Cornucopia

The 'Nesting" List

2012-01-28T16:02:00.005-06:00

For a 3rd baby, there really isn't much you need - material wise. I have all the baby supplies, clothes, car seats, strollers, toys, etc that a mother could possibly need. (Though, 2 little boys dirty up washcloths pretty darn quick...I ain't touchin' my precious new baby's butt with those tainted things! And diapers are always useful, will I ever stop buying diapers!?) What I really need, is a big burst of energy, and some major cleaning and organization.

Laundry - I have a big collection of boys clothes that are too small which need to be put away in storage. And newborn clothes to wash and get out of storage. And a place to put the newborn's clothing.
The nursery needs a deep, deep clean.
Toys need to be organized.
My bedroom needs to be reorganized so clear a spot for the baby's bed (hopefully Baby O #3 takes after it's big bro's and does not need to stay in o ur room long, because it will wake up one time or less by 4 weeks.)
And if the above circumstance does happen, then Brock's room needs to be reorganized (perhaps a borrowed crib from a friend set up) for Curtis join.
And because of all this "reorganization" which is really another way to say, go through all my s*@t and get rid of some of it, so there is space for another human, we need to cut a shelf for the downstairs closet. Maybe add some hooks to it as well. And buy a couple storage baskets.
Then, all this stuff that I am shuffling around and adding to storage means that the storage area of the house requires some rearranging and attention.
And we pulled up all the carpet...so we need area rugs.
Did I mention laundry?
And a name for the kiddo might be nice.

I think that about covers it. Phew. Now that it's written down, at least there is evidence that I thought about actually preparing for this child. Just don't judge if none of it gets accomplished.

Oh, and *hint hint, nudge nudge* dinners as a new baby gift are always welcome! I cannot tell you how much that helped us when Curtis was born!!

Attempted Escape?

2012-01-19T21:00:00.005-06:00

This baby is determined to be nothing like their older brothers. I got to experience a trip to triage for the first time ever in a pregnancy! I am 35 weeks today, and to celebrate, I decided to have my usual breakfast, a Nutrigrain bar, and some coffee. Sometimes I will eat more, but this particular morning was spent trying to force feed Brock his steroids, and get everyone out of the house to get to clinic on time. I get to clinic, and it is INSANE! Of course, all the patients show up, none of them are simple, and I am running around all morning. All of this, after a long night of coughing, indigestion and getting up a few times with Brock who has croup.

So, I forget to eat a midmorning snack, or have a glass of water. I don't even have time to pee. By 11am, I finally say screw it, I am using the pregnancy card. I am ditching clinic for a moment to grab a drink and use the restroom. Well, after I do this, my crazy morning hits me, and I start feeling some pretty intense lower abdomen and back pain, as well as light-headed. I have the nurse take me blood pressure, and it's 90/60, which was normal - when I was working out 6 days a week! Nowadays it's right around 115/75. And though the pain is constant and sharp, not contraction like at all, I decide it's best not to take any chances.

Well, the nurses and doctor I was working with, REFUSE to let me walk to OB triage. They make me sit in a wheelchair, and ride through my own hospital! I don't get embarrassed easily, but I kind of was......anyway, long story short, I sat hooked up to a fetal heart monitor for a solid 2 hours. I was contracting every 3-4 minutes for a good portion of that time, and guzzled no less than 2 liters of water. I got lectured to drink more by everyone of my fellow residents, nurses, and doctors, and was sent home to "relax". Which I did. And it was hard. Relaxing is not my forte.

Other than that, just the usual discomforts to report. The worst of all of it is sleep. It's just not comfortable anymore. I was honestly feeling great until, BAM, 32 weeks. Every other night, I am in the recliner to sleep. The restless legs are just stupid. I cannot bend over to pick up anything, so our house is just constantly littered with toys and shoes. I can't hold Curtis for more than about 90 seconds. I try to avoid picking up Brock at all costs. I don't think Curtis even likes my lap anymore because of the belly.

And, though, I really have no room to speak, seeing as a friend of mine just delivered a set of 7 pound twins, I am carrying what is the size of a term baby for most people, at 35 weeks. Basically, you could say, I get to carry a term baby for 5-6 weeks, instead of just a couple. Estimated at 6lbs 15oz at 34 weeks 5 days. Now, these can be up to a pound off, so yes, it could be 5lbs 15ozs (still term for a lot of people) or 7lbs 15ozs (term for the majority of people). Curtis was estimated at 6lbs 4ozs at the same time, and Brock 6lbs 8oz...so I guess this one is only 1/2 pound ahead. Which means, if we make it to our due date, 10 pounds is a likelihood!! Gross. I am sorry, but I really don't want to say I had a 10 pound baby. I really, really, really, want another one in the 8 pound vicinity.

Lastly, with just over a month to go, we have really ignored this baby. Maybe that's why #3 felt the need to give me a little wake up call. We have not even discussed names, not once. Not at all. I kind of refuse to think about boys' names. I haven't even begun looking for or gathering all my newborn stuff out of storage. I just hope 3 carseats will fit in the 4Runner, because I can't settle on a minivan just yet. I am such a snob. At least, I have somewhat been "nesting" (according to the in-laws), as we pulled up all the carpet on the main level to expose the nice hardwoods. Not sure how that helps the baby...

...nevertheless, I cannot wait for Baby O #3 to arrive! When I was sitting in that hospital bed, contracting, a teeny, weeny part of me, was a little excited at the idea of meeting the baby so soon. Though, I would really rather he/she joins us with fully developed lungs and vital organs. But 38 weeks would be great...February 9th sounds nice, right?

Elevators

2012-01-13T14:23:00.002-06:00

I spent the last month in a 7 floor hospital where home base was located on "Ground" and most of my patients were located on the 5th floor. And, I was 30-34 weeks pregnant, so you can guess how much stair climbing I did...

...therefore, I got to use the elevators. A lot. And it got really irritating. I found it really hard not to glare at the people who got on the elevator for 1 floor (unless they were hauling something.) Them doing this made the elevator stop not only once, but TWO TIMES before I got to my floor. Just for one person. Sometimes, I am willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, because I have been guilty of taking the elevator for one floor when I am in a new building and I don't know the location of the stairs, but these were the employee elevators. You had to have a badge to even access them. Therefore, these people know where the stairs are located. I would like to add, that during my entire month there, I NEVER once took the elevator for one floor.

Really, the one floor thing should have been what annoyed me most, but it's not. What really got my goat, were the people who would enter a packed elevator, on the GROUND floor, therefore, everyone is getting off as there is nowhere else to go, before a single person exited the hot, stuffy, crowded box. Really? I mean really? It just makes no sense. None whatsoever. I just don't think it can even be blamed on surrounding unawareness. I think to myself, this must be the most self-absorbed, rude, couldn't give 2 craps about anyone kind of person ever. They just made the unloading process difficult and awkward for EVERYBODY. And this happened, not on a daily basis, but probably every other time I exited those elevators. Yes, there are that many people that do this. Again, I am not saying I have never over-eagerly stepped toward an elevator to load as soon as it opened, but when I then look up to see 8 people leaving, I step back and let them unload. I don't just shove my way onto the the thing. I don't get it, I just don't get it. The one floor trip takers are easily explained. LAZY. These people? There is no category for them.

Lastly, being pregnant, I am double in size, always hot, and extra sensitive to smells. Add all that to my already existent propensity toward anxiety in crowded places and you won't blame me for getting a little annoyed when the already at capacity elevator opens and everyone says, come on in there is room for one more. There is not room for one more. They can wait. There are 2 other elevators that are most likely close by. And if they get on, then someone will have to be touching me. And I am too far to the back to just get off and wait for the next elevator or just take the stairs for the rest of my trip.

So, in conclusion, I am really happy I work in a 3 floor hospital, where I really only use 2 of the floors, therefore, rarely needing an elevator. If I had to do that for 3 years, I most surely would lose at least 10 of sanity later in life. It also, reinforces to me why I love living in Kansas City. There are so few situations where I have to deal with elevators, or buses, or crowds of any sort. I guess I am not cut out for big city livin'. I like my space, personal and otherwise.

my friend Curtis

2012-01-05T20:20:00.005-06:00

Oh za Cuck. 14 months old and still preferring to crawl. I decided back when Brock was this age (well, more like 9/10 months) that the criteria for officially "walking" was more often vertical than horizontal...and Curtis is currently at about the 50/50 mark. He CAN walk. He just doesn't. Very often, anyway. It kind of stresses me out, as I am an over-achieving, first at everything kind of person (in fact, I was playing a new board game with Brock this evening, and I won! Haha!) that he is FOURTEEN MONTHS and hardly walking. Brock was running by this point. And I mean running. I am pretty sure he would just take off down the block, laughing, thinking it was hilarious to sprint away from his parents as they unload the groceries from the car.

But, it is this laid back, I couldn't care less if I crawled until I am 14 YEARS old kind of attitude that we (by we, I mean everyone) love about Curtis. I really just don't want to have to carry 2 babies to and from the car. This is yet another reason why I think 2 year spacing between kiddos is perfect. This whole 16 month difference thing, well, let's just say, I would never plan it this way. But, I am doing my best to let Curtis be Curtis.
Appropriately, his first real, distinctively, properly used word was an emphatic "Hi!" So, now, instead of just a huge grin, which is greeting enough in my opinion, you get a loud "hi" as well. You also might catch him saying ball, dog, kitty, bye bye, and of course Mama and Dada. I am fairly certain he has said Mimi and MaGra. Oh, and how can I forget "thank you". Whenever he hands me something, he says "thank you"... sometimes he says it when you hand him a food item, so he's getting the hang of it. And speaking of food items, he will specifically ask for a "cracker". Frankly, I am surprised he doesn't know more foods by name as eating is his one true passion. And he imitates every single obnoxious noise that comes out of his older brother's mouth. He also whistles.

The 2012 List

2012-01-01T14:35:00.007-06:00

Babies: Congrats to...

Maureen and Sean on Catherine Leah Gratton, 5lbs 9oz on 12/31/11.
Coleen and Austin on Chase Davis, 6lbs 13oz on 12/31/11.
Tina and Joe on Isaac Richard Soltys, 7lbs 8oz on 1/14/12.
Whitney and Robby on Hadley Jane Arthur, 8lbs 4oz on 1/15/12.
Maggie and Adam on Graham and Drew Kastl, 7lbs 4oz & 7lbs 1oz on 1/16/12.
Mitch and Shannon expecting #2, Baby girl Bartley in February.
Liz and Richard expecting Baby boy Bryant in February.
Tina and Jesper expecting Baby boy #2 in February.
Danielle and Zach expecting Baby boy Rider in February.
Katie and Ian expecting #2, Baby boy Gillihan in February.
Us, #3 in February.
Lauren and Justin expecting #2, Baby girl Frye in March.
Pete and Maggie expecting #2, Baby girl Scaletty in April.
Catherine and Jason expecting baby Pettus #2 in May.
Ashley and Brian expecting Baby Ascencio #2 on August 6th (my birthday!!).
Sarah and Matt on Baby Angelo due in August.

Weddings:

Sara and Timothy {Van Dyke}, March 3rd.
Thomas and Claire {O'Laughlin}, October 13th.
Leah and Neal {Krieger}, November 24th.
Kaitlin and John {McCormick}, TBA

It's My Party.

2011-12-27T13:25:00.006-06:00

Matt and I had our first Christmas Sweater Party 6 years ago, the year he moved into the house. Before we even married. I would like to add, that the idea was inspired by a red, flannel, plaid business jacket and skirt combo I had stumbled upon in a thrift store one Saturday. It was an idea from my own head...that soon exploded and now these type of parties are commonplace, and expected. Anyhow, the turn out that first year was better than I could have imagined. Many of my friends from high school, even grade school and Blazers swimming were able to make it. It turned into a great reunion type opportunity. My mom and sisters helped me prepare quite a spread of food. I got to decorate my first house for Christmas and show off my new adult lifestyle. I swore then, no matter where I am in life, the Christmas Sweater Party WILL happen.
Now, 6 years later, in my intern year (therefore notoriously the hardest and busiest year) of residency, 7 months pregnant, with 2 children, and only one day off for Christmas, we still managed to pull off a great party. I will admit, the spread of food was more of a potluck. I relied heavily on my husband, mom, sisters, friends, in laws and cleaning lady for help. But my family has come to expect that they will be helping me with this event. It was fairly tame this year, but don't worry the kitchen floor was sticky by the end of the night (I feel this is proof of a party well done). The photobooth, which is now standard was up and running. Lots of out-of-towners made it, though a couple were missing (Sean and Maureen missed for the first time ever).

I just cannot believe I have never specifically dedicated an article to this event. It's my party. I have lofty goals for this event. Some day, I hope to have it catered. I hope to send out a real invite instead of just a "Facebook Event". I hope the same people continue to attend, year, after, year, after year. And that new friends get added. I hope to always be able to fit into that red, flannel suit (provided I am not a few weeks post partum or a few months pregnant as I have been for 3 of the years...) Every year, I fill a big red album with photos from the previous year, I wonder how many people will make it into this album, and how many albums will I have collected 20, 30 years from now? It's a neat thing to have a party. And I am honored that I have attendees.

So, mark your calanders from Christmas Eve Eve 2012. Cause, the 7th Annual O'Laughlin Christmas Sweater Party is on!

The Day.

2011-12-27T01:09:00.006-06:00

I thought I loved Christmas as a kid, well, I know I loved Christmas as a kid. But Christmas as a mom, nothing can compare. Giving really, truly, honestly is, so much better than receiving.

Brock came down the stairs ready, and rearin' to go! Finally, he is old enough to understand the concept of Santa and Christmas. In fact, he even seems to know it has something to do with baby Jesus (but it needs some fine tuning, as he often suggests that baby Jesus is in his tummy, and refers to him as a she.) He wanted to open ALL the presents. And nearly did.

I am smiling just looking through these pictures. Christmas is such a merry time. I love seeing all of my family, big and small. I love the joy the gifts bring, and I don't believe it is purely joy because of the material items. It is joy because you know you have so many people who love and support you. You know that you survived an entire year, and were able to keep a roof over your head, food for your mouth, and had enough left over to buy some not so vital things (and not feel guilty about it).
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We then continued on to Mimi and Papa's for more gift exchanging. A wonderful brunch. And naps for everyone, except psychotically energetic mom (me) and Brock. Curtis did beat everyone and slept for a solid 3.5 hours.
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And we ended at Magra's. Where we did what everyone does on Christmas. The women prepared dinner, in the kitchen. While the men...
...hunted? Or, shot each other in the butt with the beebee gun meant for 6 year old Xander.

The Eve.

2011-12-25T20:20:00.010-06:00

As is painfully obvious, Curtis joins the millions of toddlers who have an aversion to Santa. Finally, someone the little guy doesn't like. I just don't get why the big, jolly, bearded man in a red suit freaks out the kids? Brock doesn't want anything to do with him either - typically. Then he watched Curtis get to open a few gifts on Santa's lap (oh, did I forget to mention, Curtis decided after a few seconds he didn't mind him afterall) and suddenly, the greedy, gift-loving 3 year old came out and won over the fear.

The funniest part about the whole thing? Santa was their Uncle Johnny! Haha. Not one of the kiddos picked up on his identity. Kids. So easily fooled.
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We then moved on to my father's side of the family. Since the boys don't see Pops on Christmas day, we do our gift exchange on the Eve. This year, I passed on the little black babies playing with the seal and soccerball on to my father. He has not been included in this little tradition until this year...

...so, probably 6 years ago, maybe more. There was this queer little dollar store type shop in the Ward Parkway mall. I stopped in to see what I could see, and found this entire isle of ridiculous, cheap, plaster figurines. I mean, non of them made sense. Who wants an POS depiction of 2 little kids playing with a seal and a soccerball. And the race of the kids makes is all the more senseless (as most people purchase objects to match their own skin color.) So, of course I bought it for my sister, Leah, and we have all been passing it around ever since. Dad's turn! Though, I think he is the first one who has received it and actually intends on displaying it on the mantel. Perhaps, its' found its' forver home. How sweet.
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And lastly, my favorite part of the night. When Santa visits our very own home. And leaves gifts for our very own little boys. I was too tired to wait up for him to finish assembling the wagon, but Santa kindly took a photograph of the finished product for me. It brings such satisfaction, knowing you can provide well for your kids, and that they will be so happy and glowing in the morning.
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The camera adds 10lbs. Right?

2011-12-15T20:53:00.003-06:00

I guess it's because I continue to feel surprisingly well for the current gestational age of my newest child, that whenever I see my update photo I am blown away by how huge I look! I mean, I am 30 weeks and appear to be days from delivery. Lately, strangers don't even hesitate to comment on my pregnant state. And often, they are slightly taken aback when I say I am not due until the end of February. A cashier at the hospital cafeteria was so confident with her pregnancy guesstamation skills, that she saw me and excitedly exclaimed, "A Christmas baby!? How sweet." My reply? "Let's hope not. Baby's not due until February 23rd."

And EVERYONE, with the exception of maybe 4 people, is sure Baby O #3 is a girl. I mean, it's bad. I have gotten to the point where I almost refer to the kid as a she. I imagine I am talking to a girl when I have conversations with my constantly twitching belly. And on that topic. Pretty sure she is trying to escape. Right now. Through the wrong outlet, my ribs. Also, this kid is rarely, if ever, in the correct, head down position. Number 3 spends most of its days lying on his/her back. Completely transverse, pummeling my stomach and ribs with its incredibly powerful legs. Which brings me to another concern. The only way a 30 weeker could possibly be this strong is if it weighs 5 lbs. Already. And if it weighs 5 lbs now, and it gains a hald a pound a week from here on out. And I make it to term. You do the math. Ok, I'll do the math. 10 lbs! I am terrified I am currently creating a 10 pounder. A 10 pound girl? That would just be plain weird. Therefore, EVERYONE, with the exception of maybe 4 people, is wrong. I think. Or not.

Anyway. If I could sleep on just 2 pillows. And keep my legs from becoming so restless. I could go so far as to say I don't mind pregnancy this go 'round. I am not even waddling yet, at all. (Though I am kind of taking this as a bad sign. This means babies head is not buried in my pelvis, as it should be. He/she/it has a few weeks to get it's act straight, but it's making me nervous.)

I am just getting really excited. The more I can discern body parts, the more it sinks in that a little person will be arriving soon. 30 weeks is just fun. It's the beginning of the end. The home stretch. I can't wait for February!

a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker

2011-12-14T19:46:00.005-06:00

Due to my psychotic competitiveness, I thought it would be impossible for me to not care about my child's interests. I thought I was just kidding myself when my answer to the all to often-ly asked question, "Will your kids swim?" was "I don't know, and I kind of don't care". It seems when you are pregnant, you fantasize about all the things your offspring could and will become as a kid, teen, adult. You hope they are genius level intelligent. An amazing athlete. A unique artist. An inspiring musician. In a word, brilliant. Then I had my first child. Suddenly, I didn't care about these fantastical ideas. Suddenly, I just hope for average. I hope that my child will play nice with others. I hope he will obey rules, do his homework, and enjoy himself. I hope other kids like him. I really just hope for normal; will be able to take care of and provide for himself and maybe a family someday, normal. Yes, anything beyond that will be fantastic. I would be thrilled if I had an Olympic or professional level athlete. I would be over-joyed and proud of a Harvard valedictorian who cured cancer. But I can honestly say, my competitive nature is held at bay when it comes to my children.

I can see what unique personalities the 2 of them have. I can see that most likely, Brock and Curtis will not have a problem in school (intelligence wise.) I can guess that Brock will not lack in the passion or motivation department either. And I can guess Curtis will not lack in the ability to make friends. But I can't be sure. And I don't want to pressure them one way or another. I have taken a backseat, and will let them decide on their interests. And when they do decide to give something a try, I will give them the opportunity to go for it.

So, when Brock regularly asks for me to put these goggles on for him. I don't fantasize about how he is going to be a swimmer. I just laugh, enjoy the moment, and marvel at the little creation in front of me.

Oh, Christmas Tree...

2011-12-11T14:42:00.007-06:00

...this is the first year getting a Christmas tree just felt like yet another thing on the "to-do list". Working lots of long hours, with very few days off has make the Holidays feel rushed. Unplanned. And almost inconvenient. Gone are the school days where you get the entire week or so off for Christmas! Teachers really made the right career choice as far as vacation goes.
But, the weather was perfect! Yay! The puppy got worn out running through the trees. Double Yay!! Curtis was all smiles, despite being clueless. And Brock wanted "all the trees" and nothing to do with the camera. Therefore, the day was a good one.
And we found our perfect tree! Which Brock really, really wanted to cut down himself (as he pretty much always wants to do everything himself.) And got quite frustrated when he couldn't (which is also a fairly regular thing.) And Curtis just enjoyed spectating (as usual). And taking off his mittens (man, his hands turned red.)
And, I think, despite the limited hours I have off this month, I am going to have a very Merry Christmas. I just value, treasure, and love every little minute with my, little, cute, snuggley family.

Pregnancy myths.

2011-12-04T15:46:00.005-06:00

Just like I don't believe in "nesting", I do not believe in "cravings". For the entire first trimester, even if you don't have the full on 24/7 nausea, or vomiting, I am guessing everyone has a touch of a loss of appetite. Therefore, when nothing sounds good, you sit and file through every possible food that you would ever be willing to eat until you stumble upon something that sounds reasonable. And once you find that one, or two items, it's the only thing you CAN eat. It's not that you craved it. It's the only thing that works. Therefore, it seems to the outsider that you are having a so-called "craving" because you insist on eating these one, or two random dishes, and nothing else.

Perhaps you are relieved from this predicament during the 2nd trimester. At which point, you are so excited you can finally eat again, that you begin wanting all the things you couldn't eat before. Slightly appearing as though you crave them.

Then the 3rd trimester rolls around. Now baby is shoving up on your stomach. The indigestion and reflux is in full swing, and again, nothing sounds good. Perhaps your appetite is gone again. Repeat cycle from trimester one.

Therefore, just because I insisted on going to Village Inn last night, for the first time in at least 5, if not 6 years, because I felt like breakfast food for dinner, and perhaps a slice of French Silk pie, does not mean I was "craving" it. It simply means, that's the only thing that sounded edible at that moment.

Real World

2011-12-03T21:41:00.007-06:00

I knew heading back to work after a week off was going to be difficult. I knew working such long hours through the holiday season was going to be difficult. But just because you know something is going to be a certain way, doesn't make it any easier to handle.

Today, a Saturday, after coming home from work this afternoon, I am greeted by my overly excited 3 year-old who ran up to me, gave me a hug and told me he missed me. I then heard my little baby crawling toward me making happy sounds with each step forward who I picked up and am immediately offered an open mouth ready for a kiss. I then found my freshly shaven, thank the lord, husband and am fondly received with a non-prickly kiss.

I am also greeted by a kitchen full of dishes, with a cob web above the sink that has been there for a week, driving me crazy. And a basket full of clean, unfolded childrens' clothes as well as an over-stuffed hamper full of unclean childrens' clothes. I am greeted by an insanely dirty kitty litter box that I don't feel comfortable changing myself due to my "condition", and a husband who would rather murder the cat by his own hand than simply empty and refill that toxic container. I am greeted by a house devoid of Christmas decor and no tree either.

I am greeted by a basement I don't even want to step foot into because the puppy somehow managed to break loose of her kennel for an entire work day and pissed all over the dogbed, chewed up at least 4 plastic balls plus a few other toys, pissed on 3 couch pillows and one couch cushion, destroyed and tore up her own kennel bedding, and the place just smells.

I am greeted by my oldest child, who still refuses to use the toilet to do #2 in any kind of regularity therefore forcing me to bend my fat, pregnant ass over to try and wipe the crusted poo off his behind, until I agitatedly give up and just tell him to get in the bath. I am then greeted by my youngest child who insists he needs a bath as well. I then take out said oldest when he is done, and by the time I dry him off and get him dressed, I am greeted by the younger holding a piece of his own poo in his hand. I am now greeted with the task of draining the tub, picking up the poop, re-washing the child and sterilizing the tub as well as any toy that was in the water with the contaminant.

I am now greeted by 3rd trimester exhaustion, along with a multitude of other pregnancy aches and ailments that I am tired of listing, mentioning or, really, even thinking about, which prohibits me from completing a single task on my to-do list for the day. I am then forced to begin nagging my husband to do more around the house, for which I am greeted by an intense feeling of guilt. Guilt that is intensified by the impatience I now have with my children with whom I only get limited time these days. A guilt which is then further intensified when Brock, out of the blue, says to me, "I am sorry for being a bad boy today, mom." Let the water works begin.

And now, it is nighttime. The littles are in bed. I am ready for bed, but sick of 10pm bedtimes being my Saturday night. As happy as I am. As much as I love life and all that is has to offer. Sometimes a good attitude is not possible. And now, I am greeted by self-pity. Gross.

All of this on a Saturday I had dreamt of spending with my family, obtaining a Christmas tree, listening to Christmas music, decorating my house, and drinking warm apple cider in a warm home.

Who is supermom, now?

Every Year...

2011-11-28T21:27:00.005-06:00

...I look forward to Thanksgiving so that I can add a picture of my ever growing, changing, and wonderful little family in the right margin of this blog. It makes me happy. It makes me proud.

...I get to see and hang out with friends and family from out of town. It wouldn't feel like the holidays, otherwise.

...my mom has a mental breakdown the Wednesday night before the big dinner. Why she continues to host it if it causes her this much grief, I will never know. But I fear I am plagued by the same desire to have large events in my home.

...the weather is completely different than the year before.

...I try to make it to December without listening to or hearing any Christmas carols. I have yet to be successful.

...I make the mashed potatoes and a chocolate pudding pie....this season manages to make me thankful for everything I have and everyone I love.

Brock is 3.

2011-11-26T11:03:00.008-06:00

Brock is three. This birthday was a turning point for so many reasons. One, this is the first time he ever cared about presents. It took him 3 years and a little brother with a birthday right before his, to make him get excited about presents. Ever since Curtis' party, Brock has been pointing out every single toy he comes across and states, "I get this for my birthday!". Seriously, every magazine, commercial, newspaper, ad, or toy at another kid's house, or at school, he is getting them ALL for his birthday.

And, since he has so recently become toy obsessed, and I couldn't get him the LeapPad that I desired for his gift, we decided to take him to Toys R Us and let him pick out a toy. Bad idea. Let me be clear, we pretty much knew it was a bad idea, but it just seemed like what he would want. I'm not really sure how many times we explained to him on the drive there that he only gets ONE toy, not EVERY toy. We re-iterated the one toy rule as we entered the store, and suddenly he didn't care about it...because he saw the motorized vehicles. Thankfully none of them were on or charged, so we got out of that mess by telling him they were all broken. He still proceeded to climb in and check EVERY SINGLE one, just to be sure. Then the first 2 items he placed in the cart were a large Woody and a large Buzz doll. These things were $50 a piece!! Seriously, for a stupid doll? Ridiculous. He finally settled on the dumbest toy of all, a car ramp thing, but it was $17 and he was happy. I took him to the car, and Matt bought him a bike. Much more reasonable.

Second turning point, Brock now likes company. Seeing as he is now in school a couple days a week and constantly calls every child (stranger or not) his "friend", I thought it was time to have a kid-friendly party. I invited all of his 2nd cousins who were 3 and up, as well as a couple other kids. Only 5 showed up. Which is plenty. Seriously, 5 kids sounds like 30 when they are all hyper, hopped up on candy and cooped inside a house with almost 20 other adults.
I think my big three year old boy enjoyed himself. Oh, and the party was pretty darn cheap to boot! I got most of the "goodies" from the Dollar Store. I created the invite. I made turkey noodle soup from the leftover turkey carcass. And we just had veggies and dips leftover from Thanksgiving as well. Some great party planning, if I do say so myself.

Crowds. Eww.

2011-11-23T14:35:00.005-06:00

I have major anxiety issues when I go shopping. Even when it's just to the grocery store. Some places are worse than others, with TJ Maxx, Target and Walmart topping the charts. As soon as I step foot in those stores, the battles begins. I immediately want to leave. There are too many people, too much stuff, I've already forgotten why I even went in the store in the first place...but, now I MUST go up and down every aisle to take a look at everything just to be sure I am not missing some huge deal. It's one of my OCD nightmares. I seriously get the cold sweats. I feel shakey. And often, I have to use the restroom from the getting the nervous sh*%s (which as you can imagine, adds to the anxiety, as the restrooms in these particular establishments are horrendously disgusting.)

Every item I pick up and think about purchasing, unless it is a true necessity, such as diapers, food, toiletries, etc, I have a little internal war. I don't need this right now. But it would be really useful. It's pointless. But it would look great in the living room. I will eventually use this. Just not right now. Matt will kill me if I come home with another pair of shoes. But they are only $9! Brock would look so cute in this. But he has 4 sweaters already. He does need another pair of shoes. But only because I don't want him getting his Puma's muddy. Should I buy Curtis some more bibs? Does the dog need another toy? How many maternity shirts is too many? And on, and on, and on...

...so you can imagine how I feel when entering a store during the Holiday shopping madness. I think I need a Xanax, or some Valium just to go to the grocery store to get the 4 things I need to make mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner. And, to top it all off, I had 2 November babies. What was I thinking!? All I want is to buy Brock a LeapFrog LeapPad. I sucked it up. Walked into Walmart. Weathered the storm, and all the holiday, pre-black Friday ridiculousness, only to find out they were out! As is every other store in Kansas City. Come on people. Christmas is [a little] over a month away! Settle the eff down. I just want to buy a birthday gift for my kid.

Now I am home. I don't think I can venture back out there. I'm not sure it's good for my health. I think it might cause me to go into labor. And now Brock has no gift for his birthday. Looks like dad might be taking his oldest son and a fun birthday gift trip tonight.

No LeapPad for you, today, Brock. I have been defeated.Why don't I shop online, you ask? I have to see items to purchase them. I prefer the moment of anxiety over the extreme disappointment and hassle of recieving something in the mail that doesn't fit, doesn't function, isn't actually what you wanted, is uglier than you thought. And now you have to repackage it, print a label to send it back, perhaps even spend more to ship it again. So, no, unfortunately, there is no solution to my problem.

November Love.

2011-11-21T20:51:00.003-06:00

November never meant anything more to me than Thanksgiving until 3 years ago. Now, it holds so much more meaning, nostalgia, and love than just thanks for all that I have. My 2 sons were born in this month. It makes me reminisce and reflect on not just the last year, but the last 3, or more. In my children, I can't but help see a reflection of myself. I can't help but try to think of what I have done well, and what I should do differently to help shape their lives. I would do anything for them. No matter how they behave, or treat me, I will always do anything for them. Which brings me to one of the most profound things I learned during medical school - which was not even medically related.The psychiatrist I rotated with during 3rd year, was this wonderful Nigerian man. He was obviously well read, and enjoyed life. Most of all, he loved his [grown] kids. One day, in discussing the parent/child relationship, he made a statement I will never forget. He said, "Your children don't owe you anything, and you owe them everything. They did not ask to be here. You chose to bring them into this world. Therefore you are completely responsible for them and their well-being. This does not mean to take over their lives, but it does mean to provide them with everything necessary to succeed, and to never ask for anything in return."

Granted. My children are babies, so it is easy to not expect anything in return for all my efforts. But, the fact is, I never foresee acquiring that expectation. With a spouse, it is hard not to expect equal love, commitment, feelings, etc. With a child, you just don't care. For the rest of their lives, I will provide my children with meals if they are around for them. I will buy them birthday and Christmas presents. I will cheer them on in school, sports, careers, life. I will hug and kiss them, whether they like it or not. I will call them. Or give them space. I will happily, and proudly provide for and support them forever and always. And I will do my darnedest, to never expect anything in return, and hope that I have raised them well enough that they will say "thank you" anyway.

While you're out...

2011-11-16T20:36:00.004-06:00

The other day, I woke up [at 4 in the afternoon] to get ready for my night shift. Brock came up to keep me company while I got dressed. And by keep me company, I mean lie on my bed and play Angry Birds on my phone.

Once I finished, I said, "Hey Brock, want to come walk to Starbucks with me?" To which he replied, "No thank you. I will just play Angry Birds." I was quite surprised by this response, as that boy usually does not even think twice about refusing an opportunity to ride his trike. So, I try to bait him, by using his poor innocent brother. "Ok, well, Curtis and I are going on a walk to Starbucks, see you later." And just as I turn to walk down the stairs, I hear, "Mom! Wait!" I smile, and think to myself, I knew you couldn't resist, especially if Curtis gets to do something without you. Ha ha. I have yet again, out-smarted my 3 year old.

So, I turn back around and say, "Yes, Brock?" Without even looking up from his game he says, "Umm, will you get me a chocolate milk?" Excuse me!? Sure buddy. Is there anything else I can grab for you while I am out? I was blown away. The laziness begins. Will I grab him a chocolate milk? Wow. So I say, "No. You have to come with me if you want a chocolate milk." He gives out a loud, exaggerated grunt as he gets off the bed. Unbelievable.

As if I need more hobbies...

2011-11-11T15:59:00.000-06:00

...I just discovered how to use Adobe Illustrator.

The Little, Little Little

2011-11-10T22:28:00.009-06:00

Don't let the title fool you, little, little, little is no how I feel nor look! Despite an only 7 lbs weight gain, my belly is bigger than EVER at this point. Maybe I should quit having my 5 week milestone prego belly photo taken right before bed, after a 12 hour work day, with an iPhone. It's making me appear as though I might be run down. Unfortunately, that is usually the only spare moment I can find for fun little things like this these days.

Though, I no longer go too long without being reminded that there is a little guy swimming around in my belly, I am still extremely thankful that this pregnancy has been relatively delightful. I mean, I was just pregnant. So it seems impossible that I could forget how much each baby moved, but I was SURE Curtis was more active than Brock (who was pretty darn crazy) and now, I have NO DOUBT that #3 is the most insane and strong of them all! I don't remember catching the movement of my stomach out of the corner of my eye this early. And I am not sure this one sleeps. Ever. Awesome. I was bound to have a difficult baby eventually. Anyway, what I find interesting about this third pregnancy and all the movement and whatnot, is that I don't really care about my OB appointments. I don't need to hear the heartbeat to know this kid's ok. I know it all day long. Unlike with Brock. Those appointments couldn't come quick enough. With your first kid, everything is so novel and amazing. With your third, it's still amazing, just no novelty, whatsoever.It looks like another boy, doesn't it? The guess by all, including strangers, is overwhelmingly girl. Mostly, I think it's hopeful thinking on the friend's and family's part. As for the strangers, I really can't explain that. Brock STILL insists he is having a baby sister. Never changes his answer to that question. And I think he is getting pretty excited and/or obsessed with my belly. He asks to give the baby kisses all the time. And does. He will also run up to me and say "belly, belly, belly!" while giving it a rub, pat, or putting his cheek up to it. Just today, he asked if he could play with the baby in my belly. Not quite yet buddy, not yet. Curtis? He remains blissfully clueless (I worry this may be a theme throughout his lifetime.)

Also, I don't think I have done my delivery date prediction! Usually, I try to get this on the record in the first trimester (btw, I guessed the previous two's birthdays exactly, feelin' a lot of pressure right now.) But, I am just having a really hard time with this one. In addition to feeling larger, feeling baby move more, sooner, and the ridiculous number of hours I am working along with the absurd amount of Braxton Hicks contractions I am already having, I am inclined to think this one might actually come early, and naturally (without augmentation that is, not without an epidural!) But, at the same time, the date February 21st just seems to pop in my head, everytime. So, I guess I'll go with it.

So, that's it. I am 25 weeks. It's still as unbelievable and exciting to me today, as it was that random date in June when I decided to take a pregnancy test that we will be welcoming another "Little" in just 3 months. I cannot wait to kiss that adorable looking nose. I may be busy. I may be exhausted. But most of all I am elated. We love you so much already Baby #3!

Happy doesn't even begin to cover it.

2011-11-06T16:11:00.014-06:00

I don't even know what to say about the happiest baby on the planet turning one. I can tell you this though. Considering my competitive nature, it really bothers me when people say or try to act like they have the happiest baby. I have the happiest baby. Me. Only me. NO ONE'S baby is possibly happier than my baby. I met my daycare lady's husband the other day, he is Somali, and in his thick accent said, "Ahh, and you are the doctor. Curty is such a sweety. Such a sweety." And proceeded to pinch Curtis' cheeks as Curtis sat contently in my arms and grinned the hugest grin imaginable. Every time I pick him up from daycare, I am told, "He is so happy, what a great baby, we love him." Said with a tone as if it is a surprise everyday. Which it is. You can't help but think one day, something has gotta give.One day, the harsh reality of daily life will set in, and Curtis will stop being so blissfully unaware of this fact. He will start to notice that his brother regularly takes the toy he is playing with to replace it with a less fun toy. He will notice that no one is playing with him because he is happily entertaining himself. He will get annoyed by the puppy and the three year old romping all over him. He will decide some foods actually do taste bad. He will not smile at just any friend, or stranger, who looks his way. He will not break into a belly laugh at the sight of his brother doing somersaults, or playing peek-a-boo.
Or maybe it won't. Probably it won't. If it hasn't changed a bit in a year, why would it 2 or 3 or 4 years from now? I have been beyond blessed with this boy. I think I can honestly say, I have never felt a single moment of frustration with him. His delivery even, no frustration. I was nothing but smiles. He nursed like a champ from day one. He woke up only once a night from the day we brought him home from the hospital. He still sleeps like a log. He doesn't cry for no reason. I studied for and passed boards while caring for him.

Don't get me wrong, his laid back, content nature does have some drawbacks. He has NO desire to walk. None. He was crawling at 4 months, but not even walking by 12!? He will take 1-2 steps between furniture, and that is about it. I know it's neither a strength nor coordination issue, because he can traverse both up and down the steps no problem. He can climb onto the bed or chair and jump on it with his brother while using only one hand to brace himself. He stands up on his own. He has jumped in that damn Johnny-Jumper for more hours than I care to think about. He has got to have quads of steel by this point. Therefore, it is simply a motivational issue. And honestly? Brock and I have enough motivation for the likes of a dozen people. So maybe it's for the best. I really, really like my happy baby.

The year went too fast. Seems like just a few weeks ago that we welcomed our 9 pounder. Now he is a 24.5 pound, 31.25 inch, 90th percentile linebacker of a kid. Yet, it feels like I've known him all my life. It's funny. No matter how hectic, insane, out of control, stressful, busy, chaotic life gets, you can never regret the decision to have a child. They instantaneously become a part of you. A part of you so big that if you lost it, you may not be able to go on living. And even if you do, you will never be the same. Simply amazing that something so little, so needy, can have such an impact.
Happy 1st Birthday, Curtis Patrick. Thank you for reminding me every single day that there is always something to smile about.

Angry Birds

2011-10-31T13:51:00.007-05:00

On October 5th, while I may or may not have been G-chatting with Matt during some downtime at work, I received this message (which was not on topic, I might add):

"Oh and I decided I'm making the boys' costumes. There's no arguing about it. I know I don't have time but I've already made up my mind so save your bitching.

http://twindragonflydesigns.blogspot.com/2011/09/angry-birds-family-costume-tutorial.html

Deal with it."

I proceeded to burst out with a laugh. I found this amusing for so many reasons, first being, that he knows me so well. I would have told him he didn't have time. I probably would have tried to convince him not to do it. Second, picturing the boys as Angry Birds characters was pretty darn funny. And fitting.
Well, he did it. Matt borrowed his mother's 1984 sewing machine, downloaded the instruction manual and single-handedly measured, cut, sewed, stuffed and hot glue-gunned the 2 costumes together. Just in time for the big day.
And, no, I know what you're thinking, I did not get these skeleton shirts because I thought Matt might fail. Curtis' was a hand-me-down, and Brock's was too awesome and cheap of a Gap sweatshirt for me to resist. And they both glow in the dark. What else were the boys supposed to wear all day at daycare on Halloween!?
Anyway, Curtis wasn't so thrilled with the costume. And Brock was just excited to go Trick-or-Treating. Getting a photo of the 2 of them was near impossible. You would have thought Brock had already eaten an entire bag of candy he was so hyper prior to setting out to walk the neighborhood. All in all, a great night. I went about 2 blocks with the boys before I had to head into work for the night shift. But it was enough for me to witness the happiness this holiday brings to my boys, all 3 of them.

Hair cuts!

2011-10-29T13:17:00.005-05:00

Curtis got his first formal hair cut. I don't know if his hair grows faster, there's more of it, is thinner, has less texture or if my tolerance for ugly, home-cut hair has decreased since Brock, but this is way sooner than Brock's first hair cut. He was more like 14 months, Curtis is only 11.

Anyway, this experience, was yet another event that demonstrates the difference in demeanor between these 2 boys. With Brock, I basically had him in a strong hold the ENTIRE hair cut. It was torturous for both baby and mama. Curtis? Happily sat in the chair. ALONE. Maybe tried to turn around to see what was going on every so often, but other then that, perfectly content in his little car. I mean, Curtis is still a curious little guy, just not as, umm, persistent as Brock. I had to hold him while they used the clippers around the ears...more for safety reasons than anything else.

In fact, come to think of it, I still gave way more attention to Brock, who was simultaneously get his hairs did. I had to watch, coax, calm and bribe Brock to sit still nearly the entire time. He is now nearly 3 years old! At least the two of them balance one another out.
And I have to be honest, I am hoping #3 swings a little bit on the Curtis side of life. You can never have too many happy, content, loving babies. Right?

The Must Haves.

2011-10-22T14:47:00.005-05:00

My next (and final) house MUST have:

1. A driveway that can functionally park 4 cars. At least.
2. Master Suite including: a.)Bathroom with Jacuzzi, large walk-in shower, double vanity, separate room for toilet. b.) Walk in closet. c.) Laundry room.
3. 4 finished floors, ideally one can walk out of both the basement & 1st floors, and I have always wanted at least one 3rd floor room.
4. A pool.
5. A 2+ car garage. Meaning, more than enough room for storage, plus 2 cars.
6. A kitchen that opens into a family room.
7. A tire swing.
8. A decent size front porch.
9. A large, clean, dry space for well organized storage.
10. A functional fire place.
11. An address that is located between 40th and 95th block on either the MO or KS side, no further East than Oak and no further West than Metcalf.

I think it's possible.

According to Brock

2011-10-11T22:24:00.005-05:00

When taking a bath, one gets their butt and nose wet. And that about covers it.

Bears can eat the moon.

Once cleaned with a baby wipe, breakable items can no longer be broken.

When in doubt, the explanation: "I saw it on tv" always works.

He has a baby in his belly.

Pizza is no longer pizza when cut in squares.

Allow me to elaborate on the Pizza comment. One night, we baked a Costco pizza for dinner. These pizza's are a little on the large side. Therefore, Matt decided it might be best to cut into squares as opposed to the usual triangular pizza pie-type slices. Before he did this, he ran it by me. To make sure that I, the neurotic, anal one with a preference on just about everything, especially when it comes to food, would be OK with this slight change in preparation. My response? Of course you can cut it in squares! Why would I care!? So, he proceeded to cut it into squares (they were actually more like rectangles, but whatever, I will let the technicality go).

I put a couple pieces on a plate for myself, and put one on a plate for Brock. As soon as he sees the square pizza slice on his plate, an absolute melt down occurs. "No, no, no, no, no. Not that piece. No. I don't want that piece! That's not pizza." He then runs out of the room, to get his stool, so he can see on top of the stove better to inspect what piece he might prefer. When he gets a good look at the entire pizza and sees that they are all misshapen. Well. Let's just say he didn't calm down enough to eat for a good 20 minutes.

Looks like Matt guessed wrong on who would care about Pizza cut into squares.

The Art of Perception

2011-10-09T14:12:00.009-05:00

A friend of mine just posted a picture of the sunrise this morning. I don't think she is in the habit of waking up in the wee hours, just to sit and watch the sun come up. She was awoken by her 14 month old son. Most often we curse our little tykes for this kind of behavior. Everyday we hope they will sleep in past 8am. But she would not have had the opportunity to witness this extra-beautiful morning without him. For all the little "inconveniences" babies and children provide, they also inspire, and add to our lives.

As adults, we get so easily caught up in "to-do" lists. We stick to schedules. We have to work. Clean. Provide. But having 2 little boys, I am forced to appreciate the small things in life again. I get to walk through a simple pumpkin patch, and pick out my very own melon off the vine. I get to watch my 3 year-old searching for the perfect pumpkin to take home (which ended up being not so perfect, kind of soft on one side, so we got it for free. The squirrels have been helping themselves lately, so maybe it is for the best.) There were no slides, rides or games. We simply explored a large field of vines. We got cockle burrs all over our pants. Some of us panicked about this. Some of us simply picked them off then tried to eat them. We were in no rush. I get take a walk in the rain and remember how much fun it was to run in the little river of water running down the curb. I notice airplanes and trains and trucks and "the po-po". I get to share in the excitement of seeing the moon and stars every night, or marvel at the sun behind the clouds. I get to sit on my porch just a little bit too long while watching the lightening and get soaked by the sudden downpour. I get to read my childhood favorite, "Are You My Mother?" over and over and over again.

I never get sick of watching these two little boys grow. And my heart swells. And my already out of control pride increases. And though I get exhausted, and tested, and over-worked, I just can't get enough of life. Just look at that smile. And I think you will get what I mean.

Hump Day

2011-10-07T22:37:00.004-05:00

I am officially 20 weeks (and one day now). Therefore over the hump!

I love life. I generally NEVER want it to go by quickly. When I really think about the fact that my first born is nearly 3, it makes me a bit sad. I've loved every stage of his relatively short little life, but it needs to SLOW DOWN. My second kiddo is going to be one in a month. What!? Stop. Stop. Stop. But when I realized that I was already 20 weeks pregnant, I in no way wished that would change. As far as I am concerned, 9 months of pregnancy CANNOT go by fast enough. Ever.

That being said. I can't complain about number 3 one bit. The reason this pregnancy is flying by (in combination with my ridiculous workload) is because I hardly even notice the little jumping bean in my belly. There is a hint of indigestion. An iota of restless legs. A whiff of nausea. Some negligable lower back and abdominal pain. And a lot of random flutters and even a few teeny tiny kicks I can feel from the outside now! I can safely say it now. It's been long enough. This pregnancy is nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, like the first two. If it was going to get bad, it would have done it 10 weeks ago. I mean, I know I will have the unavoidable 3rd trimester discomforts (unless I miraculously have a 6 pounder) but, wow. Now I know how some women sincerely don't mind pregnancy. And the relief from the unbearable, awful, no good, very bad symptoms, has also made me significantly less emotional. Still a lot worse than baseline (if I even know what that is anymore), but instead of crying 2-5 times a week, it's more like 2-5 times a trimester; compared to 2-5 times a decade non-pregnant.

As I help mom's deliver their babies, day in and day out, I can't help but be reminded that I will be in these ladies' position (no pun intended) one day very soon. In the span of 5 minutes, I go from thinking, do I seriously have to go through this again? While helping mom push. To thinking, I cannot wait to go through this again! When I see that little baby being placed on mommy's tummy and they meet for the first time.

Worn Thin

2011-10-02T14:29:00.004-05:00

Lately, when Matt and I find time to attend a social event, inevitably, in the small talk conversations with acquaintances, the question, "How do you do it?" comes up. And this question is nearly always pointed at me. And is usually in reference to taking care of 2 children, with a 3rd on the way, while working 60-90 hour weeks. The thing is, I can't take care of 2 children and work that much. Nope, not possible to be in 2 places at once, I'm afraid. So I am not "doing it". Matt is working his 40 hours. Then HE is coming home and taking care of 2 children, 2 dogs, a cat, a fish and a 4 bedroom, 3 story house.

Sure, I run to the grocery store, or Target when I can. I leave little to-do lists. I empty or fill the dishwasher here and there. I even make dinner if I am home by 5:30 or 6. I throw the kids in the bath if I have a moment. I change their diapers. I am sometimes home in time to even give Curtis his bottle before bed. But, I am not running the show here. Matt dresses the kids everyday, gets them to daycare, or his mother's on days Brock has school. He packs their lunches, backpacks, diaper bags. He takes them to the doctor if their sick and gives them their medicine. He mows the lawn. He paints the deck.

And while doing all of this, he continues to work on his own photography business and passion. He edits photos when everyone has gone to bed, including myself. He has photo shoot opportunities nearly every weekend, which he has to turn down frequently so that his wife will remain sane, and his children cared for. He is working just as much as I am, if not more. There is always something to be done, and never enough time to do it. We just take each day as it comes, and try to enjoy ourselves as we go...it seems to be working.
So, from now on, whenever I am asked how I do it, I simply point to Matt. And say, I can do it, because of him.

Does 60 sound old?

2011-09-24T10:14:00.004-05:00

Remember when you were a kid? When someone was 60, they were OLD. I mean, your parents were still in their 30's, maybe hitting 40. Now, someone is their sixties, is now my own parent. Next year, when I turn 30, I will be exactly half the age of my father. I am catching up!

Seriously though, Eddie has provided me 30 years of love, support and education. He taught this city girl how to manage at the farm. How to fish. How to ride a 4 wheeler. How to light a firecracker. How to rake the leaves. How to do yard work without a shirt on, and drinking a beer...wait, nix the without a shirt part (for me anyway.) How to fry an egg in bacon grease. How to grow tomatoes. And how to laugh.

If their is one thing my dad does well, it's laugh. He manages to see the bright side of life, and nearly every situation (even when I don't think there actually is a bright-side, hmmm, maybe he's a bit looney.) I know I may come across as a pessimist (or realist as I like to call it), but I think I got his trait of always being in a good mood.

So, to celebrate his 60 years of a life, full of life. We had a little cook out in my backyard. With some tabouli, buffalo chicken dip and oatmeal scotchies, 3 of his favorite foods, that just so happened to be 3 of MY favorite foods.

HAPPY 60th ED JR!!

Taking a Hit.

2011-09-20T20:36:00.004-05:00

I really, really didn't think my blogging would suffer from the ridiculous number of hours I work. It is such a compulsion for me. In fact, I thought my material would double. But due to HIPPA, and my lack of social life, the only thing left to talk about is my family. And even them I don't see enough to really come up with a great story. I don't have time for random thoughts or opinions. I don't have time for weddings, showers, birthdays, barbecues or other such frivolities. I have never been to bed before 10pm more in my entire life, than I have in the past 6 weeks.

Don't get me wrong. I manage to squeeze an outing in here and there. I even managed to host my father's 60th birthday. (Which, I really can't actually claim anything but supplying the house. My sisters made ALL the food, besides the buffalo chicken dip, and Matt ended up making that. And the cleaning lady did all the housework. And Brock picked out the balloons. I did pick up and organize a few items, as well as arrange some flowers. Geez, give me some credit.)

I have also managed to observe a few developing behaviors in my little ones. Curtis, for example, is crawling as if he's done it his entire life. Which, starting at 4 months, I guess he nearly has. And he can cruise, and when mad, stand without holding on to anything for a good 5-10 seconds. He just has NO interest in actually walking. Oh well. If he's in no hurry, I'm in no hurry. Also, I truly believe Curtis lives by the principle: if I see you eat, I will eat it. Taste does not matter. In fact, if I see the dog eat it, I will eat it.
I think Brock might be conversing better than Matt or I...I mean, we were on a walk and he waved to the person passing, said "hi", then asked, "what's your dog's name?" and when the person answered, he responded, "oh, how cute." All of which was clear as a bell and in perfect grammar. If there is one thing I can say for sure about the development of that child, he has no speech problems. Near flawless pronunciation. Now, as for his behavior and overall personality, there may be some issues. Let's just say, no one is going to describe him as "gentle" or "laid back".
And the little, little Little. Well, it just keeps on growing. When I first posted the floating baby ticker, it said I had 240 days to go. Now I have 156. Really? I thought I just found out I was pregnant last week. Have I even paid any of my bills? Cleaning lady, nanny, now I need a personal assistant. And, I think that about does it for my flight of ideas.

The Cleaning Lady

2011-09-03T16:14:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, you do things. Then you wonder afterwards, now, what was all the hype about? That was a waste of time.

Other times you do things. And wonder, why the hell did nobody insist I try this sooner? I have been missing out!

Having a cleaning lady is the latter of the two. Amazing. Unless both Matt and I are out of work at the same time, we will pay someone to clean our house from here on out.

I want it to be known, that I have periodically begged for, and suggested, and pointed out why we need, a cleaning lady since the day I started medical school. (So, pretty much, since the day I became a home-owner.)

You see, my standard of cleanliness just cannot be met by two full time employed adults. It definitely cannot be met with 2 working adults, 2 kids, 2 dogs, a cat and a fish all living in the same house. While it was just Matt, me and the pets, it was at least manageable and nearly met my standards after a good, solid weekend of cleaning. But now? Now we are lucky if we can get 3 of the 13 rooms done in a weekend.

Not anymore! I came home. On a Thursday night. A night where the dirty, cluttered, everything out of place-ness is nearing it's Friday night climax. To a clean house. Not a picked up house. A clean house. I am fairly certain our stove top wasn't even that clean the day we moved in. The glass that encases shower, that both Matt and I took turns scrubbing until we were sore, yet still had watery, soap scum marks...looked as if no water had ever touched it. The inside of the fridge was spotless. The microwave, wait, microwaves can work without grease covering all the inside surfaces?
I can feel huge weight has been lifted. One of my seemingly, lifelong stressors has simply melted away. No more panic as to when I can schedule in some time to clean a room or two. All of this peace of mind, lack of embarassment if someone were to unexpectedly pop by, and freed time for $15 an hour.

Round #3.

2011-09-03T11:09:00.005-05:00

Well, this 3rd time around, the shorts barely, barely fit at 15 weeks. In fact, I am still wearing them and contemplating switching to maternity shorts. I don't think any of this is due to baby being larger, it is more likely because I started out 10lbs heavier as well as in worse physical shape than the previous 2 pregnancies, and didn't lose a single pound once first trimester concluded (didn't gain one either.) I really think it is physically impossible to fully rebound from a pregnancy by 7 months. I feel fine and dandy now, but I am fearing for my back as I grow.

I have been so busy, working 10 days straight, my shortest day being 12 hours, I have hardly had the chance to think about #3. In fact, I think February is going to come WAY WAY faster than I am prepared for, and BAM! We will have a 3rd little O ruling the roost. Perhaps this busyness has contributed to how different this pregnancy has been. I was not as sick. I am not as emotionally labile (probably because I am not as miserable.) I do not think about the fact that I am pregnant 24/7. Sometimes, it will just strike me, "oh yeah, I am carrying another little bundle!" With each pregnancy, I feel more and more like an incubator and less like an amazing miracle creator. But don't get me wrong, the excitement of a new baby, person, human, member of the family never, ever diminishes. Just the process to get there seems more routine with each subsequent gestation.

According to the Chinese Gender Calender, this one is a girl. It's been 100% right for me so far...But as per usual, I have no gut feeling one way or the other. Yet. Either way, I get to look forward to some big purchase shopping. Bunk beds for the boys. And a minivan (BOO!) for the family. With 3 kids in carseats, unfortunately, there really is no other option that is as convenient. But I WILL NOT EVER refer to myself as a "soccer mom", so you better not either. If you insist on giving me a label, I prefer Doctor.

All good things.

2011-08-26T13:57:00.002-05:00

Must come to an end. As was painfully made clear to me on the last note I wrote on the last day of my first rotation as a resident. This note just so happened to be the longest note I had EVER written. On the most complicated patient I had EVER seen. And was the only thing between me and getting home for the night.

You see. When I began residency, everyone told me how I would grow to hate Cerner. They told me that the computer would ruin my day, experience and education at times. I had gone 6 weeks without an event that convinced me what they were saying was actually true. You see, I am a skeptic (what!!??? no way...as is my oldest son - story to come). So, people can tell me things like this all day, they can tell me how awful something or someone is, or how wonderful something or someone is, and I just don't believe it. I often feel, it is user related. The computer sucks, because you are an idiot. Sorry, it's just how I think. And for 6 weeks, this was true. I began to believe that I truly must be in a residency full of idiots (I am exaggerating for effect, and if I have to explain that, then you're an idiot too.)

So, I sat down, typed my note. Went through one more time. Found a spot I needed to correct, and began typing away to complete it. As I am typing, I reposition myself, and apparently, accidentally clicked the mouse with my right elbow, and BAM. My nearly 1 hour of work gone. Vanished. No trace. The heat instantly rushed up to my face, and quite frankly, I would be surprised if there wasn't some steam blowing from my ears. I was irrate. Many people said they would have cried, but anger is my general emotion of choice for these kind of situations. Before I touched anything else, I called IT to see if there was anyway to recover it. There wasn't. The whole thing was a complete fluke. A "flaw in the system" they call it.

I quickly retyped the note, in half the time it took me originally. I signed it, without hesitation, and left. On the drive home, I realized I had forgotten an entire portion of the note. Whoops. Guess that gives me something to do in the morning. And I have now, officially, joined the ranks of the idiots. Damn, Cerner.

A Balloon

2011-08-22T21:05:00.005-05:00

I smiled, off and on, all day. All because Brock woke me up at 4am this morning.
I was awoken from my very bizarre dream by the sound of my bedroom door, slowly creaking open. My eyes took a while to adjust and I could not find the little body that had opened that door, but I knew he was creeping somewhere. What I do see is a slight glint of light on a big, round, floating object. Attached to that object is a small boy now standing by my bed. I inform him of the hour, and instruct him to return to his own bed. He responds, "But the balloon noises scare me".

We leave the balloon in the hallway, and Matt takes him back to bed. And I smile at the cute, hilarity of the whole situation. Even my entirely too tough and proud 2.75 year old has his moments of weakness....someone else seems to get more enjoyment from this balloon. But what doesn't make this kid happy?

OPINIONS

2011-08-21T16:53:00.008-05:00

Opinions really bother me. It's true.

How can "opinions" be a pet peeve? Shouldn't it just be certain opinions? Not ALL opinions? And how can I say this, being as I am one of the more opinionated people you know? These may be just a couple of the questions running through your mind after reading the opening sentence. Allow me to clarify.

Mostly, I cannot stand unsolicited opinions. No matter the topic. If I did not ask for your thoughts, I don't want to hear them. Let me share a few "for instances" that are completely made up; if they bear any resemblance to real conversations or situations we have had, it is purely coincidence. For instance, let's say we are at the dinner table, and someone mentions that they love honey mustard. This statement is completely acceptable, as it is a fact when put in that form. That person, does, in fact, love honey mustard.

Now, had they said, "honey mustard is the best condiment" we have a problem. They have changed their comment into an opinion. It is absolutely debatable whether honey mustard is the best condiment. This situation can take many turns, some for the worse, some for the better. My hope is that, (A) I will either avoid the discussion by simply giving no response. Or, (B) I will take the bait, reply with my rebuttal, we will go on to have an intellectual conversation on the pluses and minuses of the many different uses of honey mustard, and settle on the fact that the original conversator prefers honey mustard to most condiments and that I just like salt. Agree to disagree.

But things rarely, I mean RARELY, happen like that. On most days, despite common beliefs about my personality, I generally hope for situation (A). Especially if I have an extremely differing opinion, and know discussion will be futile. (The ONLY reason I EVER purposefully engage in a pointless argument, is for my own educational purposes, if I feel my competitor might be well versed on the topic. Ok, as I re-read that, I realized, that isn't the only reason I might do that...after all, I am antagonistic by nature. Sometimes, if the person's beliefs, thoughts, opinions are extremely ridiculous or radical, I do it for my own entertainment.) So, I ignore the comment. But more often than not, I don't get my desired result of concluding the conversation. Instead, the person did not get the affirmation they had hoped for, so they go on and add, "Don't you agree?" Can I just say "no"? I mean, I can, and I do, but then I get, "Oh, really, then what condiment do you like better?" "Why?" And there it is. I am forced into a discussion. It's a downhill spiral.

I will never get out of the conversation now. I am trapped. I honestly begin to panic. Because this is another huge misconception about opinions...people feel, if they ASK you your opinion, and you politely share it, then that ok's them to give you theirs. NO. YOU asked my THOUGHTS, I did NOT ask you yours.

Which leads me into another situation, "fishing questions". Do you ever have those moments, when someone comes up to you and straight up asks your opinion about something, but you know it's because their true motive is to share theirs? For example, when I was obviously pregnant, so many woman approached me and asked some question or another about my pregnancy. Instead of speaking my initial thought, which is, "I don't really feel like talking about this right now", I would politely answer. This apparently means I have given the go ahead for the woman to tell me all about her pregnancies, deliveries, children, etc. You try to do the right thing, and it just blows up in your face.

Then there are the time when I take option (B). Usually, you can predict when option (B) is a bad choice, simply by the person's tone, demeanor or personality. But sometimes, you misjudge, and you find out that this person has an EXTREME opinion. Fact: ALL extreme opinions bother me. By extreme, I mean, the person absolutely, 100% believes this to be true and that there is NO way anyone's differing opinion could be right, ok, or possible. By the very nature of "opinions" this cannot happen. An opinion, is never a fact. You can use facts to support your opinion, but it will never make it absolutely the right answer. And I do not mind discussions with open-minded well informed people, but these kinds of people just don't form extreme opinions, and rarely feel the need to force their thoughts upon others. If you approach me with an extreme opinion, whether I agree with your stance or not, I will very nearly always play devil's advocate.

So, yes. I pretty much have an opinion on everything...even opinions! And I will share my opinions, if asked. And I will ask for opinions when curious. And that should be that.

When given the choice...

2011-08-14T15:47:00.004-05:00

...Brock will ALWAYS choose a Polo over a t-shirt. And often, when I am dressing him in just a t-shirt, he will ask if it has a pocket. And whenever the answer is "no", he seems slightly disappointed about wearing a plain ol' tee. For this reason, and others, I fear that Brock is, in fact, going to live up to his preppy name and become a "d-bag". Or, I mean, a brother in a frat. At least he will most likely be the president of the fraternity. The best of the worst is better than the worst of the worst, right?

We can't really blame him, as I frequently dress him in Sperry's and Puma's that I will not allow him to get dirty. I just hit an all time low yesterday and bought him a pair of white RL Polo shorts for next Summer. White. The only thing to make that more yuppy, is to get a pink shirt to go with it. Not going to happen (for Brock anyway, just too pretty for pink. Meanwhile, I have already imagined Curtis sporting some pink this coming Easter.)

And he walks around Starbucks like he owns the place. He just has the right look and demeanor to make a great d-bag. I might as well embrace it now.

In other news. I recently lunched with the boys and my mother at one of my favorite "hole in the wall" Mexican restaurants. And, as most "hole in the wall's" are, this one is located in a not so classy neighborhood. We finished lunch and started to load up into the car, my mother helping Brock into his seat. We were parked on the street, near a stoplight which just so happened to be red at the moment, therefore causing all the vehicles to stop. Including this white, pimped out Tahoe. Brock became quite frantic and began shouting, "The wheels still going! The wheels are going. Look! Look!" So my mother turns and just kind of laughs and explains to Brock, "Yes, it's the rims, they're still spinning" I mean, let's just say I was absolutely amused by this situation. My 2 year old is thoroughly confused about spinnin' rims, and my mother is explaining it to him by essentially quoting lyrics from a rap song by Chingy...

So...I didn't have a photo right on hand of Brock in a Polo, but he does make an appearance in this clip!

The Niner.

2011-08-13T10:22:00.003-05:00

As it turns out, a nine week old puppy and a nine month old baby have extremely similar interests. Curtie and Fannie are generally all over one another and vying for the same toy at all times (when they are not napping, eating or pooping, of course.) Often times, Fannie will walk up and just sit on Curtis. He has already learned to shove her invasive schnoz out of his face. And she has already learned that his toes are not a chew toy.

More and more, I find Curtis up a few steps, getting into kitchen cabinets, following his brother, and he is nearly always standing with the support of some piece of furniture. He has begun cruising and has taken a few steps with the block wagon walker toy thing. He has even on occasion, accidentally stood without support for a few seconds, which is hilarious. It takes him a moment to realize that he is no longer being supported, but when he does notice, the look of panic is priceless. He is still inches away from the couch or chair, he need only reach his little chubby hand out to restabilize, but instead he freaks out and sits on his butt. Needless to say, he is not our adventurous one, and walking might take some guts he has not acquired as of yet. He no longer does his bizarre one arm, one legged slightly cock-eyed army crawl and is up on all fours touring the place. He appropriately uses the word "mama" (when he is distressed). And questionably uses "dada".

Curtis weighs 21 lbs 7ozs which lands him in the 75%ile. And is nearly 29.5 inches which puts him in the 80's. So our little giant has slowly become a bit closer to average, still outweighing Brock by a good 2 pounds at this point. He never stops eating, but he also never stops moving. He has taken a sharp turn to Brockdom in that sense. He thinks he is pretty hot stuff now that his mobility is near limitless.

And the more he becomes like another little human, the more Brock treats him as such. Brock is always concerned about za Cucky's whereabouts. When playing together, he alway makes sure to give Curtis a toy (though, I am pretty sure the motivation behind this action is to avert the baby from his toys). He even talks to him now as if he completely understands. Though, I believe Curtis has realized that Brock is typically held responsible for nearly every incident and has learned to use this to his advantage. What I mean, is that Brock will hardly touch him, and Curtis folds over, crying, as if Brock has just performed the meanest act ever. Looks like we have got to keep an eye on sweet little Cucky. He might be just as manipulative as that toddler.The progress a little person can make in just 9 months is astounding. Amazing. From conception to birth, nine months. So from none existent to functioning in the world. Then from just eating, sleeping and pooping, to talking, crawling, playing in nine months. And the puppy? Well, in nine months, she will have gained at least 70 pounds. 70 pounds!! I think I can literally see her growing if I watch for 5 minutes. Obviously, I love it all. I am crazy about babies, and development, and life, and helping to form it. I hope I am doing a decent job of it...there are days when Brock (or should I just call him Dexter) makes me wonder.

One of THOSE days.

2011-08-10T21:21:00.002-05:00

I arrived home in a great mood. Work was the perfect amount of busy. I got off an hour and a half early. When I stepped outside it wasn't into a brick wall of damp, hot, grossness that has been KC weather for the last 3 weeks. On my road rage-less drive home, I had time to contemplate what I might do with my extra few hours at home. I decided on two things. One, I was going to make popcorn as soon as I got home. And two, I was going to take a nice long stroll with my boys. Just the two little boys, as Matt headed to happy hour after work. And I had every intention of allowing Matt to remain at Hooper's all night if he so desired. The universe (or my ridiculously chaotic household) had a completely different set of plans in mind...

...it all started after Curtis woke up from his nap. I walked into the nursery and got hit with an unmistakable fragrance. Poop. So I changed his diaper. We played on the floor for a bit. Brock came in to join us. And what scent wafted in along with him? Poop. I didn't change him, I sent him outside to finish his business, so as not to stink up the entire house. The dogs went out with him. Curtis and I continued to play. He took nearly a dozen steps using a walker toy. I then went to check on Brock's progress.

It took some coaxing to get Brock into the house, but we did it. He came in, the puppy followed. I chased the puppy back out, because I was not convinced she had done her business. I watched her pee, she came back into the house. I wrangled Brock into the nursery to get changed on the floor. I pulled down his pants. What did I see? Poop. All around the outside of his diaper, not a lot, but it was there. I then noticed that there were 2 little spots of poop on the carpet next to me. Then I noticed there were a dozen spots on the carpet surrounding both of us. I became slightly hysterical and announced, "There is poop everywhere! How did you do this? Were you just wiping your butt all around on the floor while I was outside? What is going on?" Well, apparently, Brock was just as shocked as I was. He lifted his hand to see that he had poop on his fingers and began to dry heave and gag. He began to panic. I just carried him to the tub in absolute bewilderment. I left him to rinse off and went back into the nursery to assess the situation.

Then, I spotted it. Poop. Somehow, in the 30 seconds that the puppy got inside, she had pooped. Now, how it got spread around is beyond me. I can only guess that Brock, while running around the house, unattended, like a wild man, managed to drag some poop along with him. So, I called Matt to tell him to stop and rent a carpet cleaner on his way home. And to perhaps cut his visit short.

At this point, I have cleaned everyone up. I have spot cleaned the carpet. And I have carried the blanket the poop was on, as well as all of our clothes down to the washer and put them in to be cleaned. I started a movie for Brock. I fed Curtis. I walk back down to the basement to check on Brock. As I take the last stair step, my foot lands in a puddle. I curse to myself. "Are you f*%$ing kidding me!? She peed too!?" But as I am thinking this, I look down to see that it is not a puddle. It is a flood. Something has disconnected from the washer. There is 4 inches of water on the floor surrounding the washer and dryer. Wonderful. Seriously, wonderful. I was actually laughing as I called Matt, yet a second time, to inform him of this one. I mean, if we don't laugh we cry, right?

Matt gets home. We eat. He carpet cleans. I put the kids to bed. I write a blog post. Yup, just one of those days. They seem to be increasing in frequency as of late. Good think I enjoy chaos.

Oh, and don't worry, I did make the popcorn.

Fannie May Gertrude Puddles

2011-08-07T12:36:00.004-05:00

When we first mentioned the idea of, yet another, little addition to our family, the over-riding response was, "you're crazy". And, though I couldn't really argue, I could show a picture of our little Fannie May, and you might no longer blame us for the moment of insanity.
Ever since the loss of Tali, there has been a 75 pound void in our home. Things were quieter, there was one less mouth to feed, Tater slept alone. We probably should have welcomed the prospect of less chaos. But it just wasn't right. Life felt out of balance. Crumbs were piling up too quickly. So when this litter of Great Dane/Coonhound mix puppies surfaced, I could not resist. They fit every bit of criteria I had made up in my head. Short hair. Big. Laid back. Puppy. Rescue. Trainable. We visited the litter, and Fannie (then "Allegience") immediately went up to Curtis and began licking his face. Licking, being the operative word, not biting. She then went on to play with Matt, Brock and I as well, ignoring her puppy siblings. The other little girls seemed completely uninterested. We took her home that night, without question, she was our girl.
After one night of looking and behaving lost, Fannie May quickly adjusted to our home. The potty training is progressing incredibly. And after a week of contemplation and observation, she finally has a name. I think. Brock still randomly calls her Puddles, which was a name that came up due to a misunderstanding over the phone. She loves to play with the boys, and Tater is slowly becoming accustomed to her presence. Only time will tell how big she will truly get, but with a 90lb (severely underweight mom) and an 85lb dad I think it is safe to assume she won't be little. I just hope her cuddly, sweet disposition stays. Because I have really fallen in love.

10 Week Update.

2011-07-28T17:16:00.004-05:00

So, It has been over 6 weeks since the biggest, best, little surprise of my (our) life was discovered. And more than ever, I am beginning to believe that I have some sort of guardian angel, white cloud, whatever you want to call it, assisting me at all times. This pregnancy has been significantly less hard on me than the previous two. I have been extremely nervous to admit this, because I am sure it will make all these now minimally awful symptoms explode and quadruple in severity. I still have pretty much every symptom in the book, and the exhaustion is near the level of Brock and Curtis, but I can actually function at work all day! It is glorious.

This fact, combined with the impromptu nature of the conception, and that the baby is due in a different time of year, most definitely means it's a girl. Right? RIGHT!?
Oh, and one huge difference, is that I began this pregnancy way out of shape. As well as up a few pounds from my baseline. I can tell. I already feel my pelvis "relaxing" which is the only way I can describe it. Being that the baby is only the size of a kumquat and my uterus only a grapefruit, it is not pressure per say. But it is something, and it's something I didn't experience until more like 20-24 weeks with the others. I am already contemplating getting some kind of support device for my back and belly. I never wore anything with the other two. And I already want to live in maternity clothes (thanks mostly to the bloating, but also to the extra pounds, and lack of first trimester weight loss.) Leave it to a girl to allow me to eat, therefore making me extra fat. Should I thank or curse her in the future?

Matt is pretty darn set that it is a boy. And Brock has said something about a sister EVERY time we ask about the baby. Curtis is oblivious, ohh Cutkiss. Only time will tell.

And it was only ONE week!!

2011-07-23T17:04:00.003-05:00

I started medical in a different class than I ended it in. And when the 2010er's graduated and became residents, I was still friends with a bunch of them on facebook. And starting July 1st 2010 I began regularly seeing posts along the lines of, "first day off in 17 days!" or "bed has never felt so wonderful" or "eat, sleep, work" or "blah blah blah exhausted blah tired blah no time blah blah no life blah blah blah work blah blah live at the hospital". I read these status updates and thought to myself, what a bunch of dramatic babies. It's not that bad. They are just looking for sympathy. They knew what they were getting into signing up for this career.

Now, I can never be sure if my skepticism is a form of denial/hopeful thinking. Or if I truly believe these thoughts. But, as it often times turns out, my skepticism is overturned by experiencing the awful truth for myself. Pregnancy was this way. And it turns out, residency is too.

For my first week actually working as a doctor I clocked in 69 hours. I will write that my longest day was 16 hours, because legally, that is all I am allowed to do as a first year, but that may or may not have been the case...if you catch my drift. Two of those days, I left before my children awoke, and returned after they went to bed. Two of those nights, I went to sleep, slightly sitting up (as is the routine for me during pregnancy) and woke up slightly sitting up (usually, I wake up 2 hours later and turn on my side). I guess one could say I was TIRED. One of those days, I set my alarm to 5:17pm instead of AM, and woke up with only 7 minutes to get out of the house. Needless to say, I forwent a shower. And thank goodness I still have that awesome internal alarm clock I acquired in my swimming days!

So, class of 2010, I guess I kind of owe you an apology. You are not a bunch of wimps. I cannot deny that I wasn't exhausted. I did nothing but eat, sleep and work. Nothing felt better than my bed. I had and have no life. I am already looking forward to my first week of vacation in November. But, with all that said, I am LOVING it!As many will probably agree, I was born a "know it all". I remember as early as age 5, being frustrated that my thoughts and opinions were not being taken seriously. Well, now, I get to walk into a room, introduce myself as doctor, and automatically my opinion matters. The amount of respect that accompanies that title is astounding and inspirational. I suddenly wish I were the top student and that I had all the answers. Every patient is like a little puzzle, some are little 25 pieces puzzles and some are 1,000, but they are mine to put together. And it is fun.

As I drove home after my very first "16" hour day as a doctor, I called Matt, and said, "I like being a doctor. I am really glad I chose the right field".

What happens in Vegas...

2011-07-09T21:23:00.008-05:00

...most definitely does NOT stay in Vegas. And no, it's not herpes.

Matt and I were quite "lucky" in Vegas. We came home with more cash then we left with (if you don't count hotel, flight, and entertainment costs.) And more children as well! I generally try not to make comments like this, because for A LOT of people conception is not a simple process, but, when they say it only takes once. Well.

And perhaps all this is TMI, but with two kids and a bun, there is really no denying what went on. I am not kidding, when we finally got settled in on our flight home, I suddenly felt a little twinge of pain in my right lower abdomen. I then thought to myself, "Nah, that isn't what I am thinking it is [ovulation]." And as I sat and continued to feel that sharp, highly localized, very familiar crampy pain, I thought, "And even if it is what I think it is, it doesn't matter, it's been 24 hours, or more. Or less. I think?" And once the sensation eventually subsided, I forgot about it. Until that really weird dream 2 weeks later.

And now, Number Three really won't let me forget about it. All those lovely, familiar symptoms are raging these days as I sit here at 7 weeks and 2 days pregnant. And, since this is a third time around, instead of listing my ailments, I will refer you to the "Short List". Which I believe about covers it. I would just like to add that, so far, there is a slight difference in symptomology. My constant nausea is ever-so-slightly allieviated by snacking! This may sound like a small difference, and there is plenty of time for it to change, but to me, it's HUGE. With the previous 2 boys, nothing, I mean nothing touched that incessant nausea (except Zofran). Now, a piece of celery, and I am good for the next 20 minutes or so. Also, if I am not mistaken, I believe this blatantly indicates that I am having a girl. The only negative to this change...I have only lost 1.5lbs. Usually I am down a few more then that by this point.

And, while we are on the girl topic. It's pretty funny how convinced everyone is that it has to be a girl. Myself included. Not only does it seem right statistically. But come on? Conceived in Vegas? If there was ever a "lady luck", this kiddo is it. I frequently almost refer to Number Three as a she. But, of course, as usual (in case it end up being a boy and he reads this someday) I would be perfectly happy with a third son. The gender question will be answered sometime, on or around February 23rd, 2012.

(Kind of funny that my last announcement pertaining to the presence of another offspring was Vegas themed as well, using a modified quote from "The Hangover".)

One step closer...

2011-07-07T19:57:00.005-05:00

I said this so often with Brock, and things are no different the second time around. Babies just have spurts. They literally wake up one day and are a whole new person. I remember Brock doing this right at 7 months. Curtis is lagging a bit and had his growth spurt at 8 months. But it's identical! Seriously, they both even got the same bottom tooth during this phase!
Curtis thinks he is some kind of hot shot because he can crawl anywhere, and pull himself up onto anything. His curiosity has increased 10-fold due to this increased freedom of movement. Yet, getting down...well, that is hilarious to me, and traumatizing to him at times. He will slightly fall then land smoothly and safely on his butt, back or side, but is sure that he narrowly missed death. He will flail his arms and the look of terror on that little baby face is so genuine, you can do nothing but laugh and cuddle him.

I have quickly realized that Curtis is our dramatic one. As a second child, I guess he has to get noticed somehow. He is going to milk the "smaller, younger" brother excuse for all it's worth when the boys start rough-housing more frequently. I say more frequently, not because they have really started now, but I can see it on the horizon. Though Brock may not have noticed Curtis' advancements on a conscious level, he has definitely started to treat him differently. He treats him like a kid. He finds toys for him, he instructs Curtis to do things, he hugs and kisses him. When we get ready to leave, he asks if Curtis, or za Cuck, or Cucky, or Cookie, or Curkiss, will be joining us.

Even while teething, he was still abnormally happy. He wanted a bit more attention, and was waking up once a night (just needed a pacifier and some comfort), but some kids do that on a regular basis still at this age. I am just glad he is one step closer to eating real food, he wants to be able to join us at the table more than anything in the world.

Meat Loaf

2011-07-05T18:18:00.006-05:00

This image came from one of Matt's cheezburger sites. Viewing these websites is something that I very regularly and relentlessly make fun of/chide him for, yet I reap all the benefits. You see, he marks the ones he finds most amusing and through the genius of Google Reader, I can view only 10 of the 1,000's he has pre-screened. And, we have a very similar sense of humor. Therefore, I am the clear WINNER in this situation (as per usual) and he is most definitely the LOSER (in nearly every meaning of the word).

But, back to the image. Of all the random chain emails, things people have posted, pictures and jokes I have seen, I HAD to repost this on my own blog. There are some things in life that perplex, interest and humor me. A lot. To the point of obsessing. And it really bothers me that sometimes other people are not botherd or confused by these things nearly to the same degree as me. Which is probably why I obsess about them...I just want to yell, come on people!? Well, this song by Meat Loaf is one of those things that has plagued me for life. How can one create such an incredibley vague power ballad, yet have no meaning attached to it whatsoever? What stems the passion with which this song is sung?

Well, question answered. As you can see folks, it's as simple as this: Meat Loaf would do anything for love, but he won't do that. (No no, he won't do that.)

Holy Mackerel!!

2011-07-04T12:32:00.000-05:00

So, my attempt to cut down on the "house keeping" posts by creating a month end has failed miserably. I did it in April and completely forgot to do May and June!! It's just not my style and going to take some adjusting, but here goes:

Morgan and Drew Elmore

May 21st, 2011

Carthage, Missouri

Morgan and I bonded in Med school during our rotation at Children's Mercy. We quickly discovered that we are both extremely high strung, stressful people who enjoy "over-committing" to life in genereal, but playing it off as if we are laid back and fun. Our poor spouses take the brunt of all that pent up anxiety. So, I was overjoyed to share this huge day with her, and even more excited that I could hook her up with my husband! As the photographer, what else would I mean by that? That is also where I stole these images for the blog.

This was one of those "it's about time" kind of weddings where everyone knows everyone. Everyone loves the couple. And it is a true celebration all around. It also provided me the opportunity to hang out with Christy, another classmate and fellow coffeeshop hopper. We found ourselves studying next to each other quite often, and making fun of the kittly litter instrumentalist and the man who thinks a coffeeshop should be more silent than a library.

Congrats to two happy and amazing people.

Tommy and Lauren Houts

June 4th, 2011

Visitation Church and Mission Hills CC

Tommy Houts attended grade school with Matt. The two of them, along with a couple other childhood pals, have more memories together than almost anyone I know. This little pack has remained incredible friends, been in each others weddings, godparented each other's children, creatively destroyed beehives, and enjoyed many other bouts of debauchery together throughout their lives. Though, I along with the other wives have technically became part of this little clique, I think they will agree with me when I say that these boys have a special bond of their own. And Lauren, being the youngest and newest member fits in incredibly! In fact, it feels as if she has always been around. I don't think you can ask for anything better.

Despite a little bit of an air-conditioning issue. And a bit of photographer disciplinary action at that church (which there is nothing Jason Domingues can't handle - another photographer I ripped off an image from...) The wedding was a grand and beautiful one. It is so comfortable to attend weddings filled with friends.

***********************************************************************

Lastly, I attended a shower for Shae Paradise. She is expecting her first baby, which I believe to be a girl. It was a generally lovely shower. With a few games, you know, name the candy bar poop and time the diaper change. Really it was just a welcome change in pace from my testosterone filled household. Can't wait to meet the soon to be newest addition to the baby Group clan...fingers crossed she holds out until August 6th.

Baby of Mine.

2011-06-29T21:15:00.000-05:00

Tonight, Brock got scared. He went to bed, and about twenty minutes later, I heard him upstairs crying and calling my name. I walked up to his room and opened the door to find my tiny little boy sitting in his bed with a few tears streaming down his cheeks. "You lay here, mommy?" he proposes. How can I refuse? I walk over and get in his full size bed and lie next to him. He tries to cover himself with the little fleece baby blanket that he prefers to the huge navy blue and green plaid down comforter meant for the bed, "it's stuck, mommy." Oops, I have laid on the corner. So, we get the baby blanket situated, and Brock rolls over to face the wall, hugging his two Giraffees. "You stay here?" He asks of me. And I say, "Of course, sweetie, I love you." And, without moving or looking at me, he just replies, "I love you too, mommy." And to that, I move in closer, so I can cuddle all 30 pounds and kiss the cheek of my oldest baby boy. We just lay there for a few minutes. I can feel potential tears welling up in my eyes; what emotion provokes this response? Pure happiness? Relaxation? Reassurance that my independent 2.5 year old still needs his mommy? Just love? Whatever it is, I hope it never goes away. I hope in the future, though they may become fewer and farther between, I still have the opportunity to shed a tear over sweet moments with this baby of mine. Goodnight, sweet Brock.

Blueberry Pickin'

2011-06-25T13:40:00.000-05:00

A friend recently said to me, "I've sensed that life just can't be busy enough for you." And this statement instantly struck me as entirely true. For as long as I can remember, I have always been slightly frustrated that it is physically impossible to be more than one place at one time, or to play four sports WELL in one season, or that we are limited on a day by day, minute by minute basis by the element of time. To me, life is short, therefore we have to pack in as much of it as possible during our flash of an existence.

This is not to say that I don't stop to smell the roses every so often, or to pick the blueberries in this case. Not only do I love life, I appreciate it, I wish I could savor it more frequently, for longer (which manifests into blogging).
My absolute passion for life. Passion for my family. Passion for new experiences. Gives me an endless supply of energy and motivation. Days like this past Wednesday, just 2 days before I started my Family Medicine residency orientation, are the kind of days that blow me away and make me thankful for every opportunity I have been given, created or utilized in this teeny bleb of a lifetime. And I got to share this moment with my husband, two sisters, two sons, and nephew (which probably made it become the wonderful, memorable day that it was).

And, most importantly, I never knew blueberries were so scrumptious! The slight warmth of the sun adds just that special something to that tiny round blue berry of goodness.

Going to Miami...

2011-06-22T22:51:00.001-05:00

My Danish swimming friend, Tina, from college scheduled a trip to the states for July. I think she may have been kind of joking when she sent me an email saying I should try to come down to Miami and join her and Maggie, another Hoosier swimmer, but I took it seriously and bought my flight immediately. We then found out that Colleen, a 3rd swimmer, was visiting this weekend as well, because her sister located in Southern Florida just had her 3rd little boy. It snowballed from there, and 6 of us were able to have mini reunion! The MANY absent com padres were definitely missed, but we managed to have fun despite the missing pieces...
Fun in the sun. Nothing beats Florida beaches. The water has always been clear and warm in my experience.
Fun with dining. Nothing beats Florida Grouper! And generally, all the seafood is to die for...it took me many coastal visits to finally realize that I actually enjoy fish. Living in the landlocked Midwest does not provide much opportunity for fresh, wonderful, seafood.
Fun at the outlets malls! Pretty sure Miami/Ft. Lauderdale has the biggest outlet center I have ever experienced. Overwhelming to say the least. This shopping trip did inspire a couple $100+ heel purchases (not by me, your welcome Matt) but did nearly caused me to drop a couple hundo on clothing for the boys as I discovered "Crew Cuts". Apparently, J.Crew has a children's section!? Not sure if this is a good or bad thing for me.

The weekend proved to really be relaxing, enjoyable and full of girl talk. Amazing how 6 people can all go 6 different ways and live in 6 different cities yet fall right into place when together in one house. And a spectacular house it was! Maggie has quite the set up there in sunny Florida.

Can't wait to visit again.

Sleep

2011-06-14T21:02:00.003-05:00

Curtis welcomes sleep. When you lie him in his crib, especially at night, you can see his body go limp, his eyes roll back, and I am fairly certain he lets out a sigh of welcoming relief. See, like most NORMAL people, too must stimulus overloads little Cucky. He needs downtime to reboot. And he enjoys it.

Brock, on the other hand, may have inherited my distaste of sleep. He has fought going to sleep for the entirety of his tiny life. You see, too much stimulus, well, stimulates him. He has a very hard time winding down. He is absolutely excited and passionate about life. He has no time to slow down. He does not want to miss a thing. Though, there have been a few moments that he has worn himself to complete exhaustion and literally begged to go to bed. Oh, how I love Summer.

Niether method is right or wrong. Curtis is not lazy for enjoying sleep, and Brock is not smarter for wanting to experience more. They are just different. Thankfully, they do share one sleep habit...when they are down, they are DOWN. Those boys exhaust themselves each and everyday. They need every bit of 10 hours of sleep, sometimes 11 or 12, and they take it.

Absolutely Elated

2011-06-13T22:18:00.003-05:00

Matt and I are planners. We pride ourselves in making decisions, sticking to them, and being successful. Sometimes, maybe even too much. Hey, it's how we be. But, I can tell you this much, Baby #3, was not planned. And I LOVE it! I kind of feel like a rebel right now. I mean, how sad is that? A third child, that we have always known we wanted, is arriving a year early, and that is as crazy as we get!?

The whirlwind of emotions began on the toilet. I peed on a stick, and watched, and of course hoped to see that extra line (I don't know about you ladies, but every single time I have EVER taken a pregnancy test, I have always secretly, if not openly, hoped it would be positive. Every time.) Then, when it actually did start appearing, I of course had to reread the instructions for the millionth time to make sure I was seeing things right. This whole time, trying to contain a giant smile.

I walk out of the bathroom, still trying not to grin, to hand Matt the test. "What do you see?" Mind you, he had no clue I was taking a test or suspecting a pregnancy. And he, ever so calmly, says, "Huh.? Well, I don't know what it looked like to begin with..." Let me clue you in, the same as every other pregnancy test in the world: blank. And that is that for a moment.

Then the moment of panic. Though, really I wasn't panicked, I would say it was more like shame or a feeling of complete irresponsibility. Who am I to preach that I know all about the birds and the bees, blah, blah, blah? Obviously, I don't heed my own advice. I dislike being a hypocrite. This phase, however, is very short-lived, and overshadowed by sheer excitement.

We get to have another baby! A bonus baby! I have been fretting over the timing for number three, and my questions have been answered. This is so fun. It is a complete shock, and the best kind of surprise you can ever receive. I am just beaming. I want to tell everyone and anyone that I am with child. It helps too, that I have minimal to no truly awful symptoms yet. But I also don't know, for sure, how far along I am. I have a very good "educated guess", and that is a due date of February 21st.

When I recently asked Matt if he was ok with it. He replied, with such sincerity, "Erin, I love those 2 boys more than anything in the world, and they make me so happy. I get to increase my love and happiness by 50%. So, yes, I am OK with it."

Perhaps 2011 isn't so bad afterall (though the baby will be born in 2012, and all of the remaining 2011 will be filled with pregnancy, so...??)

Pseudocyesis

2011-06-12T17:59:00.001-05:00

Pseudocyesis is the medical term for a false pregnancy. Pseudocyesis can cause many of the signs and symptoms of pregnancy, and often resembles the condition in every way except for the presence of a fetus. And I took probably a dozen pregnancy tests after I had Brock because of it. Something smelled bad. Test. I felt nauseous. Test. I was extra tired one afternoon. Test. You catch my drift.

So, with Curtis, I vowed to not be psychotic and to significantly reduce my number of pregnancy tests. I must admit, it's been really hard:

Recently, I have been feeling intensely scatter-brained. But that nearly always happens to me in the Summer. I think long breaks from school make me feel stupid. So nothing to worry about.

And the transient moments of vertigo and light-headedness, is most likely due to an increase in exercise, increase in sun time, inadequate hydration and decrease in calories for my crash Miami diet.

Then, my face randomly broke out a month or so ago, and has stayed that way. I mentioned to Matt that "if I didn't know better, I would say this is first trimester skin" as I just don't get pimples. Obvious explanation though, I have started weaning Curtis and therefore about to resume my monthly cycle. Fertility here I come.

And the last 3 nights, when I awoke up from deep slumber at about 2am feeling like I was going to vomit, I immediately regreted the 4 Boulevard Wheats or the large tub of popcorn with jalepenos from earlier in the night - that kind of binge eating or drinking just does not make you feel right.

And when I was shopping in Target and wanted to buy V8 and colby jack cheese, the staples of my diet the first 15 weeks with Brock. I thought, this is because I am trying to diet, and these are easy, low cal/high nutrient snacks.

Then, when I randomly had a huge fever blister pop up on my back, as it has done at some point during both my previous pregnancies, I explained it away as my sun burn. Must have irritated a nerve.

So, this afternoon, when I finally gave in to a rare fit of exhaustion, and proceeded to be woken from my nap by an extremely vivid dream, I realized I couldn't continue driving myself nuts like this. I just need to take a test for goodness sake. Pseudocyesis or not. The dream consisted of me expressing my disbelief that "Aunt Flo" had not yet visited since Curtis was down to nursing only once a day! And EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the dream told me that is was probably because I was pregnant. My mother forced me to take a pregnancy test in the dream...and it was positive. Therefore, I woke up, went straight to the medicine closet, peed on a stick, and there you have it. Baby O'Laughlin #3. Due date: Unknown.

Oh, and 6 hours later, test number two...still positive.

KARMA

2011-06-08T16:28:00.001-05:00

As the title of Curtis' 7 month update post, I am sure you all find this one to be odd. Well, frankly, it is perfectly fitting. And I will tell you why.

Matt could not have said it better, "2011 sucks. I hate you. Go away." So far, this year, Matt has been laid off. I did not Match. Our dog suddenly died. Three huge, huge, life-altering events for the worse. Plus a few other lesser in significance, but also depressing, irritating and inconvenient events. And then, it suddenly dawned on me. KARMA.

Curtis is such a freakishly wonderful baby, he has stolen all the good juju from our family. That has to be it. No one is allowed to have a child like this and just get away with it. No one.

He was born on his due date. I hoped and prayed he would remain put until the month of October expired. He complied.

He was born in less than 6 hours. I didn't feel a thing. Hardly had to push.

He nursed like a 3 month old. I never felt chained to him because he ate only every 3-4 hours or so, and only for 20 minutes. I still wonder at his mammoth (but declining in percentile) size.

He slept like a 3 month old. Not only did he begin sleeping through the night by 4 weeks, but you can just lie him in the crib. No rocking, patting, feeding, etc. Lay him on his side, with a pacifier and a blanket bear, and he is out.

He smiles like an idiot. I know I have said it before, but EVERYONE comments on this. I never thought the question, "Is he always that happy?" could get old, but it has. I mean, Curtis is sooo happy, that I make fun of him when he cries. Because it's not even real. He just wants to make sure I am aware that he would be unhappy if he were a normal infant.
He requires little to no attention. Which actually has the opposite affect and makes one want to hang out with him all the more. Just the other night, we were at The Salty Iguana enjoying some 2 for 1 tacos. and about 35 minutes in, the dad at the table next to us blurts, "I mean, is he always that good?" Yes. "Because we had to speed eat when these guys were little." Pointing to his three children, and going on to insist his wife turn around and look at the baby that, "hasn't made a peep the entire meal and is now falling asleep." (I would like to add that he must have been tired if he had not made a peep, because that kid is vocal. Despite his mobility, I always know where he is.)

He is the perfect match for Brock. He is tough and laid back. So, not only can he take a beating, but he doesn't even care about it. He just observes Brock and his high energy craziness, smiles or screams at him, and goes about his business.

He loves the pool! Even more than Brock did. Which is unbelieveable. And wonderful. But why am I surprised? He loves everything. I just look in his half-moon, squinty smiling eyes, and think, "what a sweetie" no less than 177 times a day.

Food is about the only thing he gets "upset" about...but as I said, it's not really a real cry. I recently found him chewing on something...a piece of carpet! I mean, I can't exactly go strand by strand and make sure none are loose enough for a tiny baby to pull out and eat. Lets hope he has a strong stomach. I just love that kid. Love him, love him. And this all may seem like bragging, but I have nothing else I can say about him. With Brock I could always throw a few "he is great, but..." comments, but there is no but with Curtis. When there is, trust me, it is going straight onto this blog.

I am not going to lie, I would probably trade waking up once in the night for Tali to still be around. And I might even prefer to put up with some general fussiness to have matched in OB/gyn...but as for Matt's job, the jury is still out on that one. The boys and I have LOVED having Matt around all the time and his photography has improved and grown. Could have been a blessing in disguise. So, I am not going to trade anymore of za Cuck's fabulous traits.

Peepee in the Potty?

2011-06-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I am jumping the gun here, and perhaps he will "revert" back to having accidents, but I think Brock might be potty-trained. I honestly went at it without any plan in mind whatsoever. I bought some pull-ups a few weeks ago. I had these thick, trainer undies that my sister gave me when Xander was through with them, and that's about it. On Thursday, when he mentioned wanting to peepee in the potty, as he has been suggesting for a few months now, I took him in there with the attitude, OK, we are going to do this. He stood at the toilet. Waiting. Waiting. Getting distracted. Refused to quit trying. 4 minutes later, I got bored and summoned Matt. Matt got him to sit on the trainer seat and patiently sat with Brock, in the bathroom for 45 minutes. Nothing.

Friday, same deal, only this time, we armed him with a book and some toys. I also said we could do anything he wanted, get ice cream, go to the pool, etc. I would like to add, that Leah and I had our make-up done at Macy's earlier in the day, so my offering the pool was gambling that he would yet again be unsuccessful. I think he sensed that the ONLY way he was going to get to go to the pool that day was by peeing in that toilet. And, by george, that kid was not getting up until he did. He sat there for over an hour. He outlasted both Matt, and I. We had left the bathroom area and gone on to do other things about the house. And Brock just sat on the toilet. That is the LONGEST that child has EVER sat still in his entire 30 months of existence. Who knew? Stubborness comes in handy sometimes. We then hear a little voice saying something about going peepee. We walk into the bathroom, and there is Brock, standing and pointing into the toilet at yellowish tinted water and some bubbles...YAY!

We clapped our hands, jumped up and down, washed our hands, told Brock he was a big boy, gave him the mini Reese's that we had set on the shelf above the toilet as a reminder of his reward for going potty in the toilet, hugged, kissed, clapped some more, then called the grandparents and an aunt or two. After the over-the-top insane little celebration, we then reminded him he could have or do anything, and I suggested ice cream (repeating, don't say pool, don't say pool in my mind over and over and over.) "Pool!" Of course. So, Matt took him to the pool.

He hasn't really looked back since. I annoyed him for the next day constantly asking him if he needed to go potty. I quickly realized there was no need to constantly pester him. Apparently, he WANTS to use the toilet and let's us know when it's time! He has gone #2 a couple times. This is where the accidents might come in...he is not a great pooper. I just don't get it. I thought this whole process was supposed to be a lot harder. I think there is a lot to be said about just waiting until your child is ready to do things themself. My and Matt's parenting style has always been to just follow the kiddos' cues with some mild encouragement and instruction along the way. Looks like it's worked (until I update the blog tomorrow with word that he is refusing or peed all over the house...)

Las Vegas, Nevada

2011-06-01T22:08:00.000-05:00

Tali: April 25th, 2006-May 28th, 2011.

2011-05-28T12:32:00.000-05:00

Tali passed away sometime Friday night after suddenly getting sick on Wednesday, May 25th, and after the valient efforts of her Doctor, Keith Placke. She was vomiting all afternoon on Wednesday and all day on Thursday. Then, in the early evening on Thursday, I realized I hadn't seen or heard her in the backyard for a few hours. After calling her a few times, and getting no response, I finally located her curled in a ball against the back fence. She simply looked at me as I called her name. She would not budge. When I walked out to her, and finally got her to stand, I could see and feel her rigid abdomen. At that moment, I knew she was in trouble. I felt kind of nauseous, panicky, and just worried. I texted Matt, who was out to see Hangover 2 and held back the temptation to say "Tali is dying, I am taking her to the vet." Instead, I told him she was really sick and had to go to the vet right now. Matt got home, the whole family packed up (I wanted everyone to go, as I sensed this could be our last time with her) and we headed out to Raintree Animal Health Center. I checked on Tali twice during the 30 minute drive, fearing she might pass on the way there.

We got there, and Kim (Matt's cousin) and Keith were relatively calm, which I took as hopeful. We did bloodwork and x-rays. Both demonstrated that something was not right and that there was most likely an obstruction. We decided to give some antibiotics and a pro-kinetic and reassess in the morning. With no improvement the next day, Tali went to surgery. In surgery, most of her small bowel was found to be dead. Dr. Placke did everything he could, was in surgery way longer than expected, and cut out most of the bowel, reattached it and got Tali through surgery. We went back Friday evening to visit our friend, post-surgery. It was painstakingly obvious our little gal was not doing so well. We tried to just pet her, and maker her feel relaxed. Of course, despite intense pain, and moments from death, she still tried to stand up and come home with us. We thanked our friends and family at Raintree and left, hoping to hear good news in the morning (but not expecting it.) I have never really mourned the passing of a pet before. I have also never experienced the death of a non-elderly dog. I kind of always thought people were over-reacting a bit to their pet's death. After all, Tali was only a dog.

But, this dog we watched be born. (Well, not technically, she was the only puppy from Marley's litter that Matt did not witness the birth. She was a bit slow. Guess we should have expected she'd do something dumb like get a corn cob lodged in her gut and not tell us about it until too late.) This dog joined us very shortly after the purchase of our home. This dog has been with us for the entirety of our marriage and the lives of our children. This dog was on our infamous Christmas card, perhaps stealing the show. This dog patiently let teeny babies crawl up to her feet and touch them. She hated having her feet touched. This dog generally slept most of the day, but if one of the kiddos arose from slumber, she would run through the house in search of me or Matt, to make sure we were aware of it. This dog was happy to see us every minute of every day. She wanted nothing but to make us happy. Even when she was in the worst pain of her life, pain that would probably make humans lose consciousness, Tali tried not to be a bother. Yes, she ate dirty diapers, got in the trash, barked at other people and animals, all the things expected of the species, but that was just part of who she was. As just a dog.

Now, without her, I realize that just isn't true. She wasn't just a dog. She was Tali. She was part of our family. Brock asks about her. He was concerned about his sick dog. Curtis would laugh at her for no apparent reason. She just made people smile. The lack of her presence is painfully obvious. I am kind of happy to be leaving town today. I won't see her kennel all cleaned out, taken apart and stored in the garage, or the lack of its presence in the basement. I can pretend that she is just being watched by someone while we are away. Hopefully, Tater being the dim lightbulb he is, will have forgotten she existed by the time we get back. That way he will not wander the house aimlessly, without his big sister as a personal guide and a heater.

When I remember Tali, I think of how she would instantly yawn upon landing on any piece of comfy furniture, particularly the master bed, to display her sheer exhaustion, despite being playfully hyper the moment previous. I think of her jamming her nose onto the wall, carpet or laundry basket in an attempt to eat that ever evasive laser pointer, or light reflection. I think of her stupid nub of a tail, that Brock called "Tali's penis". I think of when she would "get the cat", find Nike and just pin her down then look at us, as if to say, "Ok, got her, now what?" I have flashbacks of her and Tater chasing one another, barking in the backyard, probably disturbing the neighborhood, but making me, Matt and the boys laugh in delight. I remember wanting to beat her to death when I was hugely pregnant with Brock for getting into the trash for the 3rd time, and just sobbing on her instead...I would pick up trash everyday as opposed to this alternative. Mostly, I just think of how adaptable and wonderful she was with our kids. She loved them as her own. As we loved her. And all of this makes me truly sad, and I mourn my pet. Goodbye my friend.

THAT baby.

2011-05-27T12:49:00.000-05:00

I called it from day one. Curtis was going to be THAT baby. You know, the one that puts anything and everything they can get their tiny, chubby little fingers around directly into their mouth. Therefore, I am constantly scouring the floor for Legos, puzzle and game pieces, loose change, etc where ever I set the child down.

This morning, as Matt, Brock and Curtis were hanging out on Brock's big boy bed, I walked over to join the fun. I started to dangle a toy in front of Curtis, and he looked up, started reaching for it, then started gagging. It appeared that he had just choked on a little saliva and was over-reacting. He continued to gag and started dry-heaving, so I picked him up and took him into the bathroom to lean him over the sink in case he was going to drive himself to vomit. Matt and I were kind of laughing at his ridiculous reaction to a teeny bit of saliva going down the wrong pipe. I mean, he was groaning and heaving. I felt bad for the little guy and start patting him on the back, and leaning him in a better "vomit" position so that he could just get it over with and throw up. He finally got a good heave going and in what seemed like slow motion, out came this ball of grayish looking saliva that clinked as it hit the porcelain sink. Out if the corner of my eye, I can see Matt perk up and go quiet in suspense. And I reach down to pick up the object in disbelief. A quarter! The baby had eaten a quarter! That could have been really bad. It either fell out of Matt's pocket, or Brock (who has a habit of getting change out of the change jar on Matt's dresser) had put it there. Of course, Curtis found it.

I carried Curtis and the quarter back into the room to show Matt (cause you know, he might not remember how big a quarter really is). Matt took the quarter from me, set it in his hand and proceeded to re-offer it to the baby. And you know what my still completely pale from vomiting baby did? Reached for the quarter, grabbed it, and headed straight for his mouth. Ohhh, a quarter, don't mind if I do...

2.5 Years

2011-05-25T21:47:00.000-05:00

As a two and a half year old, Brock has really come into his own. He loves his "big boy bed" and adjusted to it immediately. In fact, if he is not keen on the idea of going to bed, you can threaten him with sleeping in the crib! That generally ends that argument, and to sleep he goes. What I find most amusing about this whole big boy bed thing is his morning routine. Do you remember nervously hanging around outside your parents' bedroom door in the mornings, trying to hear if they are awake, or determine if it is worth it to go in? I do. And I can hear him doing the same thing, sometimes sitting for hours at the top of the stairs. Giraffee always in tow. Other mornings, he just goes downstairs, turns on the tv, and helps himself to various food items in the kitchen pantry. Just the other day I headed down the stairs only to be barricaded by the 2nd to last step. It contained quite the smorgasbord of Cheetos Puffs, an unopened Granola bar, a box of raisins, some loose cereal and a pack of Chips Ahoy with Heath. One word: wholesome.

Brock's vocabulary and parroting skills are off the heezy at this point. A few of my current fave's? His pronunciation of the letter "O" as "ho". So, naturally, whenever he would point out this letter and pronounce it, Matt and/or I will begin singing, "You's a Ho" by Ludacris. Just the other day, I heard Brock playing alone in the other room, I believe his cars were having a conversation, and one felt the need to begin singing, "you's a ho, you's a ho". That's my boy! He also has a tendency to leave the "L" out of "clock" and the "N" out of "tent". Therefore, we make sure to point out these objects whenever possible to the point that is now seems Brock has a bizzare obsession with tents and clocks...or Tourette's syndrome.

The advances are not only found in the language department, his memory is improving as well. Lacrosse practice is held quite frequently in a nearby park. Brock perks up and gets pretty excited about any sport, and generally calls them all basketball. So, when he saw a bunch of boys running around with sticks and balls at the park as we drove past, he made sure to point them out by yelling "basketball!" Matt says, no Brock. That's gay. (You know that whole Rugby vs. Lacrosse thing...) A week later, we drive by, and Brock's in the back of the car yelling, "It's the gays! Look, more gays!" Umm, parenting fail on that one, Matt O.

Teeny Tiny Newby

2011-05-24T10:38:00.001-05:00

With my time off, I thought it best to begin organizing my 100's (more like 1,000's, but I don't want to admit that) of photos to put together an album for Curtis. I refuse to be that parent that has a full, chronological, perfectly organized photo album for their oldest, and dwindling to non-existent albums for the rest of the brood. In my perusing, I came across this gem. I seriously think this is the only footage we have of Curtis actually appearing like a newborn, he is less than an hour or two old. Pretty sure he was the baby he is today by 6 hours of age...

...man, there is nothing sweeter, more relaxing, amazing and wonderful than a teeny, tiny newborn. Love him.

Byproduct.

2011-05-20T21:25:00.000-05:00

Unbeknownst to most visitors, we do, in fact, have two, spacious, upstairs bedrooms. Whenever we did allow guests to venture up the stairs, they were always shocked. They played off the shock as being related to the size of the rooms, as they are a bit large for the normal Prairie Village home. But I am certain the shock was really due to the state of disarray in which they found the rooms. The master always has a large amount of clean, dirty, folded, piled laundry and shoes (which will change when we dive into the huge master closet renovation some day). As for the other bedroom, well, it was the "catch all". Not anymore. As a byproduct of my insane amount of energy and desire to get my house in order before July 1st, we sucked it up, moved around some furniture and other random belongings, painted, rearranged and completed the perfect little boys' bedroom:The theme was actually inspired by these four old, old sketches of office chairs that Matt discovered in his former employer's storage. I loved the simplicity and strucural feel of the prints and wanted the room to match. I had my dad cut glass to fit each print exactly, as they were all slightly different sizes, and found simple clips to hang them to the wall. Also, Brock and Curtis already had Navy and Green chairs, so paint selection was easy with a Navy accent wall, and Grey to keep with the raw structural theme. Sherwinn-Williams of course!

Total, I think we spent just under $300 creating this room. The most expensive part of the room was the steel piping we bought for the window fixtures. But it was totally worth it, I think that touch drove the theme home. The magnetic chalkboard just seemed a natural addition to the bizzarely shaped nook of the South wall. And helped to tie in the awesome little navy storage baskets I found with mini-chalkboards hanging from them. The 1-2-3-4 buckets I discovered at my mother's flower shop. Originally, I just wanted the #1 to use for Curtis' first birthday party, but loved them all too much. (I would like to add that I recently opened a PotteryBarn Kids magazine and discovered mini-chalkboard baskets and tin storage buckets! Pretty sure I should be one of their designers...) And, well, you can't have a "structurally" themed boy's room without LEGOs, right? So a LEGO table adorns the center of the room.

Needless to say, Brock LOVES his room. He is proud of it. He adjusted to his big boy bed immediately. There is something to be said about waiting until the kid is ready and not pushing things; let's just hope potty training goes the same way (and that he decides he is ready soon.) And I am fairly certain Curtis cannot wait to join his big bro in that awesome room. And I just so happen to know where I can find the perfect unstained, raw-looking bunkbed to fit...

Dilly-Dally

2011-05-17T22:38:00.000-05:00

If dilly-dallying were an Olympic sport, I think I would be the reigning gold medal champion. In fact, just by authoring this post, I am finding yet another way to postpone going to bed. I mean, why would I do that? Just go to bed, already. What am I attempting to avoid? And the amazing thing is that I do not discriminate. I waste time, even when there is no time to be wasted. I dawdle whether I am excited or nervous or dreading the impending event. I will never stay on task and I will always be the last one ready. Ask anyone who knows me well.

One would think, after spending up to 6 hours at the pool, working out, I would want nothing more than to get dressed and get home to my comfy bed. But no, I took my sweet time getting out of that Indiana University locker room. Even when my out of town boyfriend came to visit! Seriously, what is wrong with me?

I don't even do it consciously, or to be rude. I can't explain it. And it absolutely, does not match my personality. But it's a fact. I dilly-dally. And I do it quite marvelously.

What a Week.

2011-05-15T10:04:00.000-05:00

For a multitude of reasons, I nearly drove my relationship to divorce due to house preparation for my graduation. I wanted the house to be put together, clean, painted, personalized, and organized before May 14th. I had no nesting instinct with either pregnancy, but the end of med school, implying the beginning of residency, aka 80+ hour work weeks sure did the trick. If our marriage could survive the last couple weeks, it can survive ANYTHING. Let's just say, our energy levels do not quite match. And it wasn't just the end of school, it was the beginning of Summer vacation. I wanted to be free of any pressure I might put on myself to get the house in shape for the next 5 weeks. Also, many of my close classmates were from out of town and planning on staying with us for a couple days leading up to the event.

Therefore, on top of getting things in ship shape for guests, I felt it necessary that I host a little hang out session with food and drink as well since half the people were already at my house. But, for me anyway, all of this was worth is when Ashley Ascencio (a classmate very familiar with the usual condition of my abode) walked in and said, "Wow, Erin, I didn't even recognize your house!" Job well done, I guess. I nearly replied, "whatever do you mean? It is always like this..." But I have never been a good liar.
It brought me such pleasure to have 3 of my closest friends spending the night in my home. Perhaps the coordination of showering, the sharing of a mirror to put on make-up, the other girls around to ask, "does this look ok?" all brought back some nostalgic feeling from growing up in a huge family with 2 close sisters, or living with my 2 closest Indiana swimmer friends for 3 years. Or, perhaps it was the satisfaction one feels in being able to offer some kind of service to a friend; knowing you have made life easier for someone, if not for just a moment. Or, perhaps it was the opportunity to show off my adorable, little family; so that others could witness the hilarity of Brock, the happiness of Curtis, and the laxity of Matt first hand. But mostly, I think it was getting to spend a significantly increased amount of time with some amazing friends and share completely with them in the celebration of our accomplishment.

We ate. We drank. We shopped. We talked. We stayed up way too late. We got up way too early. We didn't take nearly enough photographs. (I have decided that this is the sign of a truly good time, who has time for pictures when you are in the moment, celebrating?) We laughed at Brock for unapprovingly playing with the sodas in the cooler, dropping one, quickly picking it up, noticing that it was spraying and throwing it back in the cooler then sauntering away. You could almost here him whistling as to attempt to display innocence. We graduated. We then parted ways. And moved on to more celebration with our own families.Meanwhile, my own mother scrambled to get her house together for the graduation after party, nearly driving her children to emancipation. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She opened her house and prepared food for the nearly 70 guests that attended the event honoring both Leah's and my graduation. I loved the opportunity to share a moment with all of those who had supported me throughout my rigorous education. And I loved the food. Man, it was a good spread - with very special thanks to Mimi for the perfectly tastey and adorable cookies. And Annora for the yummy tortilla roll-ups, and gaucamole, and salsa. And Wanda, for making my favorite cheesecake as a graduation gift! And, of course my mother, quite a talented hostess. The house looked beautiful and perfect. Allowing for celebration with the first guest arriving at 1pm and last leaving just before 10. My kind of party.I guess, what I am trying to convey, is that this past week will go down in history as one of the best weeks ever. All of this due, not to my actual graduation ceremony, but to all of the people who made that ceremony possible and enjoyable. The joy and love that surrounds me on a daily basis, became so ostentatiously clear. If I were an emotional person, it would have brought me to tears and involved a lot of hugs and kisses. But, alas, I am not. So, all I can do is attempt to convey my love and appreciation in writing. I love my families, intensely. And yes, I meant intensely, not immensely, as that is the way I roll.
And yes. My mother did her first keg stand. And liked it.

graduation

2011-05-14T22:46:00.001-05:00

As I went for an intense, adrenaline filled run, the evening before my "big dance", I couldn't help but become overwhelmed with pride. Working out is nearly the only time I truly feel focused, relaxed, emotional, invigorated and determined all at the same time. The endorphin's, combined with a mind free from distraction, creates the perfect recipe for positive self reflection. As I jogged, I thought to myself: I have made it. I will receive the distinguished title of Doctor in the morning. As I reflected on the road that lead to this accomplishment, and the meaning of this title, I did not feel boastful. I did not think for one second about the possible societal status change that some people feel this title automatically bestows. I did not hope to gain respect from anybody or feel any sense of entitlement. I simply felt proud of myself. And then wondered if that was allowed? Socially acceptable?
It is commonly taught that pride is a "deadly" sin. People generally look negatively on the word, especially when it is being used by an individual to describe them self. It is somewhat acceptable to be proud of your team, your friends, your family, your children, but proud of yourself? Huh uh, no way, not allowed. Society would prefer you to strive for the descriptors: humble, sacrificing, giving. So, I decided to look up the meaning of the word, and found this:

Pride (n) 1: a feeling of honour and self-respect; a sense of personal worth. 2: A feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.

I think the definition of the word is completely fitting, so, for the next couple of days I choose to embrace my true emotion. I am proud. For once, the narcissist in me is right and deserving. I worked really hard to get where I am. It took a really long time. It took dedication. It took perseverance. It took sacrifice and love and every word you can think of that you have seen on a motivational plaque or those "Successories" posters.
And with my pride, I have not forgotten the people that got me here. I have not forgotten the numerous hours of free babysitting from my supportive family. The dinners they provided. The listening ear. Their constant encouraging words. Their unending belief in my abilities. Their trust. And most of all, their patience and understanding. During the moments when I failed, or had doubts, I expected nothing but disappointment from these people who had so selflessly offered their services, but that emotion never existed for them. I think my mom even laughed when I suggested such a thing. I felt guilty every time I asked for assistance. After all, it was I who chose to attend medical school. I chose to have two children during this rigorous curriculum. I put too much on my plate, and then shoved some of it onto theirs, and they NEVER flinched. Thank goodness.

So, I hope all of you will stop for a moment and enjoy your sense of pride from this accomplishment. Because it is ok to be happy, and proud about something that you have earned. I know I am.

Sincerely,
Dr. Erin M. O'Laughlin

A Very Merry Unbirthday.

2011-05-05T09:41:00.000-05:00

As the rain drizzles on this typical, early May morning in Kansas City, it ruins my garage sale plans. On the other hand, it causes my sweet, happy, lovable, happy, energetic, happy, bouncy, smiley, giggly, did I mention happy? baby boy to nap for extended hours. So, instead of peddling my goods [crap], I have taken the opportunity to recount Curtis' progress in just 6 short months of existence.

As for sheer physical facts, Curtis continues to be on the large side, but is slimming out for sure. It's no surprise that boy's getting trim; anytime he gets in his Johnny Jumper he just starts bouncing, and does not stop. Ever. Eventually, after 30 to 45 minutes I just take him out because I feel like I am either neglecting him or forcing him to exercise. Seriously, my legs burn just watching the kid go. But he obviously loves it; after I remove him from the contraption he stares longingly at it and starts moving and shaking in my arms. This also may be why everyday he seems to look more and more like his older brother did at this age. I could see no resemblance between the two as newborns, but now there is NO QUESTION these two are brothers. To match my post on Brock's 6 month unbirthday, I will add the specs from his doctor's appointment [which was a week early]:
Height - 27.5" (65%)
Weight- 18lbs 15ozs (85%)

As for personality, one word covers the extent of it: HAPPY. That's it. Happy. When meeting Curtis for the first time, you will get a huge, warm smile as a welcome. And I'll just let you think you're special. I won't mention that he does that for everyone. Eventually, you will figure it out for yourself, when you see him repeatedly smile at everyone and anything moving. You will then become slightly perplexed, and ask me, "Is he like this all the time? This happy?" To which I will reply, "Yes." Invariably, you will repeat the question, because his happiness is astounding, contagious and unbelieveable and I will have to come up with more description than just a yes. I will start talking about how he sleeps from 9pm to 7am every night. That we can just lie him in his crib awake, and he will fall asleep on his own. That he laughs at his brother and the dogs as they romp all around [and on] him. That every once in a while he will let out a squeal or giggle for absolutely no reason. I will do this in a manner no of a braggart, but more of a mutual bystander, astonished at the child's demeanor as well.

None of this is to say that Curtis never cries. But I can say, he never cries without a damn good reason. Such as he wanted to eat over 2 hours ago, but I have finally pushed him to his limit. Or Brock has decided to "tickle" him directly in the face and nearly poked an eye out. But even amidst his crying, if you look him in the eyes and smile and talk to him, he can't help himself but to reciporicate the grin. In his early days, he had his fussy moments, but the Nuks solved that issue, and I can honestly say he has never looked back.

As for being a second child, I can honestly say I under-estimate Curtis all the time. I am guessing that nearly every parent thinks their first child is amazing. That everything he or she does cannot be repeated or surpassed by any other human. And in some ways, this is slightly true. Because they were your first experience as a parent, therefore everything they did was incredible. Only, now with a second child, you begin to question it. Could Curtis possibly be more coordinated than Brock? Could he be bigger? Funnier? Nicer? Smarter? More athletic? Cuter? Up until recently, I had just assumed, no. That the bar had been set, and I would love my second, possibly inferior child, equal to his older more superior brother. Now I see Curtis setting his own bar in his own way, and I realize the two just can't be compared. They are not at all the same person. And now I know why my parents always answered the question, "which child is your favorite?" the same exact way, when I clearly knew I was the obvious favorite. And the answer: they ALL are, for their own reason.

Literally, a picnic.

2011-05-01T23:30:00.000-05:00

I am calling it right now, the two most beautiful, perfect, relaxing, wonderful days of this entire year were this past Friday and Saturday. Seventy and sunny. DONE with medical school. A stay at home husband. And two cutie patooties. So, when Matt actually warmed up to the idea of going on a picnic Friday, I got to packin' a basket.
As I methodically packed PB & J's for me and za Brockus, a salami sandwich for Matt O, nothing for za Cuck as he was asleep, chips, some strawberries, grapes and wafer cookies, Matt suddenly realized that by picnic, I literally meant picnic. As in the kind where you sit on a red and white checkered tablecloth in the grass of a park that you walk to from your house. He proceeded to comment on the fact that I insist on making everything "complicated" by which I know he really means "perfect". And I know it was perfect, because, instead of sprinting to the swings and slides, Brock first sat down and enjoyed his entire sandwich, every bite, in one setting. Right next to his father. He then helped himself to some chips and fruit, some chocolate milk, THEN, the playground.

Curtis eventually woke up and joined the fun. Besides being unsure of his first experience with that sun hat, he was happy as usual. Got to touch and experience the grass for the first time. Loved it sooo much, he wanted to eat it. But, then again, Curtis wants to eat everything. We let Tater run off leash for a moment, which concerned Brock, who decided chase after the lightening quick dog. So, then we let Tali go. The three of them sprinting around one another was the best portrayal of the carefree nature of that day.
For just a moment, I am free to enjoy life with my little family. I get 7 weeks off before I begin residency, and Matt is now home doing photography. We get to finish house projects. Or not. Do activities, together, with our children, instead of divide and conquer. I am in for such a rude awakening that last week of June. And our road is not paved with gold, actually, it's not really paved at all. But it is so worth it. And so wonderful.

All For One...

2011-04-30T22:31:00.001-05:00

...and all for love...??

Anyway, I have finally realized that recording every event in my social calendar is interesting to no one but me, and maybe the person(s) said social event is celebrating. And the only reason I record all these events is to fulfill one of my compulsions. Perhaps this particular compulsion stems from a shotty memory? That's just my best guess. (Pretty sure my memory is fine, I just don't listen sometimes. Sorry, you guys get boring.)So, in April, I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of one of our very own wedding photographers!!! The connection we felt with our photographers nearly 5 years ago must have been a real one, because Matt has done nothing but become closer to Eric and Neal of Lemonlime ever since. He even shoots weddings with them on occasion. There is a little group of Kansas City photographers who have all become great friends. And no one is shy of the camera. So, when a photobooth was set up at the reception, you can guess who was in front of that lens for a good majority of the time! Vicariously, through Matt, I have become friends with these photogs, and love them all. The chemistry of the group is amazing, and amiable. They have each other's back. I don't quite understand it, shouldn't these people be competitors?

Anywho, every detail of the wedding was thought out, perfect, and beautiful. Including the bride and groom themselves. You can't go wrong with a base of black and white. You can't really go wrong with confetti and giant balloons either. So, Congrats to Eric and Laura and thanks for the extremely unique and fun night.

And, as we all know, first comes love, then comes marraige, then comes the baby in the baby carraige...Molly Groebe took care of the baby part for us. She and Matt are expecting a baby by the middle of May. A little girl. Therefore we showered Molly and Baby G with some gifts, and enjoyed some tasty treats in the meantime. I hope the little one loves giraffes as much as Brock does, and we can't wait to meet Curtis' future girlfriend!

Za Boys.

2011-04-27T14:46:00.000-05:00

I hate to admit, but as per usual I have put off folding laundry for a week. Or two. Or who's really counting. The point is, Matt and I's bedroom has become a landfill of clean clothes. So, last night, when the four of us were just hanging out in the basement, I suggested to Matt that we have a "laundry party". I said this while lying on the floor with Curtis and with no particular excitement, or inflection in my voice. I just made a mere suggestion, not expecting it to be received with any kind of seriousness. In fact, I couldn't be sure that anyone was listening, until... I hear, "YEAHHHHHH!!!" Coming from a little boy who had previously been launching his Matchbox cars down the stair banister. Brock comes sprinting around the corner and says, "that sounds like great fun!" Matt and I just began laughing hysterically. Really, Brock? Great fun?

Though, if you look at it from Brock's perspective, laundry means emptying full baskets and throwing clothes around. Or trying to knock over the freshly folded stacks of clothing while I try to shoo him away. That could be considered great fun.
Also, since before Brock could say much more than 10 words, we have always asked him the same thing upon picking him up from daycare: "Did you have a good day today?" This has become a very frequent question, or statement, as I am never really sure what Brock means because he just randomly says, "good day today, mom". So, I often reply, "I had a good day today, too." Too, as in also. Well, after months of this. Brock decided why just "too"? He walked up to me and said, "good day today, six". Glad it wasn't a one...at least he is optimistic.

Also, as I headed out the door to go for a run, I yelled "bye". I then heard Brock inquire as to where his mother was going, and Matt responded informing him that I was going for a run. I then hear, "Mommy run fast!" Followed by a slight chuckle and a "I don't know about that" from Matt. Again, at least he's optimistic. Brock that is.

Lastly, one week ago tonight, all the boys in my family reached new milestones. Curtis became mobile. Brock moved to his new room, in his new bed. Matt launched his photography website and business. I went to bed with the most satisfied, amazed, proud feeling I have had in long, long time. I was, no, still am, beaming. I love being part of this little family. I love that I am surrounded by amazing people, who accomplish amazing things. I only hope that I have provided ample support and an iota of inspiration to these fella's. Our house is literally filled with laughter.

Personality Wins.

2011-04-25T21:29:00.000-05:00

Brock astounds me. As we prepared the eggs and dye to be decorated as is customary for the Easter holiday, he intently watched. When we placed the several tubs of dye on the table, he ran over and patiently waited in his chair. Brock never sits still. When we brought the bowl of hard boiled eggs over, he instantly grabbed one. He seemed to understand that they were fragile, and handled the egg with care. I handed him a wire egg dipper, and he immediately attempted to load the thing himself. And succeeded. He dipped and dyed nearly a dozen eggs all by himself. He broke only one. It almost appeared as though he did it with purpose, treating each egg as an individual piece of artwork. This child has never been known for his patience or attention span, but I caught a glimpse of potential. And this was his first experience in egg decorating.

He was so proud of his eggs, that periodically, he would run to the kitchen and come back with one in hand to show me. So, when he came downstairs Easter morning, it was no shock that he instantly noticed the eggs "hidden" about the living room. He quickly found them all, put them back in the carton and moved on to check out his basket of goods. Curtis slept through all of the egg decorating but seemed to enjoy his basket. We then enjoyed an Easter breakfast with my family at my house! I love hosting breakfast. Easiest meal by far. And cheapest. I get to buy half and half for coffee...it will actually all get used before expiration. Nothing beats the real stuff. And Brock had an opportunity to not only blow bubbles, but blow bubbles with his Magra! Two of his favorite things.

Next we moved on the THE BIG Easter egg hunt. Matt hosted quite a successful event this year, with the biggest prize being an iPad won by John O. The Golden Egg was found by Thomas O. The Largest monitary prize found by Michael O...the O'Laughlin boys made out quite well. Though, Matt gave everyone an opportunity to sell their big prize eggs back for $200 and Megan Harris was the only gambler in the bunch. She had only $50 in her egg, well played. Now, biggest does not always mean best. St. Peter, the small, clay statue created by the Gloria Eggcelsis Deo Annual Easter Egg Hunt founder was in the mix this year. Lucky for Bridget.Little Brock and Lily had an opportunity to hunt eggs as well, and both had their own pile of prizes. I am not sure what Brock liked more, running around searching for eggs, or the candy? Either way, people better look out when he gets to participate in the big hunt. More and more it is obvious that child got my "persistent" and competitive type personality. He insisted on unraveling the hose, on multiple occasions. He was stopped by his cousins on multiple occasions. What was under that 100ft of hose? The golden egg...

The Pro

2011-04-19T09:51:00.000-05:00

One good thing has come of Matt getting "a break" from employment for the last couple months...a chance to jump in and start his photography business. I am not sure when we finally put it all together and realized that Matt had a knack behind the camera. What I do know, is that I have always been obsessed with capturing every moment of my own, my friends', and my families' life. And, I could always spot a great photo moment, but was never able to capture it the way I envisioned. In college, I went to the extreme of buying an expensive camera, and taking a class. No success. Luckily, whenever Matt was around, I would attempt the shot, get frustrated and thrust the camera at him and tell him to take the picture. And what do you know? It came out perfect. When Brock came along, we finally had good reason to invest in a professional grade camera, and Matt's done nothing but get better, more motivated, and more creative ever since.

We can trace his photography skills back as far as high school, where he supplied the yearbook with quite a few sports action shots. He just seems to have a natural understanding of light, how to use it, how to adjust the camera settings accordingly. Perhaps the engineer brain helps with the angles. I don't know...when you have a talent, you have a talent. That's all there is to it. And it is always nice when your talent is something fun that matches your passion as well. So, please, take a look at his new website. He is always looking for fun, new projects, so contact him with your ideas, or photo needs. (Mother's day is right around the corner...)

www.mattolaughlin.com

I am just enjoying living with someone who can help support my psychotic need to have a photo journal of my entire life which includes pictures of myself! Thank goodness I am pretty.

Brock Talk

2011-04-14T23:17:00.000-05:00

Giraffee has been ill this week. It must be some sort of stomach flu bug. He threw up in the crib Sunday night. Brock informed his father of this fact on Monday morning. He even went so far as to show Matt the location of said vomitus, underneath one of Curtis' burp clothes, explaining that he cleaned up. He has also mentioned Giraffee throwing up twice since then, and once at Mimi's house the other day.

Giraffee is a stuffed animal.

It was Brock that threw up at Mimi's house.

Chunk

2011-04-10T16:19:00.000-05:00

Curtis needs to be moved up to a size 4 diaper, before he destroys every piece of clothing with his regularly occurring blow outs. But I just cannot believe this, seeing as I literally just moved Brock out of that size...I have only purchased one box of size 5 diapers. Maybe it's not the diaper, maybe Curtis just has an oddly shaped bottom. In which case, anyone know any good infant plastic surgeons? The two of them could realistically share diapers at this point! He is in 6-12 month clothing. He is determined to begin crawling and his patience is wearing thin. I think having a highly [understatement] active older brother makes him especially ready to get on the move. Just today, as I stood outside holding Curtis and Matt did the "real man work", Brock was riding, dragging, walking his tricycle all about the yard and driveway. Curtis just stared. Then would sudden try to leap out of my arms. When his attempt to join his brother failed, he would just stare some more. And the cycle continued for minutes. You could see the wheels spinning in that little, tiny, adorable head of his, "why can I not do that!? how does he do that?"

He thinks he wants to eat normal food, as evidenced by the intensity with which he stares at our plates, and reaches for the items on them. But when I feed him cereal, he flips out because little spoonfuls of food are not nearly enough to satisfy his ravenous appetite. And it takes way too long. He has undoubtedly discovered his voice, and seems to have inherited the Smith-side volume level. LOUD. Seriously, he is just loud. Don't get me wrong, it's cute. At first. But he just goes on, and on, and on, and on.
Curtis just keeps growing, as he unfortunately should. These last 5 months have gone entirely too quickly. Way, way quicker than with Brock. It could partly be due to having given birth to a 3 month old, so now he's now behaving, nearly, like an 8 month old. Partly due to the chaotic nature of our lives at this point. And partly because I just don't even remember Brock as a baby anymore. Perhaps I have just forgotten how quickly it really goes.

South Padre Island, Texas

2011-04-08T21:57:00.000-05:00

Matt and I set out on April 1st for our first vacation, just the two of us, since our Honeymoon, 4 years ago. After arriving at the KC airport at 7am to find a 2 hour delayed flight to Houston, then a cancelled flight to Harlingen, a sprint through the George Bush Intercontinental Airport to catch a plane to Brownsville, Texas, where we rented a car to drive 30 minutes, we finally arrived in South Padre at 6pm. Our checked bag did not. It finally arrived a little before 1am. Normally, this would only provide a minor inconvenience. But I am a nursing (sorry if that makes you uncomfortable) mother of a 5 month old child, and I checked a vital piece of equiptment. V.I.T.A.L. Those of you that have never breastfed a child before, you have no concept of how miserable going from fulltime nursing to 20 hours without a feeding is. Those of you who have, yeah, it was bad. Imagine trying to relax with 2 large bricks resting on your chest. Also, as we lounged, waiting for our bags, Matt recieved an email from a prospective employer stating they did not have a position for him. Needless to say, we needed a vacation from our first day of vacation, let alone the previous Month from Hell (which is what I have nicknamed March of 2011), or the entire last 4 years in general.

To recap: Matt got a job with Cramer, Inc in January 2006. I began medical school a year earlier than planned when a spot opened up in August of 2006. My father had a stroke in September of 2006. He then got diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I struggled to deal with this, planning a wedding, and studying all at the same time, so took a leave of absence from school in January 2007. I got married February 2007. I started school again in August 2007. I had a baby in November 2008. I had a baby in November 2010. Matt got laid off March 2011. I scrambled to match into a field of medicine I did not necessarily want to match into, March of 2011. And during all that in between time, I studied for highly stressful board exams and regularly stressful med school exams, as well as applied for and interviewed for residency positions. Meanwhile, Matt worked 50-60 hour weeks, traveled quite a bit for work, and attempted to shoot some photography on the side. And finally, there's those adorable boys, who aren't capable, yet, of taking care of themselves. I think that's it...
...not that I need justification for a vacation, I am just trying to help you, the reader, understand, just how relaxing those 3 [non-travel] days were. Do you know what I did? I slept. I ate all my meals without interruption, without being hurried, with both of my hands available and only fed myself. I drank alcoholic beverages whenever I wanted. I did a puzzle without any of the pieces being taken apart as soon as they were put together, or stolen, or fed to the dog, or fed to the baby. I relaxed in the sun. I walked on the beach, I ran on the beach, I rode a horse on the beach. I read a (somewhat) non-educational novel. I say somewhat, because it is Atlas Shrugged, which at 1066 pages long, with tiny print, and lots of enlightening philosophical thoughts, which make me wonder if I am Ayn Rand re-incarnate (it could happen, she died 5 months before I was born...) it's not exactly a light read. And most importantly, I enjoyed some time with my favorite person in the world, Matt.
We discovered an amazing little restaurant, Cafe Kranzler. This place mirrored a famous cafe in Berlin, Germany, and inspired us to the point of scheming on how to open one in Prairie Village. We ate there 3 times, would have been 4, but it's closed on Mondays. They served a pancake. Literally, a cake in a pan. Unbelievable! It took 30 minutes for them to prepare it, I would have waited 1 hour and 30 minutes to eat it. I was more than happy to sit and sip on the cup of coffee, reminiscent of the coffee I had in Denmark. The South Padre brewing company was the only other restaurant of note. With a delightful wheat beer, and the ability to fry anything and pair it with some tastely sauce, it's kind of hard to go wrong.

Though, to most of you, South Padre Island makes you think young people partying for Spring Break. To me, it means paradise. I hope we have nothing but good news, and good times ahead of us, but at least, for now, at this moment, I can say I am refreshed.

Addendum

2011-03-26T00:28:00.000-05:00

In conclusion to the previous post: Brock has become a "real boy". A hilarious little boy at that. This is best exemplified by his general behavior this evening. First, Curtis was getting a little upset because it was time for his evening nap, so I asked Matt where his paci was. Brock heard the word "paci" got really excited, yelled something about "his paci", then ran away. Now, it is important to remember that Brock has NEVER enjoyed the comforts of a binky, therefore, this behavior is completely random and unusual. As he dashed out of the room, Matt yelled to remind him that he doesn't have nor like pacifiers. A few seconds later, Brock sauntered back into the room, sucking on the hill-billy, buck-toothed pacifier gifted to Curtis as a joke, as if this was a very common and normal thing for him to do...seriously. Can 2 year olds be purposefully comedic already?
Then, around 6pm, he began begging to go "bye bye". (He has his mother's propensity toward cabin fever - we really can't stay in the house all day.) When his first attempts to get us to leave failed, he began giving us specific suggestions, such as, "I want to go to the store?", "go outside?" and though he didn't mention this one this time, it's not uncommon for him to suggest "starbuck?" Eventually, Matt realized he needed something from the hardware store and informed Brock that his wish was granted he can leave with him. Upon hearing the words, 'let's go bye bye', Brock jumped up, exclaimed, "my boots!" and began frantically searching for his newish yellow, rubber rain boots that he has maybe worn a total of...once. So, they proceeded to go to the hardware store, where Brock ran around in his yellow rubber boots, without socks. He disappeared from sight for a moment, only to reappear with a bag of candy that he thrust toward his father, and asked, "M and M's?"

In summary: my oldest baby boy asked to leave, inappropriately dressed himself, and manipulated his parents into giving him something he did not need, but wanted. Sounds like a little kid to me. I would like to add that I had my true "aha moment" on this topic, at the mall a couple nights ago when Brock saw a line of candy machines, and ran up to me and specifically asked for money. Yup, you heard that right, he said, "money, mama?" and proceeded to stick his cute little hands in my jean pockets to search for loose change!

Stop growing up! Pretty soon you are no longer going to think I am the most amazing person you have ever known. You will stop relying on me for anything. And you will think I am weird and annoying...

Orangecots and Apple Hot Sauce

2011-03-23T16:33:00.000-05:00

Now that Brock is two and a third years old, every book says he will be learning up to 10 words a day. Increasing his vocabulary by nearly 500 words or so by age three. What they don't tell you, is which words he will choose to repeat, what words he will remember, in what context he will use them, or that this process will make you, your friends, your family all laugh, hysterically, on a very regular basis.

Yesterday, Matt had a job interview. Therefore, I went to get Brock out of bed, instead of his father, as has been customary for the past few weeks. When I walked in, he instantly, in a very adorable, concerned 2 year old fashion asked, "Where's dada!?" I explained that his father was getting dress for an interview. A few moments later, as I am changing Brock's diaper, Matt walked in the room, all shaved and dressed in a suit. And then, "Ooooh, Dada...you look cute." Really? Cute? I think he was probably going for a simple "good" or "professional", but hey, cute works too.

Also, as we are in the throws of March Madness, Brock can easily identify and pronounce the name of the sport of basketball. What he hasn't figured out is all the different teams and cheers, therefore, whenever a game is on, he yells, "Go Duke!" and "let's go, baby." I believe a certain great uncle may have provided some speech coaching...

Brock has also learned that NO ONE can resist it when he walks up to them and specifically addresses them by saying, "hold me hand, [insert name]." NO ONE. Usually, this leads to him taking your hand and guiding you to a food cabinet to try and obtain some candy, fruit snacks or "my choices". Apparently, my tactic to always present him with 2 or 3 choices that ARE NOT candy, has led him to believe that "my choices" are an actual thing.

He has also discovered the meaning of "right now". Though his use of these words is technically correct 100% of the time, it is not always necessary or appropriate, which makes it hilarious. My favorite use thus far: "I need chocolate, right now, momma". Really, Brock? You need chocolate right now? Or what? What will happen if you don't get chocolate right now? And where did you even learn the word chocolate!? I generally refer to chocolate candies by their brand name.

When he gets on the phone, he consistently tells the recipient, "good day, today". Also, when fake talking on the phone, he likes to describe to the receiver exactly what it is I am doing..."mommy doing dishes". He, of course, repeats like a parrot. This would be the perfect age to recreate those "Pearl" videos. Brock is young enough to still look and sound like a baby toddler, but has the pronunciation of most words down. Seriously, that little voice of his is adorable, so stnkin' cute! But seeing as Brock doesn't even have the attention span to finish a little cup of apple hot sauce, attempting a short video is ludacris.

PS - he pronounces the letter 'O' as "hoe"!!!!!!!!!!!! Haha, gets me everytime.

Baby Group

2011-03-19T23:58:00.000-05:00

How has the 'Baby Group' managed to meet 4 times before I finally blogged about it!? Every holiday a small group of my fellow 2001 St. Teresa's High School grads meets with our 2010 babies (plus Brock, '08 and Henry '09). In fact, 4 of us went to Visitation grade school, and as of now, there is a chance all of our kiddos will go to Visitation as well! When I say that Kansas City borders on incestuous - I mean it.

