Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Promise

Last year, my husband was in a play called The Promise.  The Promise is a fantastic play performed for several weeks in the fall detailing the life of Christ.  Son #1 and I attended one of the performances with family and friends.  My son was captivated and followed the storyline closely, turning away from the stage only a few times to ask questions or make comments.

During one of the scenes, Jesus was taken to Herod's palace.  He was thrown onto the floor by the guards.  Herod showered him with derision.  The audience was silent.  Son #1 was appalled.  "THAT GUY'S NOT VERY NICE IS HE!"  He exclaimed in a stern voice that carried across the amphitheater.

The silence was broken.  The front center section of the amphitheater roared with laughter.

Had Son #1 lived during Jesus' time, Herod would have gotten the browbeating of a lifetime.


Son #2 had a little cold but had finally fallen into a peaceful sleep in his basinette.  Sadly, his basinette was in the office and it was past my bedtime.  How do you get a sleeping baby in a basinette from the office to the master bedroom without waking the baby?  I had a plan.

After unlocking the wheels of the basinette, I carefully rolled baby and basinette through the doorway.  Slowly, I made my way down the hallway and into the living room.  I had bumped the basinette twice on my journey so far but fortunately Son #2 only stirred.  Carefully, I inched to the master bedroom.  Success!  Son #2 was still asleep.  I turned on a tiny lamp and heard a whimper.  Noooooo!

I did everything in my power to soothe him back to sleep without picking him up but he would have none of it.  Finally, I picked him up, changed his diaper, fed him, and rejoiced when he settled into sleep again.  I crawled into bed beside my husband and we fell fast asleep.  (Sleep...sweet sleep)

Thirty minutes later, we were awakened by our precious baby sneezing, coughing, and then a noise that sounded to us like a gasp for air.  We leaped from the bed to the basinette and whisked Son #2 to our bed to sleep.  Son #2 giggled.  In his head, we could hear him say "That was easy.  I win again."

In the battle to sleep between Mama and Dada instead of the basinette the score is:
Son #2:  1 point
Parents:  0

Friday, December 30, 2011

The Fountain of Poop

This is for all you parents who have babies in the diaper stage.

When Son #2 was about 2 weeks old, he became a little constipated.  I was breastfeeding him at the time and decided to drink INCREDIBLY TALL glasses of all natural fruit smoothies to help him become regular again.  The plan seemed to be working. 

One sunny afternoon, I detected the distinct odor of a poopy diaper.  My youngest son had been fussy earlier but now seemed to have the serene demeanor of a Buddhist Monk.  I opened his diaper and was greeted with an abnormally large collection of doo doo.  I was amazed and a little proud of my 2 week old son.  (My son's collection of poo is larger than your son's poo.) 

I began to clean up Son #2 when catastrophe began.  Poo began to spew from his hiney like a park fountain.  I quickly put a clean diaper underneath him to catch the wanton stream.  The clean diaper filled up!  What was I to do?  I had never encountered a poopy diaper of this proportion.  Quickly, I removed the second diaper and placed a third one underneath him.  The stream turned into a geyser.  The geyser spewed forth untamed and I began to panic.  How many clean diapers did I have close by?  Could I make a run for the linen closet for more if needed?  Why won't the poo stop?  Five tremendously full diapers later, the geyser lessened, turned into a stream, slowed to a trickle, and then mercifully stopped.  By then, I had gone through 3/4 of a box of wipes and a few Walmart bags.

Moral of the Story:  Only drink small smoothies when nursing.

Fishing for the Helicopter

Son #1 got a remote control helicopter for Christmas.  My husband, Son #1, and my brother took it into the backyard to play.  The helicopter buzzed around the yard like a drunken wasp as each one took their turn.  They had to be very careful, though, because the slightest breeze would send the waspish helicopter sailing away.  The first time my husband came in for the step ladder was to retreive the helicopter from the roof of our house.  Son #1 found this all very exciting.

He exclaimed. "Mama!  Dad lost the helicopter on the roof but now he saved it!"  This was yelled to me as he ran in from the backyard to the kitchen and then back out again.

Time past by uneventfully.  Periodically, I would see the drunken helicopter buzz by the dinette window.  Then, Son #1 appeared mournfully at the back door.  "He lost it over the fence."  My husband informed me that my brother flew the helicopter over the fence to our neighbor's backyard.  My husband and son knocked on the neighbor's door but no one was home.  Devastation.  What could we do?

Back at the house, we brainstormed about how to retrieve our helicopter.  Then we remembered the fishing pole.  My husband brought out the step ladder for the second time that day and then he brought out the fishing pole.  I carried the tackle box.  We prepared for our search and rescue mission using the appropriate lure.

The scene outside was of my husband standing on a step ladder casting a fishing pole into the neighbor's yard and surrounded by my brother and eldest son.  My brother's expression seemed to say "Hey, this wasn't my fault."  (even though it was his fault)  Son #1 was hopping up and down with anticipation.  After a dozen or so tries, my husband returned to the house triumphantly holding the wayward helicopter.  Fantastic. 

Who would have thought that the fishing pole I gave as a birthday gift to my husband when we were dating would be used to fish our toys out of neighboring yards?

Big Brother Talks About Brand New Baby Brother At Bank

Several weeks after giving birth to Son #2, I found myself at the bank with Son #1.  He was proudly discussing his new baby brother with some of the employees.

They asked.  "So how do you like your new baby brother?" 

"Oh, I like him a lot!"  He replied exuberantly.

"Do you help your mommy?"  They queried.

"Well...sometimes."  Son #1 answered.

"What does baby brother do?"  They asked again.

"Well, he plays, and he cries, and he eats, and he poops, and sometimes he SHARTS."  My son responded innocently but loudly.  His voice has this amazing ability to carry across large establishments.

At this response, I was floored.  I began to laugh uncontrollably.  At first, the laughter was out of pure embarrassment and then it continued on because of the naughty imp that resides in the back of my head.  (Bad little imp!  Go back to your hiding place!)

One of the employees swiveled around in her chair and exclaimed.  "Did he just say what I think he said?!?"

"Umm...yes he did."  I replied between giggling and tears.  Son #1 had just outed a joke between my husband and I.  (My what big ears you have Son #1.)

Now for anyone who doesn't know what a SHART is...may I suggest that you watch the movie Along Came Polly.