must go on something. Unless we're talking about Ginger salad dressing from Kabuto and then it's just bottom's up....

Daddy come home

We're on day three of Sloan's trip to Orlando for his new job with CHEP. And while I like to remind myself that I may never be the perfect Mommy but that out of all the mommies in the world God chose me for Henry so that's got to say something, but seriously, I'm a horrible single parent. Sunday night, by about 6pm, with Sloan having only been gone around 5 hours--I was done. So we did the great time killing bath. And then I put Henry to bed. At 6:45.
Yesterday, I let him just eat Cheddar Soy Crisps for lunch because I was too tired to care that he didn't touch his turkey or apple slices. (But hey, soy crisps have both protein and fiber and isn't that what the turkey and apples were for anyway?)
I've also started using drinkable yogurts mixed with milk as viable snack options.
Upon discovering that it wasn't that poopy of a diaper, I performed a poopy extraction rather than changing his diaper.
He's watched 2 Veggietales, 3 Curious George episodes, and Sesame Street. I rationalize this as being okay because during Veggietales and Sesame Street he only stops playing to watch them sing. And Veggietales is about God and Sesame Street is about letters and I want him to love both of those things. It's only during Curious George that he stops, climbs up in Sloan's chair with his cell phone, and watches the TV. And he thinks George, Hundley, Bill and the gang are a hoot. The TV is an effective parenting tool, right?
He went over to Nathan's house last night to hang out so I could go out to dinner with a friend.
I almost stopped at McDonald's tonight on the way home from the gym for a Nugget Happy meal, but decided to come home instead so he could have a "healthy" dinner. He ate an entire can of Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli, a cup of green beans, 6 Ritz crackers, and a frozen Gogurt. Chef Boyardee is healthy right?

However....I have done 6 loads of laundry, painted Sloan's new home office (and the ceiling too), hung blinds and curtains in said office, and begun setting up my new sewing room (since Sloan took over my cute pink room) in Henry's future big boy playroom (aka the finished attic where things get dumped when I'm too lazy to figure out where things should go). And I'm about eight pages away from finishing Lee Smith's The Last Girls.

All's I'm saying is that Sloan better never die cause I make a lousy single Mom.

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.

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.

Tired of the Paparazzi

Mom. Can't you see I'm working here? Get that camera out of my face. It has become all too clear that you aren't doing any of the yard work around here and I've got to pick up your slack. (This is a face that I see Sloan make pretty much everyday. On Sloan it is usually in response to "Can it be take your kid to work day today? I'd really like to sleep in...)

So I just scoot this thing around and pick up sticks right Mom?

It was okay when we were outside. I get that--I'm a public figure. But I'm trying to eat here, lady. I'm going to have to give you the hand or as my Daddy says, "FACE!"

Cookie Monster

Some things get better with age--wine, men, Moravian sugar cookies. I found a canister of them in the pantry last night and decided to see if Henry liked them. And they were stale--which

means that instead of being dainty

and crispy, they were chewy, gooey, and little circles of heaven. (You see, I had to taste them to make sure they weren't poison.)

And Henry loves them.

Henry's First Happy Meal

We had made it to 14 months being the smug parents whose child loved broccoli, egg white omelets, and shunned french fries. Well, road trips and restaurants happened. In the coarse of one weekend Henry had his first Chicken fingers, discovered that he really does love french fries, ate fried pickles, a corn dog, and we even loaded up his bib on the way back home with a McDonald's chicken nugget Happy Meal. Much to his delight. And he just loves his Master Monkey Happy Meal toy.

More Reasons I'll Never Be Mom of the Year...

1. Yesterday I yelled at Henry for being a messy eater. Then I went upstairs and cried about how horrible of a mommy I am. Then Sloan came upstairs and said, "Um, did you mean to leave Henry in the high chair with yogurt all over him?"

2. On a regular basis, I accidentally squeeze Henry's "junk" as I snap him into his car seat.

3. Several times today at the pool Henry slipped and dunked into the water.

4. I think it is funny when Lolly and Henry attack the phone book together. And then cuss at them because they made a big mess.

5. I take pictures of my son doing things he shouldn't before I stop him because it makes me laugh.

6. My son eats rawhide bones. On a regular basis. And he's had dog food. More than once.

Henry's New Skill

Bib Pocket Diving.

The Ladies Like a Man With Skills...

We haven't worked with nunchucks yet...But we are workin' on our skills...

Truck Driving skills... (Although he'd prefer to crawl in and out of the box the toy came in and he has MASTERED the honking of the truck's horn.)

And our Sippy Cup skills....

Mom, I really liked it better with the bottle. And you'd hold it.

Not only are you trying to make me eat mushy kiwi and mango, but you also aren't helping me with this sippy cup thing. Nothing is coming out from this end. Augh!

I hate this blasted thing!

I'll just stick this right there and scream. Maybe then you'll bring me a bottle.

Finally! It's about time.

And self-feeding skills...

Okay, Mom--you were right. At first, I was pretty disgusted by the whole meat-stick phenomena. They smell pretty gross, but these little turkey-dogs are pretty good. And you say when I get bigger I can have one with a beer at a baseball game? AWESOME!!!