…is his maxillary lateral incisors.
This would be a difficult version of the song for Liam to sing (especially given that he doesn’t actually talk yet), but I’m pretty sure that while he spends his days screeching and crying in a fashion that’s almost completely foreign to him, he’s actually just trying to sing the song.
Meanwhile all I want for Christmas is a legal, safe, baby sedative.
Dear Organizations Who Have Declared Yourselves Charitable And Are Therefore Legally Able to Bypass The Do Not Call Registry,
I get that charitable organizations are struggling like everyone else right now. I am definitely in your target demographic. I have a Master’s Degree in Social Work and when I was getting paid to work, I tried very hard to do so in not-for-profit organizations. My husband and I do a fair amount of research before we pick several groups to give to each year. But here’s a little secret (listen carefully):
I’m not an idiot and I hate phone solicitation.Â
One more time in case that wasn’t clear enough:
I’m not an idiot and I HATE phone solicitation.Â
That’s why I’m on every Do Not Call Registry I could find. If I am not already a member of your organization, don’t call me.
Here’s another little secret:
If you do call me and are pushy and rude (especially when I’m doing my best to be polite, as I recognize that you’re a person too and you deserve respect as such), I will become agitated and I will hang up on you. If I tell you several times that I’m not giving to your organization and you try to guilt me into something (especially when I’ve said several times that I need to go and put my child to bed and you can hear him screaming into the phone) and then push and push until I feel like you’re trying to sell me a used car, I will post about you in a negative light on my blog. I’m talking to you Fraternal Order of Police and NSpire Atlanta. Seriously.
Sincerely irritated,
Shannon
A boy and his aspirator:
A boy and his socks:
A boy and his Dino PJs:
A boy and his bonking victim:
A boy and his first Christmas tree:
(Rounding the corner)
(Hey Gran, there’s a tree in our family room)
(I’m not sure how I feel about this, Gran…)
(Okay, I think I like it)
A boy and his stocking:
A boy and his Mo:
A boy and his Pok:
A boy and his Mo’s cane:
A boy and his oven full of cookies:
A boy and his pony:
Part One:
Liam, who is extremely cranky is sitting at the dinner table with me and Matt as we eat our dinner. Liam begins to throw things at me (such as the Evil Weeble, his paci, and eventually his socks). After he throws them at me he waves goodbye to them. Certainly, I want to encourage this type of behavior so I begin throwing whatever he throws at me back at him and waving goodbye myself. This goes on and on until the object in question hits the floor, at which point we both wave goodbye to said object, Liam finds another object, and the game begins again. The game ended with a baby sock in my meatloaf sauce. Mmmm.
Part Two:
After the goodbye game is over Liam begins to search around him on the table for something with which to occupy his attention. He finds small, rock-hard pieces of monterrey jack cheese leftover from his dinner. He begins putting these in his mouth, one by one, making contorted faces that would rival those of any overpaid Hollywood actor. Finally–deciding that he’s not getting enough attention from me or from Matt for his stellar facial performance–he promptly gags and proceeds to throw up. He follows this with the classic ‘swirlie’ in the vomit as Matt races to find something to clean his tray.
Good times.
I’m baking cookies and my son is currently standing in front of the oven, face pressed up against the glass, licking the oven door.
Now that’s my boy.
Happy Birthday, Baby Sister.
This morning Liam awoke to find that his father had put child-safety locks on the remaining kitchen cabinet doors. Liam is displeased with his findings. While I’ve had several people tell me about how they left one cabinet door, filled with things that were safe for baby, lock-free so that the child could play in only that cabinet — I have determined that this will not work in my house.
The two doors that remained without locks contained baking pans and plastic storage containers. Here’re the problems: the cabinet with the baking pans includes a heavy 9×13 cake pan. This wouldn’t be a problem except that no matter how many times Liam pulls it out onto the floor and makes the same terrible racket, it scares the pee out of him (probably literally, although I admit I haven’t checked) and he sobs uncontrollably until I pick him up (which basically he never does). So much for that genius habituation theory, eh? The second problem is the zeal with which he takes every single plastic container out of the other cabinet and scatters them all over the kitchen floor. I have nearly killed myself countless times in the last week on these containers. They’re clear. Some of them are very small. This will not work.
My guess is that he figures out how to open the child-safety locks in very short order. After all–the day after we got our wonderful, new, “childproof” trash can he figured that out. I think the only reason he doesn’t open the can all the time is that he’s much more enthralled with the wheels on the bottom. Maybe that’s the solution:
I think I’m onto something here…
Liam has severe diaper rash. Liam also poops 4-5 times a day, every day. These things have a causal relationship.
After consulting my preferred medical advisor (my mom) I am now forgoing the use of any kind of wipe and putting Liam in a bath at every diaper change in a last ditch effort to clean him without rubbing his skin to the point of bleeding (which has happened before). I am also applying various salves and balms with every diaper change. I then have to clean his tub–you know, to get the poop out. I have done this twice already today. The whole routine (minus the tub cleaning) takes at least half an hour. Liam thinks it’s fantastic–thank goodness he likes baths. I am not as amused. Fingers crossed that this works and I only have to do it for one day. At least tomorrow’s Friday and Matt will be home to help with this routine over the weekend.
Oh, the things we do for our children…
Powdered creamer — although a reasonable substitute for the real thing — is not the real thing and is therefore not refrigerated. This means it’s not cold. This also means that if you pour it into your coffee and take a big swig you will scald all parts of your mouth. Consider yourself warned.
The race has finally come and gone. Matt and I were sick as dogs and I didn’t sleep for more than 3 hours at a stretch the night before, but we finished and we’re very excited about that! Matt and I timed ourselves (stopping the clock a couple of times for port-a-potty breaks along the course) and our unofficial time was just over 2:31. Our official chip time was 2:37:49 and Gillian’s was 1:46:56. Here are some pictures:
Gillian in the home stretch:
Me and Matt in the home stretch:
Three proud finishers:
