2011 Recap

Well, I figured I better write one last post, to close out the year. I've definitely fallen off the bandwagon of blogging. But, at least I'll end with a bang. Or a blog. A lot has happened this last year, which in some ways feels more like a few months and in some ways feels like forever. Fifteen days into the new year, we gained an addition to the family: Keaton Gray Kirtley. And what an awesome addition he has been, I must say. Keaton is such a fun, cheerful baby. He is easy going most of the time, although he does have quite a temper when he does not get his way. Like at bedtime when he thinks he isn't sleepy. And in the car when he finds it appalling that he is strapped to the "electric chair" we like to call a car seat. Besides the occasional temper tantrum, Keaton is truly a great baby. He almost never fusses, nothing that food or cuddle won't immediately cure. He is playful and very generous with his smiles. Before Keaton arrived, we wondered how we could love another as much as Cale. It was easy. 2011 wouldn't have been the same without 'ole Keater-pie.

This year Carl and I ran our first 10K, which may not sound like much to all you runners out there. But, it was the most I had ever ran before and probably the most I ever care to run, if you must know the truth. Yes, running is rewarding, after the fact. But, my comfort zone is about 2 miles. Much more than that and I start getting grumpy.

Cale stopped wearing diapers this year! And it was relatively easy, with the help of M&M's. We're still doing the night time pull-up as a safety precaution, but other than that he is going to the bathroom like the big boys. Except he still needs to work on his aim. And not getting side-tracked while he's peeing. I've been forced to become much more diligent cleaning the toilet...and the wall behind the toilet...and the tile beneath the toilet...and the stepstool Cale stands on...yes, maybe 2012 will bring more bathroom accuracy for him.

Carl put a zip-line in our backyard, along with a playground that he helped my dad build. We spent much of our time this summer out at that play park, as we call it.

I started a new job as a library media specialist at Dwight, which aside from having Keaton, is the most exciting thing that happened for me in 2011. I love my job now and am so lucky to be in this position. Really liking your job makes such a difference on your overall attitude. Carl says I complain much less often now. Like never. Now I only complain about him.

Cale started Noah's Ark in August of this year. We decided that it was time to get Cale's name on the list for preschool. We figured it would be several months until they had a spot available for him. But, two days after I filled out the paper work, we got a call saying there was an opening. So, we had to make the hard decision to leave our wonderful babysitter Nonna, and start a new school. It was a hard transition for Cale. He has become shy and uncertain in the latter part of this year. So, being with people he didn't know was especially hard, along with the different routines/structure of preschool vs. in-home child care. He cried when I dropped him off for awhile. And became incredibely clingy. But, it didn't take him long to fall in love with his teacher Ms. Amber. I literally mean "fall in love". He developed a bit of a crush on her and was highly offended and jealous when he saw a picture of she and her husband. So funny!

Just when Cale was really getting settled into his classroom and very comfortable with his teacher, they moved him up to the next classroom. So, we went through the whole crying/clinging thing again. Feeling comfortable is everything for Cale. He can't function until he's "comfortable". Gosh this child may end up being too much like me I'm afraid. But, after about a month, Cale began feel at ease with his classmates and began to really like his new teacher, which we refer to as the "New Ms. Amber" because her name is Amber, too! She's his comfort zone at school now. If she's there, we're good. If she's not, Cale gets nervous. Overall, Cale really likes school and has made lots of new, special friends.

We took many train rides this year. It started with a special train that came to Russellville last January, the zoo train, several Silver Dollar City train rides, and ended with a Christmas train ride early December.

Yes, this year was the year of trains. Toy trains, train videos on the Ipod, train movies, train shirts, food lined up like trains...you name it. Maybe next year will bring a new obsession. Something other than trains!

Keaton decided he couldn't let the year end without learning to walk. Right before Christmas he started toddling and is now walking all over. He's been getting into everything already and I'm sure walking will enable him to find even more mischief. I will just be glad when he doesn't have to taste everything in sight. It is tiresome and worrisome keeping track of what goes into his mouth. I've had many near panic attacks as I've found Keaton with random things in his mouth. But, he's still alive. So, we've done okay.

Being a family of four has made 2011 a great year. I wonder what 2012 has in store for us? Hopefully more sleep...please, more sleep.

The Mouse

Okay...this mouse is killing me. And I'm praying it's mouse and not mice.

I've always hated mice. I'm not really that scared of them because I know they can't actually hurt me. It's just the idea of a smelly, furry, rodent sneaking around my house, hiding in unexpected places that bothers me. I have been tortured by many a mouse in my day. Mentally tortured. To the point of sleeping with my head, arms, feet, completely under the covers, sweating, because I envisioned the mouse crawling across me at night. I'll never forget when I was young one winter, we had been finding mice in our house. I started fearing that a mouse would get in my bed while I slept. My parents assured me this couldn't happen. But, then a few days later I found mouse droppings on my windowsill, right by my bed. That's when I started sleeping completely under cover. And practically suffocating. I was so disturbed by the thought of the mouse crawling around my room that I wouldn't sit on my floor or place anything of importance on my floor because I knew a mouse had been crawling there. I even thought I could smell him. Seriously. This went on for awhile. You don't know how much sleep I lost. Maybe the disturbing thing was how horribly disturbed I was by the mice.

Well, I would like to say that now that I am an adult, I have grown up when it comes to mice. And I actually thought that I had. That is, until we got a visit from a mouse. Saturday morning, Carl spotted him racing across the carpet in our TV room. That's when my world came tumbling down. My nice, clean house...infested. Sure, our house isn't that clean. I'm sure our floors our covered in baby spit up and human waste (from babies) but it least it's our mess...not the mess of an univited guest. I spent Saturday watching every step I took fearing I might see the mouse.

I made it through the day okay, but night time was a different story. I know it's irrational, but I'm not the most rational person. I placed all nine of our throw pillows on top of our dresser, instead of the usual messy pile on the floor. And I'm not crazy. I failed to mention that after seeing the mouse on Saturday, I was putting fresh sheets on our bed. After getting the sheets on, I pulled the comforter back on...only to see a black speck attached to it. A speck which I am 99.9% sure was a mouse pellet. See, I just knew they crawl on me in my sleep. I had an awful time falling asleep at bedtime. I'm almost positive I heard the mouse rustling in our room. Then, when Keaton woke up in the middle of the night, I climbed out of bed and am almost certain I felt the mouse brush against my foot. I screamed and turned on the light and I'm pretty sure gave my husband one more reason to think I'm crazy.

So, tonight we stopped in Wal-Mart to get some ammunition for this problem. We stuck a sticky trap behind our fridge (when I say "we", I mean Carl...when it comes to mice I am completely hands-off) I had to work hard to convince Carl to buy sticky traps instead of the regular kind. His argument was that you have to keep buying more sticky traps because you only use them once. My argument was if he thinks I'm going to allow him to keep used and bloody mouse traps somewhere in my house, he's crazy.

So, we finally got the kids in bed and were sitting in the living room watching TV. Suddenly I heard the familiar rustling sound that I heard the night before. See I just knew it was a mouse last night. Then, we heard the squealing. Squealing and squealing, and more squealing. Very disturbing. The mouse was caught. I had wanted nothing more than for that mouse to die. But, I must say the squealing, suffering mouse made me feel a little bad. It probably wouldn't have been so bad except that Carl refused to do anything with it right then because it wasn't dead yet. He must not have understood how it was killing me inside to have a dying mouse behind our fridge. So gross. So, we watched the remainer of our show amidst the random rustling sound and moaning of a caught mouse, trying to free himself.

Seeing how we live in the country, I'm afraid I'm going to live a tortured life, if I don't get this issue of mine under control. Oh, and I failed to mention that I found mouse droppings in Keaton's book basket by his crib. Let's just say he didn't get a story tonight. Even my sweet little baby isn't safe.

My goodness, it's been way too long. A lot has happened in the past month, much of which I can't even remember. Seems I'm remembering less and less these days and even my mass of sticky note reminders stuck in various, should-be obvious places, are being overlooked. I can't remember to look at my reminders. I blame it partly on starting school and being in a new position, of which I love by the way. I blame it more-than-partly on my eight-month old and nearing three-year old which have been draining every last brain cell that I have...and they are already few and far between. And lastly I guess I blame it on forgettful genes...my dad, not my mom. Life has been...busy and not allowing for much of anything extra.

Back to the kids. Cale has started Noah's Ark which has been an experience. Mostly a good experience, except that Cale has chosen this time in his life to become clingy and unsure of himself. So, many mornings have resulted in me prying him off of my legs as I quickly shut the door while he screams. Great way to start the day. (And it's not just at preschool. It's church, bedtime, naptime, etc.) But, he has been doing better the past week or so at Noah's Ark. Nothing that a little candy-bag-for-not-crying bribe each afternoon and having his best bud and cousin Kenzie ride with us to school, couldn't fix. It's shameful that I've resorted to bribing with candy, but I'll take shameful bribery over screaming and clinging any day. Each morning Kenzie and Cale walk in holding hands and stay that way for the first few minutes of being at school. It's pretty sweet.

Since my last post, Cale had a two-week long monster transformation. I don't mean monster as in "big", I mean he literally became a monster. He screamed and cried a constantly throughout the day, didn't want to go to school, woke up screaming and kicking several times a night, and just completely wasn't himself. I kept trying to get him to tell me what was wrong, but all I got was wailing. Finally we took him in to the doctor and found out he had a bad throat infection. After being on medicine for several days, his behavior did not get better. In fact, he got worse. I was beginning to think this was a phase he was in, and that disturbed me. Each day at school Cale's teachers were telling me that he cried a lot, refused to eat lunch (for about a week), and just wasn't himself. He was even sent home one day because he wouldn't stop crying. Finally he began telling us his teeth hurt. I looked inside his mouth and sure enough...it was the King-Kong of teeth...the two-year molars. I guess I thought those had already come in. I should've known better. There's not a tooth in that boys head that didn't come with pain and torture (yeah, I'm sure it hurt Cale, too) ;) So, we loaded him up on Tylenol and Ibuprofen for several days and he finally got past it, for the most part. He's still pretty clingy and almost impossible to get to sleep..."Lay with me...I want a drink...I'm scared...I think there's a tiger in my bedroom." One of my favorite excuses came about 11:00 one night. He woke up screaming and crying and when I finally calmed him down he said he wanted a drink. I told him no and he said, "...But I want milk. My bones are hurting and they are about to break". Back story...he hasn't been wanting to drink milk lately so I've been trying to coax him into drinking it by telling him how strong it makes his bones. So, what could I do but give him some milk. This boy is killing me.

Keaton is crawling all over the place now and pulling up on everything. He's been caught eating the toilet brush at least two times now. So that's where we are right now. I would move the brush, but there's just no good, handy place to put a nasty toilet brush and I feel like the best place is beside an equally nasty thing...the toilet. I just can't bring myself to put it on the counter or even on top of the toilet. I have issues about toilets and the tools we use to clean them, I guess. Keaton has also had ear infections for about a month and a half now. We have had four doctor visits and are now on our fourth different medicine. Next step will be a visit to the ENT, if his ears haven't cleared in about another week. Poor little guy has definitely been fussier than normal and not sleeping too well, but overall he's still a trooper.

Mr. Keaton has developed a temper in the last few weeks. He goes into a full-on screaming fit when things don't go his way. My sister said she read that at eight months you can start to really see a baby's personality. Up until then, you can't really tell. Darn it...he hit the eight month mark about 6 days ago. Hope there's not a correlation! But, in his defense his ears have been hurting for far too long now and he's cutting his second tooth. Those two things would be enough to make any of us have a temper, I suppose.

I can't believe how fast time is flying. It's almost October, Cale will be three in a few months and before long Keaton will be a year old. And I can barely keep up already. But, we are beginning my favorite time of year: Fall! So, I am going to try to slow down and enjoy it, one pumpkin at a time.

What a Day

Wow. Today was one of those days when I just wanted to pull my hair out...and I actually think I tried to at one point. It started out okay. I woke up on time, was able to get ready without any major catastrophes, and even got the boys ready on time. Things were going my way. Until I pulled out of my garage. I had to drive Carl's truck today because he took my car in to get an estimate with a body shop (I got rear-ended a few weeks ago) I hate driving his truck. It's fairly big, which makes things like parking...which I am already hideous at...even harder. Plus, it's really hard to get the boys in and out of the truck. Plus, I kinda feel out of character in it. Like a tough, deer huntin' and muddin' kind of girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's far from me. Plus, you have to turn the key in the ignition about three times before it actually starts. Which is quite embarrassing because of the awful squealing sound it makes when it won't start. But, he was doing me a favor by taking it in for me, so I didn't complain. Except here on the blog. Anyways, I turned the truck on, threw it in reverse, and gunned it. I admit I do kind of like hearing the loud pipes roar. Kind of makes me feel powerful. Or redneck. Well, the sound of the pipes were followed by a crash. I had failed to remember that when I'm pulling out in Carl's truck, I have to pay close attention to the side mirror. This resulted in one less side mirror on Carl's truck. Sad thing is, the is not the first side mirror which I have decapitated.

It was shattered and left dangling by a small wire. I sat there with the truck running, contemplating telling Carl now or later. I decided there's no time like the present. So, I called him and told him to come outside and that he was going to kill me. When he came outside, he had a disgusted look. But, it seemed he was looking past me. In the side mirror drama, I had failed to notice that ten panels of our fence were now scattered across our yard, instead of standing nicely in a row like fences do. As if that wasn't bad enough, our basketball goal was snapped in half at the base. (we had a windy, stormy night last night) What a moment for me to show Carl the mirror. He didn't really have much to say except that we had about a thousand dollars worth of damage on our hands. Sweet.

So, I got to school in a fairly grumpy mood. Things just got worse from there...most of which I am not going to explain because requisitions and purchase orders would probably bore you to death. By lunchtime I was feeling a little better. I had an email from a teacher that was wanting some specific books checked out. My day suddenly brightened. "This I can do!", I thought. So, I gathered the books and even put them in this cute little cart that I haven't had a chance to use yet. I happily headed down the hallway to deliver her books at the other end of the building. Most of our hallway is hard floor except when you get to the first grade area. Well, now I know my cute little cart cannot make the switch from hard floor to carpet successfully. No, the little piece that seperates the two different floor surfaces was too much for the little cart to handle. It suddenly toppled forward, taking me with it. I landed on my belly, on top of the cart. The twenty-five books were sprawled out all over the floor. I jumped up immediately and looked around. The hallway was clear, so that was a relief. There had been no witnesses to my clumsy fall. I guess that was one positive thing from the day.

Oh, and I failed to mention that last night was the precursor to today's events. Yesterday evening as Cale was playing with the dollar store helium balloon I bought for him, I suddenly heard a loud sound. The balloon had become tangled in the fan and somehow caused the bowl that was covering the lights to shatter. So that great dollar store purchase has now cost us about forty dollars. Sweet.

Oh well, there were some good points in the day. Like when Cale climbed in our bed this morning to watch cartoons because the storm had woken us all up earlier than usual. Or when our babysitter opened the door this afternoon and I got to hear Cale happily screaming, "Mommy! My mommy!" as he hugged my legs. Or the moment when I scooped Keaton up in my arms to take him home from Nonna's after being away from him all day. Or the moment when Cale came running back in Keaton's room because he forgot to kiss his "brudder" goodnight and tell him a very sincere and sweet, "I love you". I guess those were all pretty good moments. They kind of out weigh the bad.

My blogging has been hit or miss these days. More miss, lately. I feel like I've left out many good things from the summer, but I guess that's the way it goes. I'm back at work now...my official first day was last Monday. I'm in the library this year, which is why I started a little early. I'm absolutely loving it so far, although I am a bit overwhelmed with the newness of everything. I hate not knowing how to do things. But, I'm learning and I think that is what I'll be doing all year.