The first event, and idea, was held by Courtney Vogtner, currently the only member with a daughter, Anna Grace. I hosted the Christmas meeting. Whitney Arthur, mother of Bobby (Curtis' bff) hosted a Valentine's party. And Meaghan Hagenhoff held the latest St.Patty's day event. Where I brought a surprise guest - a photographer (Matt)! Honestly, the day usually turns out to be quite chaotic. We all just try and keep our babies happy, dry and fed. While hoping that Brock and Henry aren't off causing too much trouble or destroying anything. Amidst all of that, we get in a bit of gossiping, and bit of advice/child rearing suggestions. You know, compare some notes. Show off our rapidly developing childrens' newest tricks. I usually get shown a couple rashes or asked a few medical type questions. And then we all part for nap time.
It's extremely hard to get 5 babies to pay attention to one person, and all be happy, and all look in one direction. We take a group picture everytime...one of these days they will learn! But the order from left to right is: Bobby, Curtis, Teddy, Finn and Anna Grace.

The Match

2011-03-16T16:07:00.000-05:00

The original residency match post I had imagined writing was one of pure happiness, satisfaction and bragging. I was going to talk about how I had achieved my lifelong goal. That all my hard work, stress, interviews, networking, studying, etc lead me to exactly the position I wanted, in exactly the location I wanted. That I was done wondering what the future will hold. That I was absolutely and completely content. In fact, I had even begun to wonder what it was I WOULD be able to stress out about!? I have spent my entire life with some level of anxiety, first with swimming then med school, but with all that finished, I'd have to find something else. Training to qualify for the Boston Marathon maybe? Not.

Instead, I received an email that I will never forget: "We're sorry, you did not match to any position". This means, that I did not get into any of the OB/Gyn residencies that I ranked. Flabbergasted, I began, quite literally, scrambling to get my application materials back in order to send out the the 13 unfilled OB/Gyn positions left in the entire country. These spots got filled rather quickly. So I was forced on to Plan B...finding a spot in Kansas City. I found this spot in the wonderful Truman-Lakewood Family Medicine program which has ample opportunities in the field of Obstetrics. The people I talked to and met were great. The program is great. Everyone appeared content and motivated. I have nothing to complain about, and am thankful I found a spot. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I have been left with a bitter taste in my mouth.

This displaced anger and frustration of mine lies on The Match. This system which turns finding a residency spot into a game. No one can come out and say what they really think about a student or program, because it's a "violation". So we all meet. We all act perfect, and pretty and wonderful. We all make vague statements about how we really like each other. In fact, some of us go so far as to send an obviously extremely interested candidate a few letters stating, "You can be assured...we plan to rank you highly". But none of it is really true. What really happens is that candidates who look excellent on paper get ranked highest (unless they have some blindingly obvious personality problem) and the rest hope for the best, and for lady luck to fall on their side. The problem with this? It's not a game. This is my life. My future. My family's future.

Of course, I can not just blame The Match system. I could have studied harder. Took more tests. Done some research. Neglected my family. A lot of people (in fact, statistically, most people) will get their #1 or #2 choice. On paper, this system will continue to appear to be a fair, and proper way to deal with the mass amount of students graduating and residency spots opening. Unfortunately, this removes a bit of the human element. I complained of this system often in the last few months. A friend, who's husband went through the process a couple year's ago, put it well by saying, "I found it kind odd that as he advanced in his education, his direction in life became less predictable." Have I not earned to right to interview with someone, face to face, and be told honestly whether it works or not?

In real life, you interview. You get the job, great. You don't get the job, you move on. You continue this process until you find the right fit in the right career. You don't interview for a position as a swim coach, not get it, then say, oh, but I'll take the open basketball coaching spot.

Now that I am through venting, I want to say I am happy and will be happy. It is not in my nature to mope, regret, or dwell on the negatives of a paticular situation. I am so very thankful that I have a job next year, in medicine, in Kansas City. Near all of my more than incredible family and friends who made this match process, nay, the last 5 years possible. I will make the most of it. I will learn as much as I can, continue to grow, and lead, and become a fantastic physician. I will keep my mind open. Perhaps this is the path I was meant to take for a reason. Or perhaps, next year, an opportunity will show itself, and I will again be on the path towards becoming an OB/Gyn. Afterall, I am only 28 years old, what's a few more years of waiting?

The Scramble.

2011-03-14T12:08:00.000-05:00

Twice now, I have gotten on this very computer and opened a document that has significantly changed my immediate future. Disappointing news is NEVER easy to digest. It makes you begin to think about all the little decisions you've made for the last 5 years. But for me, most of all, I feel as though I have let everyone down that is close to me.

I am surrounded by more love and support than I even know was possible. This entire process of medical school is very grueling, but I have never been too affected by it because there is always someone close by to watch my boys when I need it, make me dinner, help clean the house...In fact, my little sister was over when I received the news that I did not Match, and she immediately offered to take the boys so Matt and I could begin researching and planning for the Scramble.

So, I apologize for continuing to draw out this process - what should have been an 8 year endeavor, is quickly becoming 10 - but I promise, I will become a licensed physician someday. I just like to make things as difficult as possible, otherwise, what is there to be proud of?

Who's famous?

2011-03-09T16:20:00.000-06:00

Looks like Curtis' baby announcement is getting some press! I mean, it's really just a photograph that Matt took for Emmy (the announcement's designer) to use as an example of her amazing abilities. But I am pretty sure people first see that ADORABLE baby, and assume it's the awesome printing that made him look so good...

...all around, I knew we were making the perfect baby announcement when Emmy, Matt and I put our heads together back in November for its' creation. I birthed the baby. Matt took the photo. Emmy made the backdrop. Teamwork.

Pacifiers & Bear blankets.

2011-03-05T09:41:00.001-06:00

Sickening. Sickening, I tell you. I have been through this once before, but it still amazes me the progress one tiny little human can make in just 4 months of existence. I nearly teared up while folding this last load of laundry. Partly due to the song playing in the background, but mostly due to the fact that half of it went to a pile to be packed away. Curtis doesn't even fit in 3-6 month clothing anymore. I was excited to have another boy in the exact same month, but because Winter has continued on, Curtis is 3 weeks older, and 3 pounds bigger, I have actually had to buy a few articles of clothing for him to last through these cold days. All of Brock's 6 months plus clothing are Spring/Summer, therefore shorts and t-shirts. Not appropriate during a wintery mix storm.

Curtis went from a ball of nerves, only able to eat, sleep and poop to a little baby full of personality, who has decided he will respond only to the name, "ZaCuk". (Seriously, we have tested this over and over, say "Curtis" and you get no recognition. Say "ZaCuk" or "ZaCutkis" and bam! Head turns immediately toward whichever direction the voice came from. Looks like Brock's language has inspired us all.)
Curtis is very nearly sitting on his own. And he is already trying REALLY hard to crawl. Unlike Brock who gave in to instant frustration (not sure where he got that trait?), he will lay on his belly and try, and try, and try, and try to get those arms and legs coordinated to reach whatever bait I have set before him while maintaining a smile. It takes quite a while for that child to reach his boiling point. And he is not stationary, by any means. Poor second child, I accidently let him fall off a chair weeks ago! How was I to know he would be able to rollover either way well before 3 months? If I lay him on his back on the floor play gym and leave to say, load the dishwasher, I always come back to find him a foot or so off of the mat. At this point, we need to start keeping an eye out for items small enough to choke a baby.

Speaking of choking a baby, Curtis puts everything in his mouth! His only goal in life, currently, is to reach for an object, grab hold of it, and instantly pull it to his mouth as quickly as possible. Brock had NO desire to put things in his mouth. Pretty sure we let him play with loose change. And Curtis is so sweet. He loves to be sung to sleep, while I rub his forhead, or stroke his cheek or hair. Though, this brings me to another frightening little habit Curtis has developed: burying his face to sleep. He absolutely must have something over his face, or at least covering part of his head to fall asleep (I find Matt napping with a pillow on his face, fairly often, so no mystery there.) In fact, Matt and I have an ongoing joke (which might be a little true) that Brock is his favorite because his personality so identically matches mine, and that Curtis is my favorite because his so identically matches Matt's. Though, when I look at it this way, I think to myself, what is wrong with Matt!? We are awful. No patience. Busy. Anxious. Stress-inducing. Demanding. Always right. Easily frustrated. He is a glutton for punishment.

Though, I don't really think it's too demanding to expect my husband to remember how much our child weighed, and how tall he was at his 4 month doctor's appointment...yet all he could tell me is that Curtis remains in the 90th %ile for weight (just under 17lbs) and is hovering somewhere in the 70's for height. I prefer specifics.

So, I guess that's our sweet, happy, 4 month old, Curtis in a nutshell.

Hoop Fever.

2011-03-04T16:28:00.000-06:00

My sister, Annora, a college ball player, convinced me to play basketball with her this Winter. She's been trying to get me to for a while, but I was pregnant until now. I, in turn convinced a couple of my STA classmates to join, so basically, it was a high school reunion group! Playing on this intramural basketball team affirmed my decision to quit all sports and stick with swimming way back when. It's sad, I know, but I have always kind of wondered if I made the right decision. I loved Soccer, Track, and Basketball. I was really good at Soccer, Track and Basketball. I was informed, long ago, by my high school swim coach, "Erin, you are an athlete, not a swimmer". Could I have been better, and achieved a higher level of competition on one of these sports? Maybe. Would I have enjoyed it more? Absolutely not.

Basketball, as I was reminded, is a CONTACT sport. Also, you rely on 4 other people to win. And, if you know me at all, you know I hate to be unnecessarily touched, and I am a control freak. This, in combination with my competitiveness nearly drained the game of any fun for me, nearly. I repeated to myself constantly: "this is just for fun", "doesn't matter if we win", "you can't cover the whole court", "these other girls are playing for fun, so the strongest players don't need to be in at all times". I had to keep myself from punching a few girls in the face, or kicking them in the shins - because they were playing dirty. I am as competitive as they come, but I REFUSE to play dirty. I don't fowl (on purpose), I don't draw fouls, I don't elbow people or grab t-shirts. I do let a few choice comments slip, but when someone purposefully trips you in an intramural basketball game, I think a certain name fits...

I started the season a bit timid, but finished strong. My cat-like reflexes made defense my strong end, but I did score a 3 pointer! My ball-handling and shooting skills did nothing but improve. My ability to remain passive and just enjoy the game for the sake of the game went nowhere, fast. I am still bitter about losing that last game (to play for 3rd place), and probably will be for the rest of my life. Cause that's the way I roll.

I plan to remain in good enough shape to do things like this whenever the opportunity arises. I hope I still have friends willing to do this as well. The competitor in me needs some face time every once in a while.

The OCD List.

2011-02-25T14:40:00.000-06:00

1. All small flavored candies must be eaten in matching flavor pairs. Such as Skittles, Jelly Bellies, and Mike & Ikes. Exceptions can be made when the end of a package or handful contains an odd number in one or multiple flavors. In this situation, it is optimal to pair flavors that compliment one another well, such as a yellow and green Skittle. It is a last resort to eat one individual candy, as the portion does not make for an enjoyable chewing experience, and lacks the necessary flavor burst to really justify the empty calorie consumption. But throwing away is absolutely not an option, not to mention wasteful.

2. Shoes can be taken off at the door, or just about anywhere in the house, and be left there. For days. Socks, however, are disgusting, and should only be removed upstairs in the bedroom, preferably immediately placed in a hamper, not to be seen again until laundered. If this fails to happen, their presence on the floor about the house will cause severe stress and frustration.

3. Lids of beverage containers should be promptly replaced upon pouring or sipping from the bottle. No exceptions. Even if you plan to take an immediate second sip. It is best to just make this a habit. Spillage can happen in less than a split second. Seriously, it can, and it will.

4. An outfit should never, ever, be worn twice in the same week, the same month, really. Exceptions, obviously, being a uniform or you are absolutely sure no one that saw you in it yesterday will see you in it today. The ultimate goal should be to never wear the same outfit twice, in your LIFETIME.

5. Trash should NEVER be set outside the trashcan. Yes, this sometimes makes cooking and preparing vegetables a bit tedious, but it sure keeps things tidy. As soon as you have taken that last sip from your grande Starbucks latte, it goes in the trash. You might as well pre-unwrap all your Kisses or Dove mini's before sitting to snack on them, because making a trip to the waste receptacle every 3 minutes or so, depending on whether you prefer to savor each individual chocolate or chain consumption, is simply unfavorable. It is illogical for trash to EVER be found outside a waste bucket, as it is not allowed to touch countertops, tables, desks, furniture or floors.

6. Certain items must be name brand...

The Senior Slide

2011-02-24T14:53:00.000-06:00

For those of you who know me, and I mean, REALLY know me, you know that I have basically been on "the senior slide" since I figured out how to read in pre-kindergarten. And even then, I only wanted to go to school for those 20 minutes of storytime. So, one could imagine how I am adjusting to the last few months, after submitting my last important item, of the last leg in my 28 year educational conquest. I am pretty sure I have finally fallen off the end and hit the wood (now rubber, because heaven forbid a child might get a splinter or something) chips at bottom of my slide. I am done. I am ready to begin learning, specifically, how to be the doctor I want to be for the rest of my life. Just 2 more months of rotations. Thank goodness I have had significant practice in the art of slacking off.

I tend to spend more time trying to figure out how I can "slack off" than I do actually studying and preparing. Though, in my defense, I prefer to call it efficiency seeking. I want to be a competent physician, so really, I just spend a lot of time figuring out what rotations will provide me with the most and best experience in the least amount of time. I am not one that can sanely follow a physician around for 10 hours a day just to be a fly on the wall. Though, in college, I did once ask for class suggestions with these criteria: 1.) I didn't have to show up; 2.) I didn't have to study; and 3.) I could still get an 'A'. That might qualify as slacking off...

You can also look at it another way. I am assertive. I know what I want. I also know how to get there. I despise menial hoops that I must jump through to get from point A to point B. Therefore, if I must do something pointless, I am not going to spend a lot of time and energy doing it. I'd much rather put that time and energy into figuring out if there is a way I can avoid these hoops completely, or at the very least just crawl through them. And, at this point, these hoops don't even affect my outcome...consider me unmotivated.

I think these last days of my cardiology rotation are pushing me near depression. I don't want to get out of bed. I sit in my car in the parking lot of the hospital and check my phone 5 or 6 times, hoping I get a call or text informing me that my children are sick and that I need to go home. I am racking my brain to come up with appointments I need to make during the day to cut my (already ridiculously easy) schedule short. The sad part? I am on rotation with one of, if not the most caring, wonderful, amazing physician I have followed in the last 2 years. He is awesome. He only makes me join him for inpatients. I arrive after 9am and am done by 2pm everyday. And, he is located right by Legends outlet shopping center, what more could you ask for!?

I guess it's just physics though. When you've been on a slide your entire life, you are bound to hit bottom. I am just glad I am there, I am ready to get up and move on to the next phase. Though, this time, I think I am going to go for the swings.{Oh, and I am sure these boys provide no distraction, whatsoever.}

A Backpack.

2011-02-16T22:15:00.000-06:00

Brock uses full sentences. As in, a subject, an object and a verb. It's weird. Just the other day he walked up to me with my phone and says, "I want to play zsa lellow game, mommy." (lellow = yellow, his name for the Simon game on my phone). Another time, I stumbled upon him yanking on Tali's collar, calling her name, attempting to drag her somewhere. As soon as Brock noticed my presence, he says, "Mommy, I need Tali." (To follow-up, he wanted to drag her into his room so he could shut the door, turn off his light, and turn on this glowing rattle thing that flashes in a bunch of different crazy patterns. Not sure if they spend an hour in there actually playing, or if they are both having seizures and passing out from the lights? But any attempt I've made on entering his room during these sessions, results in promptly shoving me out of the room and closing the door, while being told, "No! Mommy."

In other metaporphesis into a kid news, Brock is going to "Kid's Day Out" on Tuesdays each week, which is like pre-preschool. He loves it. When I pick him up, he wants to show me everything he did that day, specifically that he can reach and drink out of the water fountain himself. Dozens of kids make out with that fountain daily, and I wonder why we can't knock this cold? He says "bye bye" to everyone, including the school in general as we leave. Leah called me this past Tuesday, and Brock grabbed the phone from me to tell her, "Good day today, at school." (Ok, so we're missing the subject and the verb, but close enough to a full sentence, right?) So...he's actually listening when I ask him if he had a good day today.
He loves feeling independent. I should have thought to purchase a backpack prior to his first session. (But I also probably should have 1.) toured the school so I would know where his classroom is; 2.)asked the schoolmaster what he needed to bring for the day, instead of frantically calling a mother who sends her daughter on a different day the night before his first day; 3.) asked what door to enter because apparently you need a code to get in and drop them off...I'll get this forethought thing down eventually, right?) I was just kind of being defiant. All the little kid packpacks I see have Dora or Superman on them, and I am just not a fan. I like my littles to look just that, little adults. But all the other kids come in, hang their backpack on their assigned hook, dump their lunch boxes in the big caontainer and proceed into the classroom. Here I am, hanging his over-stuffed tote bag that was given to me for free from the vet, and asking one of his teachers for tape and a pen to write Brock's name on his all black lunch bag, while Brock sprints up and down the hallway. So, when I walked into American Apparel that same Tuesday, to use my $50 Groupon to buy a couple fun-colored leggings, and spotted one, miniature, navy blue, backpack hanging in the kid's section, I could not resist. We got it right the 2nd time. Brock loved that he had his own backpack to hang on his own hook. I always thought my big sister was just being dramatic, but perhaps oldests do have a case...what a huge learning curve there is for parents.

Food and Flowers

2011-02-11T08:19:00.000-06:00

As per usual, I stick to the traditional wedding anniversary gifts, and sent Matt a food basket with some of his favorite cookies, and some strawberries and champagne to celebrate our 4th anniversary!

Matt, on the other hand, and with no complaint from me, NEVER goes traditional (the only years I am hoping he strays from this pattern are 25th, 30th, 50th, 60th and 75th, I will gladly accept silver, gold and diamonds.) This year, he surprised me with a trip to South Padre Island, planned for April 1st-5th! Included in this trip is a horseback ride, on the beach, at sunset. Check that one off the bucket list! Matt hinted at this trip earlier in the week by laminating little pictures of the resort, as well as things we would be doing on our vacation and left them about the house. Brock kept messing with these cards, and I even found one in his lunchbox from school. The only conclusion I could reach is that Brock had taken these from school. Perhaps, even stolen them.So, on the Wednesday before our anniversary we celebrated our anniversary by going to Bella Napoli for dinner. Dinner turned out to be absolutely wonderful, and relaxing. Due to the freezing weather, and the fact that is was Wednesday, the place was relatively empty. The thing I love about anniversary dinners is that you are allowed to go all out. I ordered whatever wine I wanted, whatever dish, and I got a dessert. The cook had some rabbit, and convinced us to try it - excellent. Then, Matt handed me an envelope. I opened it to find...4 laminated cards! What a clever fellow. Here I am, blaming my son for stealing at age 2, convinced he has Conduct disorder, and it's my wonderful hubby.

My only complaint? That the trip was scheduled for April 1st, and not February 11th.

Erin And Matt

2011-02-08T09:39:00.001-06:00

After 10 years, an entire decade, I think I am allowed to brag a bit about how wonderful my life with Matt has been. To the outsider, what is most noticeable in this video, is our constant weight gain, but to me I notice absolute, pure, uninterrupted love.*

Click on the link to see the pictures larger, if you would like.

Ten Years from matt o on Vimeo. *WARNING: NEARLY 13 MINUTES LONG!

Shock of all shockers, I am no romantic. I am definitely not convinced that there is "one true love" for every person; maybe there are a good dozen people out there that could fit that description. But I can tell you this: Matt is the caramel to my espresso. At this point, I have been waiting 10 years, to the day, for our relationship to begin getting "difficult". You can ask Matt. Literally, since day one, I randomly ask him things like, "So, when am I going to stop liking you?" or "Why don't you get on my nerves?" or "Why do I like you?"

Our relationship has been easy. Natural. We both just prefer each other's company over anyone elses. We are both extremely honest, blunt, stable individuals, so our expectations have always been known, and they just so happen to match. Perfectly. We harbor no delusions, and don't wish for change. We are happy as we are. This isn't to say we don't have goals, or aspirations, or welcome change, we just react to it similarly.

When giving advice on relationships or marriage, I often avoid using my own as an example, because I truly believe it is one of a kind. When we began dating, oh so long ago, I vividly remember telling Matt we wouldn't work out because he agreed with me too often. I enjoy a good disagreement every now and then. He adapted, and now we have no problem creating "heated discussions". In fact, you will rarely witness us compliment one another. Our public displays of affection approach zero. And we don't whisper sweet nothings, ever. Yet, we are never happier than when we are together.

The other day, a thought occured to me. I love my two babies so much, it is painful. I mean painful. I want to squeeze and kiss them every moment they are within reach. I could write and talk about them constantly (and do.) I cannot even begin to imagine a life without them. But, every so often, I very much welcome a break from them. Perhaps, even look forward to it. And who do I immediately want to spend that break with? Matt. The only other boy in my life that I see and interact with day in, day out (Tater does not count, he's weird.) Matt is THE ONLY person I NEVER need a break from. (In fact, often I prefer him to myself.) And I need not write another word...that statement says it all.

Toilet Paper

2011-02-06T13:51:00.000-06:00

Public bathrooms are gross. Everything is automatic these days (which is a whole 'nother pet-peeve post) because nobody wants to touch anything. Ideally, the bathroom is relatively unused, and has just been cleaned. It's like winning the lottery when you walk in and the seat is up, the smell of bleach lingers, and there is a tinge of blue to the water. But most of the time you walk in to see the usual; an overly air-freshened restroom, with obviously used toilets evidenced by some hair on the seat or skid mark in the bowl and no sign of recent maintenence. So, you try to contact as few surfaces as possible. You squat, relatively unbalanced because you're in heels, your thighs begin to burn and you reach with one hand to the one, un-automatic device in every bathroom: the toilet paper. As you reach for this toilet paper, you are hoping for the well-oiled wheel, where a nice, long perfectly lengthed strip of paper pulls off the reel in one swoop. Done. But more often than not, that is not the case. You pull on the paper, and a half square tears. You change your technique, and this time you get nearly 2 whole sheets, but then the reel really gets stuck. So you now have to manualy turn the roll, inch by inch, then tear, then roll, then tear until finally you are either A.) satisfied that you can minimally absorb all that is required to be comfortable or B.) in so much pain from doing a 3 minute squat you don't care anymore. You flush with your shoe. Wash your hands, and leave. Any satisfaction you may have obtained from relieving your bladder (or otherwise) has been robbed. By the toilet paper.