Over the summer I had forgotten about how hard it is having everything "together" once school starts. Not that I ever have it all together, but more so in the summer and on weekends. Getting home at 4:30, wanting to just play and love on the boys (which I do) but also needing to start dinner and put away the laundry or empty the dishwasher that I left on earlier in the morning. And speaking of mornings...they are brutal. The alarm clock rings at 5:15, shortly followed by the sound of a crying six-month old; rushing out of a pitiful excuse for a shower to go get the crying baby; making a bottle and moving the bouncy chair into the bathroom in hopes that the 'now-somewhat-able-to-feed-himself' baby Keaton will be content while I get ready for work; Chasing a 2 1/2 year-old around with shorts and a shirt because he NEVER wants to get out of his pajamas or leave the house in the morning. This usually results in kicking and tears on Cale's part, once I catch him, and disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes on my part. Sometimes I want to kick and cry too, but I refrain. I must admit, some days it's almost a relief to get in the car and drive to work. But, twenty minutes after being there, I'm already missing them. Strange how that works.

Keaton is almost seven months old now. He actually started crawling a few days ago. He's been rolling and making his way around a room for awhile now. But, now he's actually crawling. Even if it's crawl, crawl, splat. Crawl, crawl, splat. Overall, he's such an easier baby than Cale. He's pretty chill and is content to be laying on the floor chewing on toys or anything else he can get his hands on...flip flops have been a big hit this summer, when he can get one without my knowing. Poor little guy has even had a double ear infection, probably for a few weeks. But,the sweet little thing never really fussed. He just stopped eating his bottles and this was a pretty good sign that something was wrong. The kid eats who knows how many 7-8oz. bottles a day. Along with three jars of baby food.

It's funny, with Cale I knew on average the exact number of bottles he usually ate in a day. I had certain times I tried to do things such as nap/feeding. I attempted a schedule, even though I'm pretty sure I needed a Zanax throughout the process. With Keaton, I'm going with the flow. I have no idea how many bottles he eats in a day and I'm not really sure how many naps he has a day. Pretty much naps every 2-3 hours...so I guess I could do the math. Throwing the attempted schedules out the window has made me a much happier mama this time around.

We're so happy that Keaton has been the easier baby. I don't know what we'd do if this wasn't the case.

Cale. Our dear, sweet, in-a-constant-state-of-agitation, two-year old boy. How he can be a such an adorable, charming creature one second, and a completely unrecognizeable, horrifying creature the next? His tantrums really are reminiscent of the Hulk. It's like, I can see the transformation taking place. He starts to scream and then begins to change form. It's all there but the turning green part. He turns more of a shade of bright red. I often wonder what it must be like to feel so irritated all of the time. What goes on in the mind of a toddler?

We've really been having a difficult time getting Cale to bed these days. I mean it's like an hour long process. We do the bath, read a book (cale tries to persuade us into reading multiple books to avoid sleeping), talk, say our prayers...and then say our goodnights. Cale is already set in his rituals and we have to say the same thing every night. And if one little thing is left off, that's an excuse for him to get out of bed and come to us. And because I don't want to forget this years from now, it goes like this, "Night, night Mama. Love you. Sleep tight. Talk about your adventure." Absolutely no idea where that last one came from, but it must be said. And I respond, "Night night, Cale. Love you. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite." And then I leave. Usually .05 seconds after I'm gone, the wailing begins. And usually .20 seconds later the door busts open. We go through this about four times a night.

I've really been trying to crack down on this. I've even been standing outside of Cale's room, waiting to snatch him up when he comes barreling out. The other night I did just that. I scooped him up before he even had a chance to argue. I put him in the bed without saying a word and headed quickly outside. I stood outside his door, expecting him to come out once again. He's pretty persistent. Instead he sat in his bed, crying and talking to himself. I heard him say, "(sniff, sniff) Pooooor Cale. His mama is a meanie. She's a meanie weenie." This is the first time I've ever heard him call me a name. I couldn't believe it! I opened the door and said, Cale, what did you just call me?" He nonchalantly replied, "A meanie weenie". I actually thought it was quite funny but kept a straight face as I asked him why he called me that. He said that he was just coming out of his room because he had to poo poo, but I grabbed him and put him back in bed and he was mad at me." I felt kinda bad at this point because he actually did need to poo poo. But, I guess it's kind of like the boy who cried wolf. He leaves his bed so many times with some crazy excuse and the time he really needs to leave his bed, we don't believe him.

A side note about Cale. He really doesn't like strangers talking to him right now. Or looking at him for that matter. He often hides behind my legs and gives the evil eye to anyone who acknowledges him. Tonight at the park, there was a young couple there hanging out. They were smiling and watching Cale play. (Only about 5 feet away from couple) Cale meanly says, "I don't want those people looking at me!" It was quite embarrassing. We usually just use the "He's in the terrible twos" excuse for everything. What happened to my, talk-to-anybody-and-everybody little guy? Instead he saves it all for us. And when I say all, I mean ALL, as in all-the-time. He never hushes. Never. And to think, Carl and I have the nerve to try to have a conversation with each other in the car. Nope, not happening if Cale's around. I'm pretty sure he's just like his daddy. Even though he's a handful right now and probably will always be, I wouldn't change him.

Well, summer break for me has pretty much come and gone. In a blink. And my blogging was pretty much non-existent. I thought I would have so much more free time during the summer. And on a typical summer I hopefully will. But, this summer I had a toddler and a baby. Which both take up a lot of time. I had hoped that I would at least get a free hour or more each day where they were both napping. But, I am beginning to think you have to have some kind of magical power to make that happen.

Each week, the boys went to Nonna's (their babysitter) on Tuesdays and Fridays. On a typical summer, these days would have been my "me" days. But, this summer I spent those days at school trying to get familiar with my library. But, 12 days later=still not-so-familiar! But, hey I'm not complaining. I am so excited about my new job and even if it made me spend a bit more time in my school building than I would have liked to this summer, it is going to my make my school year seem much easier.

This past weekend, against Carl's approval, we went to Silver Dollar City. Don't get me wrong. Carl likes Branson and likes Silver Dollar City...in normal weather. But in the furnace that we call summer around here, he wasn't too excited about going. I tried convincing him by reminding him that there are a few rides where we can get wet. I guess it's obvious that in the end, I won. And it really wasn't too bad. We went up on Friday night, again not Carl's idea. But, I oh-so-dramatically reminded him that we would have to leave so early in the morning if we made it a one-day trip and that would put our already-prone-to-be-moody son Cale in a bad mood. And that's just no good for anyone involved. So, at about 2:00 on Friday afternoon, Carl told me to book a hotel.

We invited Carl's mom to come with us because we thought Cale would enjoy it and she hadn't been to SDC in years. We decided to leave sweet little Keaton with my parents because we didn't think he was up for the heat and I didn't think I was up for toting him around in the hot, black harness all day. We arrived in Branson at about 8:45 Friday night. We decided to hit the Landing before going to the hotel. It's so nice that Cale can stay up later these days, if necessary. When we were just about to the Landing, we noticed Dicks Five and Dime, and remembered what a neat store it was. We also remembered how many tractor toys and tractor memorabilia the store displayed...but we decided to brave the toddler, "I want, I want" fit and go in anyway. Plus, we knew we would probably come out with some sort of tractor, and we were okay with that.

Cale actually did great in the store. We talked him into a very small, inexpensive tractor...which is unreal because there were many big, $40 + tractors that he looked at while he was there. In the end, he was happy with the small one that his Mammaw bought for him...and even more pleased with his purchase when he realized the cab of the tractor was filled with small pieces of bubble gum. Which he chewed all of in about five minutes.

We got to the Landing at about 9:30. We were bummed to see that the water/light show was under construction. But, we found a simple candy store had all the entertainment we needed. The store had a train that chugged along the ceiling (like in Stoby's) and Cale was delighted. I don't think he ever even realized we were in a candy store, even though everywhere you turned there were clear buckets filled with colorful arrays of candy that made me an indecisive mess while trying to determine what to purchase. And seventeen dollars later, we had our bag of candy. And I swear it didn't even feel like a pound. They must make a killing at those places.