Hungry

2011-02-05T08:32:00.001-06:00

I could literally copy and paste the posting about Brock at 3 months of age as far as baby milestones. And I remember the changes that occurred around this mile-marker being absolutely amazing to me. This is supposed to be a huge transition time; the infants are no longer considered "newborns" at this point. But, with Curtis, I honestly don't remember him as a newborn. Only as he is today. I look back at his newborn pics and its seems forever ago, yet it doesn't seem like he's changed. Perhaps I wasn't joking when I said I birthed a 3 month old. Or perhaps it is because these last 3 months have breezed by. Or perhaps it is due to being a second time mom, and I could anticipate his progression in this short amount of time. You can always look at a growing child as they are today, then look back at an old photo, and say, of course this is what they would look like! But you can't look at a child today, and know what they will look like tomorrow. But for some reason, I feel like I can with Curtis.The moment he was born, I could tell he was going to be a very sweet baby. Curtis has this adorable, little, bashful smile. When he is happily playing, reaching for things, eating whatever he gets a hold of, or just staring off into space and you come into his line of sight with a big smile, he gets THE BIGGEST grin, and curls up in a tiny ball simultaneously. It reminds me of Flower, the skunk from "Bambi". He is so interactive. We also knew he was going to be a tank (I should have pushed harder for the name Frank...) and he still is, despite his 2 week battle with an upper respiratory infection turned Croup. His appetite took a dive for about a week, and his oh, so wonderful sleeping hours have been drastically reduced from 8-10 to 5-7 (still can't complain, we were SPOILED). I have faith he will return to his previous hourage when he stops coughing.

We have already begun letting za Cutkis play in the Exersaucer, and full month earlier than Brock (yet again proof of my "first time mother syndrome" - I thought 4 months for Brock was ridiculously early). This is the first toy Brock seemed a bit upset about sharing, and I am confident it is NOT the last. Also, as far as entertainment goes, Curtis LOVES the television. He goes nuts. Arms and legs flailing all over the place while his eyes remain pasted to the images. Here is another example where I can see straight into the future for this one...guess we are going to have to instate a homework before television rule for this one.I never thought another baby could be as cute as Brock is, to me. But Curtis has absolutely managed to fight for cutest baby title. Their personalities continue to be extremely different, even if their looks are beginning to merge. Happy 3 months today, my boy!

The Luckiest

2011-02-01T17:08:00.001-06:00

When I was little, we're talking old house little so no older than 5, I remember closing my eyes and attempting to clear my mind so that I might remember back to before I was born. When I was a little angel baby, playing in the clouds. I was certain that we all existed in heaven and just played with all the other not born yet babies before we were summoned to Earth. In my preschool mind, this meant that I only became a member of my family by sheer circumstance; my mom was ready to have another baby, and I was next in line. I believe I was searching for an explanation as to why I was so lucky. Why did I get the best mom in the world? Why did I get the most fun dad ever? And as time went on, I began to notice other things such as plenty of good food, a big house, two running cars, an abundance of toys, new shoes, which made me wonder, again, why was I so lucky to have been born into this affluent family? Why was I not a poor person? Why was I white? A girl? Loved?

I knew at such a very young age, how special it is to be part of a happy, big, successful family. I don't believe I have ever taken this for granted. I am thankful, everyday, for the family I was born into. So, when I first knew of my pregnancy with Brock, I instantly thought, how lucky is that little baby playing in the clouds? This child is not even born, and it is already loved more than some infants feel in a lifetime. Though I now fully understand the "birds and the bees", so I don't imagine babies flitting about in heaven, I still marvel at my existence, and the existence of my young children. These two boys of mine are now the luckiest. As am I.

Things I love. Right now.

2011-01-30T14:23:00.000-06:00

Just like every decade has its' own set of fads, I realize every year has a slight shift in fads for myself. It dawned on me, it would be kind of fun to have a record of when it was I obsessed over certain foods, shows, movies, music, restaurants, activities, etc. So, that will be my New Year's resolution for my blog (which will probably be continually updated as I think of things to add.) So, here are this past year's obsessions:

Caramel Lattes with skim milk (I refuse to call them "nonfat" or "skinny" & not sure this qualifies as a fad because I doubt it will ever change. But I am saying there is a chance).
Indian Food.
Dexter.
Kettle Corn...well, maybe just popcorn in general.
Red Wine.
Or maybe I should just say eating popcorn, drinking red wine and watching Dexter all together.
Genghis Khan, D'Bronx, Mr. Gyros, Taco Via and The Mixx.
There Will Be Blood, Inception and Elmo (do my kid's obsessions count as my own??)
Letter Press.
Running.
Lady Gaga.
Buffalo Chicken (Pizza, dip, wings, etc.)
The Evo.
Photography.
Talking about, shopping for, and attempting to organize my house. Entirely.
Costco, Baby Gap and Target.
Fried Dumplings and Donuts (not together).
Leggings, boots and long sweaters/tees. Or shorts, tanks and Summer dresses with strappy sandals.
Christian Bale (even if he is an ass), Daniel Day Lewis and Natalie Portman.
I feel Brock, Curtis and Matt are a given, but thought I should mention them.

Hairy Chest?

2011-01-28T11:10:00.000-06:00

For Curtis' baptism on the 23rd, we kept things very simple, quiet and small. When Brock was baptized, we had way too many people. He was stressed out, I was stressed out, it was crowded. With Curtis, as it has been for everything, things were much more chill. I happily got my happy baby dressed in the traditional white gown, that has been worn by no less than what, 20 Harris' (Mimi's side of the O'Laughlin clan)? We sat and listened to the priest and the ceremony, as Curtis gnawed on my hand or his. Curtis just stared intently at Father Rush as he got christened, and blessed.

All the meanwhile, I watched the other family, as the first time mom behaved exactly as I had 2 years prior with Brock. Pacing the floor, trying to keep baby happy, looking slightly disheveled, the kiddo cried the entire time at the baptismal font; a memorable, but not so relaxing event for them. Curtis has allowed me to see how child birth, nursing, raising a newborn and joining the church community can be a beautiful, amazing, and relatively uneventful thing. And, as I always knew it was, my favorite childhood rhyme may be true:

First is the worst.
Second is the Best.
Third is the Nerd with the Hairy Chest.

(To a degree anyway, I would never describe my little Brocky as the "worst" just busy, and let's really hope the "hairy chest" part is NOT true, or we might be stopping at two.)

As for the Godparents, we went against our original qualifications and allowed a non-Catholic for Curtis' Godmother. For this, she must over compensate and be the best Godmother EVER, I hope she realizes this... But seriously, Gabe and Christin have been very good friends and involved with Brock and now Curtis' lives extensively. We are lucky to have them around, so we thought we would trap them into feeling obligated to remain close by connecting them to our child in front of the Lord. Also, Curtis was born on their 5 year wedding anniversary, therefore, it was destined. Slowly, we are building a fun and beautiful Godfamily - Beth and Jon included!

Confessions of a Beginner Parent

2011-01-20T10:57:00.000-06:00

As a parent, there is an abundance of information out there on the ways to raise, discipline, teach, feed, and interact with your children. This information comes from a variety of sources: media, family, other parents, doctors, books, interenet, etc. I tend to listen to these suggestions, but make my own decision on whether I will follow them or not. Some of my decisions may be looked upon negatively by society, in fact, some may say these acts are "wrong". Therefore, as a somewhat devout Catholic, I have been raised to confess my indiscretions. Please to not notify SRS.

During pregnancy, I drank coffee and ate sushi, deli meat and an abundance of soft cheeses.

I have driven without my baby buckled up. (In the winter, when there is a cover for the infant carrier, I may or may not have forgotten to buckle both Curtis and Brock, when he was little, into the carseat before zipping it up and transporting the child. On more than one occasion.)

We propped our newborns in the Boppy to sleep at night. (There. The secret is out. That is why my boys sleep all night from nearly day one.)

I never childproofed my cabinets.

"Second" rule!? Ha! What's a "second" rule? We have a "if you find it or get to it before the dogs, it's all yours" rule.

I leave Brock unattended in the bathtub. (Never for an amount of time long enough for him to get brain damage if he were to go without oxygen that entire time.)

I leave Brock unattended in the backyard. (Trust me, I watched him for 30 minutes, and he only picks the poisonous berries and looks at them, he's never put them in his mouth.)

I have left newborns unattended on the changing table. (They make those pads U-shaped for a reason, even with Curtis' monster strength, he can't get up that hill...)

I let the baby sleep in my bed. (When Curtis wakes up between 5 and 7am, I let him sleep with me until I get up; this is more selfish than anything. I love snuggling with my teeny baby. The Boppy can have him for 8 hours, can't I get him for 2?)

I have re-heated a same bottle, fed a baby from a bottle that has been sitting out for more than one hour, and don't record when the milk was pumped, so I just hope it's still good. It doesn't smell sour...

I have let Brock go an entire day on nothing but milk, juice and fruit snacks.

I don't buckle Curtis into the swing. (Which is only an issue when Brock decides the blanket he is sleeping on is his and tries to pull it out from under Curtis.)

I let Brock stand in the basket part of the shopping cart. (And he may or may not have fallen out on one or more occasion - on Matt's watch, of course.)

There. I've said it. What's done is done.

Instinct.

2011-01-19T10:48:00.000-06:00

Last Thursday, when I arrived home from work to see a toddler with a runny nose, red puffy eyes, a muffled voice that eeked out "Hi mommy", and a temperature of 101.4, my immediate thought was: strep. He has strep throat. I called in to work at that moment, and told Matt I would take both boys in to the doc in the morning, as Curtis had the beginnings of a cold. Well, Brock woke up and seemed slightly improved, and Curtis was still hardly even coughing, so, knowing how it works in a pediatrician's office, I thought, great. I am going to take them in and the doctor is going to be like, it's a virus, thanks for wasting my time, go home.

Well, Brock continued to have a fever through the weekend. He didn't want to eat much except for suckers, yogurt and pudding (hint hint, sore throat?) and also would periodically point at his tongue with a pouty face, I assumed he bit his tongue or it was sore from all those suckers (hint hint, sort throat?) Curtis slowly became worse as well. His appetite all but disappeared, he had projectile vomited a few times, and his coughing was increasing in frequency. So, needless to say, Sunday night, I called into work again, and first thing in the morning set up an appointment for the boys.
The diagnosis? Strep throat!! And it is just something viral for za cutkis. Ahh! Brock would have nearly been done with his antibiotics by this appointment, and would have had a funfilled weekend, instead of one of complete isolation (aka, let's see if I can find something in this house I haven't destroyed). If I had only followed my instincts.

Where da Elmo Go?

2011-01-17T11:40:00.000-06:00

For the LONGEST time, Matt and I were sure Brock was not only obsessed with his elbows, but also confused by the fact that he cannot really see them all that well, or something? Because, periodically, without rhyme nor reason, he would say, "where da elmbo go", phonetically speaking. Then, one day, as Matt was tooling around on the internet, he came across an image of Sesame Street's Elmo, and Brock went nuts! Elmo! So, turns out, he does not have some bizarre fascination with his elbow, but Matt and I have been depriving him of his one and only television star interest...

...therefore, to make it up to him, Matt took him to see Elmo Live at the Sprint Center. This is the first time we have actually purchased tickets to an event solely targeted to Brock. This, coupled with the father-son bonding time, made it abundantly clear that Brock is now a little kid. He is enjoying little kid things. He has a favorite TV character (Elmo), a favorite TV show (Wonder Pets), and a few favorite books (Peedie, Are You My Mother? and Goodnight Moon). He will sit for meals with us, and can help retrieve things (pacifier) for Curtis. He can very nearly tell us anything with actual words. I expect Curtis to be growing, developing and changing at lightening speed as a 10 week old, but the fact that Brock, at 26 months is doing this as well blows my mind. I think the oldest will always do nothing but shock and amaze me. Sorry 2.O, but I've most likely seen it before.

I must mention, seeing it all before does not make it any less CUTE! Everyday, Curtis looks more and more like his big brother. Though his eyes aren't as bugged, they are just as bright and interested in the world. Curtis giggled from a ticklish chin (like his dad, yes, Matt still to this day has a ticklish chin) for the first time on January 7th. He then began reaching for the froggy on his carrier on the 9th, and hasn't looked back. He particularly enjoys awkwardly reaching for my mouth, and is so out of control with this motion that it almost appears as if he is violently raking my face. Everyday is something new with these boys, and THAT is the only thing I hope never changes.

Snow Day

2011-01-11T10:45:00.000-06:00

There is something mystical in a snow day. It is almost like a time warp. You have been gifted a day of freedom. You never know when it will happen, therefore, you have no plans to do housework, or go shopping, or whatever chores are usually assigned to weekend days. The kids were supposed to be at daycare or school, and you were supposed to be at work. Therefore, you feel no guilt for accomplishing nothing. The day comes and goes, as if it never happened. But it did. And it was amazing.

Whether you choose to spend your snow day snuggled up warm inside, with the heat cranked an extra degree, drinking coffee, tea, or hot cocoa and reading a book, doing a puzzle or choose to go out and play in the abundance of freshly fallen, untouched, beautiful snow is completely up to you. In fact, if you play your cards right, there is time for both!

I remember 2 snow days as a child. One where my little sister and I bundled up in no less than 6 layers, including a Blazer swimming parka for her and an MU Starter Jacket for me, as the top layer and trekked from 52nd street to 63rd street to eat at Jalapenos and shop in the Brookside shopping center. The other, where I got snowed in at my grandma Giblin's after morning swim practice at Longview. I got to stay with her for 3 days. During this time I finished at least one 1000 piece puzzle, and watched many a movie, while bonding with my grandmother. With 4 siblings and nearly 20 cousins, one on one time with Grandma was and still is, a rarity. I do not harbor many memories of pure relaxation, but that is one of them.
Though Brock may not remember this snow day, he did participated in its mysticism. I had both boys packed and dressed for the trudge to the car when I received word that I did not need to come in to work. Choosing to take advantage of a sleeping baby and an already bundled toddler, I took Brock out to explore the wonders provided by 4-6 inches of snow. He began by helping me shovel the driveway, was quickly distracted by a stick, and finished with an abundance of winter like activities: sidewalk chalk, sand shovel kit and a water gun? Guess it's obvious by the toy purchases what season mom likes best.
We concluded the day with not just an exciting first experience for Brock, but I am confident to guess, his first true passion: SLEDDING. As he was placed between his father's legs on the cold plastic, he could feel the rush of adrenaline, and giggled in excitement before the sled even began moving. And did not stop laughing until his feet touched the snow again. Pure happiness. It broke my heart to have to tear my soaking wet, freezing, chapped cheek boy away from this bliss, but a healthy boy is a happy boy (and a happy mom). I think it is fair to say the conniption fit that ensued on the car ride home was justified. So, thank you powers that be, for this wonderful lapse in time, you will not be forgotten.

Winstead's

2011-01-08T14:03:00.000-06:00

The familiar menu stares me in the face
So many options, so little stomach space.
A single with everything could be it,
Then there's still the sides to get.

What really sounds good if a side of fries,
Then the words 'onion rings' catch my eyes.
A side salad proves the healthier choice,
But, "A sundae, a sundae" chants the voice.

Saliva creeps into each crevice of my mouth,
As my wandering eyes surge to the South
A grilled cheese and a butterscotch shake,
Oh man, is my stomach beginning to quake.

I reach in my pocket,
then my search comes to a halt!
With only one dollar,
I'll have to get the Special Chocolate malt.

I wrote this poem sometime in my early teenage years as a school assignment. It just resurfaced as Matt and I clean out the storage side of our basement. Winstead's is a steakburger joint in Kansas City. I am pretty sure Winstead's contains an abundance of memories for any child raised in my 'hood. It was the meeting place for post school functions, whether it be a basketball or soccer game, the Christmas program, a play, etc. It also happened to be the restaurant Matt and I patroned Senior year of high school, shortly before he gave me a rose and asked me to be his girlfriend (then we had our first kiss!) My mom is convinced that it induces labor for term pregnant woman, it worked for her at least once.

To this day, I still have sudden cravings for a single with everything and a butterscotch malt. And since Winstead's has a drive thru and multiple locations throughout the city, I can get these items whenever the hankering appears. Therefore, I can see why I felt it deserved an Ode back in my tweens and why I felt I shouldn't just toss this little work of art.

All About za Cutkiss.

2011-01-04T11:39:00.000-06:00

Ohhh, Cutkiss. These 2 words are repeated no less than 23 times a day between Matt, Brock and I. Most of the time it is in response to one of his random outbursts of happiness that takes form in a loud "coo". He has been blowing bubbles and talking to us for quite sometime, but has recently been exploring the capacity of his vocal cords, I believe some shreaking may be on the horizon. He has yet to give a full "giggle", while conscious anyway (he sure has some pretty hilarious dreams), but you can see it on the tip of his tongue when you play with him. Or at least, when I play with him. He is definitely a momma's boy.

I have yet to decide on Curtis' demeanor. Initially, probably most due to his size, I thought he would be our big, lazy, cuddly, happy boy. Turns out, Curtis has quite a large amount of energy to go with that large belly. He is very observant and curious about the world around him, yet he also enjoys smiling at and looking you in the eye. Until recently, he was very fussy in the evenings. It was very strange, he would be perfectly content one second, then just mad. I finally figured out that he is a pacifier man. And not just any pacifier, but Nuks are his cup of tea. He has completely transformed from a bipolar baby, to a generally happy one.

Though he still fights sleep a bit, and refuses to go down one minute before 11:30pm, I absolutely will not complain about this. For all his crying, he makes up for it by sleeping 6-8 hours EVERY night, since about 3 weeks of age (or earlier. Besides the night we brought him home, I can't think of a single time I woke up more than once before 7am.) I honestly have been so blessed with my boys. I joke that I have no idea what it's like to have a "newborn", and with Curtis I am pretty sure I gave birth to a 3 month old.I know it's extremely cliche to say this, but Curtis has brought so much to our lives. Life has changed just as significantly with a second child, as with the first. Yes, some things are easier or just more natural now; such as nursing, bathing, dressing, holding, knowing what to pack in a diaper bag, less stress and worries, in general, about the well-being of the newborn. But now, I am pretty sure we run the dishwasher everyday, as opposed to once or twice a week. And if I skip a day of doing some element of laundry, I pay for it; whether it is folding, loading the washer or dryer, or putting clothes/linens away, something needs to happen, daily.

A frequent question I receive is, "how is Brock with Curtis?". I feel, the only way to answer this is with examples. Often, when driving with the 2 boys in the backseat I will hear a strange noise from Curtis which is instantly followed by a very endearing, spoken in a half laugh, "Ohh, Cutkiss" from Brock. Also, for all his impatience, Brock seems very unbothered by his brother's crying or constant need for attention. In fact, he tries to help. The other day, I had Curtis propped on my bed with some pillows (as he has come to prefer a higher perch where he can look around and observe the world, not just ceiling fans and lights - just like his brother) and he began to fuss a bit. Brock, without hesitation, climbed on the bed, and began to pat Curtis on the belly. This soothed the baby immediately, so Brock began playing with the blinds above and Curtis eagerly observed his big brother - getting ideas already, I am sure.

Speaking of ideas from his older brother pretty sure Curtis is ready to be up and going with his big bro. I thought Brock was freakishly strong, now I realize, I may have been suffering from that first time mother syndrome called: "my child is more amazing than anyone else's child", because Curtis is truly a freak. Maybe he has been watching Brock too much, but once standing, it is nearly impossible to get that boy to fold in half and sit or relax. I propped him on the back of a chair over a week ago, and he stood, no problem. The other day, on the changing table, after a huge diaper blow out (which are entirely too frequent, I am questioning moving him up to size 3 diapers, what!?) I had him sitting, so as to not lie him down on his own poo. As I did this, I thought, man, he feels really stable and well-balanced, so went hands-free and Curtis just sat, as if he'd been doing it for weeks, for about 30-45 seconds. So, if anyone wants to start buying stock in him...left tackles make A LOT of money.
Finally, since this is the closest I get to having a baby book, Curtis had his 2 month check-up yesterday, with Dr. Waters. It dawned on me yesterday, I mention the boys' doctor all the time, as he is a family friend, as well as my and Matt's childhood pediatrician (redundant?), but I have never gotten a picture of him with either son! So, I did.

I had been anticipating this appointment for quite some time, because beyond the tangible things like nearly growing out of size 2 diapers and the 3-6 month clothing, I had begun noticing the baby carrier feeling as heavy as it did at 4 months-ish for Brock. I'd hoped this was due to Curtis being ginormous, and not that I had become a wuss. Curtis weighed in at 14lbs 3ozs...and we are still on the charts! At the 97th percentile. With a length of 24 inches, putting him right at the 90th percentile (so, joking that I have a 3 month old isn't far off). I would have to dig up the official records, but I am nearly 100% sure Brock was not even 12lbs by this age, though he may have been 24 inches. Therefore, ego maintained, it is the huge baby, not me.

Otherwise, Curtis continues to have a clean bill of health, minus a tiny case of Eczema (O'Laughlins...). As most babies do, he gets cuter everyday. Though, I must admit, I am not sure there is a cuter age than 8 weeks. He still maintains a newborn type appeal, only has begun to recognize people. He smiles. He responds. He is developing personality. Any day now he will recognize that those hands that keep getting in his way when trying to eat, or the unwanted hands that keep pulling his paci out of his mouth, or scratching his forhead, or rubbing his eyes are in fact his own. Then, he will truly sit. Then he will crawl. Then he will walk. Then he will talk. Then he will beat up his little, big brother. Then we are all in for it. Look out for za Cutkiss.

The 2011 List

2011-01-01T15:19:00.002-06:00

Congrats to...
...Ben and Lindsay on Zoey Reed Smith, born on January 4th: 7 lbs 1 oz.
...Megan and Pat on Caroline Michelle LaBuhn born on February 9th: 9lbs 5oz.
...Kim and Keith on Tagen Evangiline Placke born on February 27th: 8lbs 5oz.
...Emily and Mark on Johanna Rose Rademacher born on March 6th: 8lbs 7oz.
...Sarah and David on Benjamin David Walsh born on March 8th: 7lbs 11oz.
...Kara and Bart on Matthew Edward Hoolehan born on April 14th: 7lbs 14oz.
...Bridget and John on Claire Anne Cessar born on April 18th: 7lbs 8oz.
...Molly and Matt on Kaitlin Jean Groebe born on May 11th: 5lbs 11oz.
...Shae and Ricky on Jacqueline Amelia Paradise born on July 31st: 6lbs 3oz.
...Chrissy and Mike on Nicholas Knopke born on August 1st.
...Jessica and Kirk on Jude Kearney Thomas Middleton born on August 7th: 7lbs 9oz.
...Jerod and Julie on Max Weston Eller born on August 10th: 7lbs 13oz.
...Erin and Adam on Nolan Michael Schaum born on September 14th:7lbs 15oz.
...Robin and Brent on Charlie Harris born on September 28th: 5lbs 15oz.
...Errin and Craig on Camden Robert Weisman born on October 5th: 7lbs 15oz.
...Kathryn and Andrew on Adelaide Janette Carnahan born October 14th: 7lbs 11oz.
...Meaghan and Brian on Mary Kathleen Hagenhoff born on November 3rd: 8lbs 1oz.
...Ashley and Daniel on Leah Avery Hall born on November 29th: 7lbs 10oz.
...Emily and Charles on Henry Thomas Bush born on December 11th: 7lbs 10oz.

Save the dates for...
Eric and Laura {Linebarger}, April 9th.
Morgan and Drew {Elmore}, May 21st.
Tommy and Lauren {Houts}, June 4th.
Pat and Lauren {Amey}, September 24th.
Kathy and Gregg {Arnold}, October 1st.
Lauren and Tom {Zellner}, TBA.