On our way out to our car, we heard a train whistle. In front of the Landing is a train track and sure enough, one was coming by. What a perfect end to the night, in Cale's eyes. He plopped himself in the grass for a front row seat in the train passing. We could have left Branson after that and he would have thought it was the best trip.

The next morning, after a breakfast that Cale tried to convince us he didn't need because he was so excited about his upcoming train ride, we headed to Silver Dollar City. We hit absolutely NO traffic...which is amazing for a Saturday going to SDC. We got to ride in a trolly car from where we parked our car up to the SDC gates. Again, could the trip get any better for Cale? We started off with The Great American Plunge, which is a log-ride that leisurely floats you around through several tunnels...one of which was completely pitch black, and then takes you up a giant hill before you make a huge, heart-pumping drop into a big pool of water. Cale was just tall enough to ride and I have to admit I was a little nervous. Carl put Cale in the front too, which made my nervousness just a bit worse. I think I reminded Carl to hold onto Cale about five times, as if he wasn't going to. But, to our dismay Cale wasn't a bit scared.

So, feeling pretty good about Cale's attitude towards rides, we headed to Fire-in-the-Hole (my all-time favorite when I was little) Cale thought it was a train, so he was eager to ride. But, as the ride began, I could tell he was getting a little nervous. And in his defense, what a creepy ride it is. From the old-timey, horror-movie music, to the fake flames...it's pretty intense for little ones. After the ride, Cale (serious-looking, but no tears) said he didn't really want to ride that one again.

After we got home from Branson on Saturday night, Cale was still bothered by Fire-in-the-Hole. He kept telling me that there were monsters and ghosts on the ride. He also talked about a man looking at him while he rode. I think he meant the fake people that are staged throughout the ride. After I spent fifteen minutes trying to convince him that it was all make believe, Cale simply told me, "Mama, don't you EVER make me ride that again!" Sad thing is, I'm sure we will try to coerce him into riding it again when we go back in the fall...unless he throws too big of a fit!

We were so glad to see Keaton when we got back home. It seemed strange only having one kid on our trip. But, I'm sure Keaton had much more fun in the air-conditioning, being cuddled and spoiled by Nan and Pop.

We can't wait until we can go on rides and roller coasters with both of our boys one day. I hope they're both little thrill-seekers. Wait, let me rethink that. When it comes to amusement parks, I hope they are daredevils. But as far as motorcycles, four-wheelers, and fast cars...not so much. I dread those reckless teenage days. Thank goodness I have just a few years with my "little" boys!

The Life of a Mom...Far From Glamorous

Today Cale pooped on the counter top in the bathroom. I don't know why. Guess that's what I get for being a germa-phobe growing up. He also won't eat anything healthy. Guess that's what I get for being a terribly picky eater growing up.

I knew Cale was in our bathroom 'peeing', as he announced before he headed in. After just a short time, I went in to check on things...you know, make sure the room wasn't covered in pee, as it sometimes is, and to clean the toilet seat off because it's always covered in pee after Cale has graced it with his presence. I heard the flush, so I knew he was done. But, as I walked in the bathroom, I saw him standing on the top of the counter, the fact that he does this is a whole other issue. Even though the 'standing-on-counter-top' thing made me a bit nervous, I have to say it was the least of my worries. My attention was more focused on the big pile of poo lying right beside his feet and much to close for comfort, at least mine, to a toothbrush. Carl's toothbrush, to be exact. I'm not crazy enough to leave mine out on the counter. Not in this household. Cale looked incredibly guilty when I walked in. I asked him why in the world he pooped on the counter. He was a little speechless, but then tried to cleverly divert my attention by reminding me, in a proud cheerful voice, that he had just peed in the potty. Yes son, but your 'Potty Award' just went down the drain when you followed it up with a nasty 'number two' on the counter. He never really gave me an answer as to why he did it. I guess even he knew, "because I wanted to" wouldn't be the best explanation.

In giving him the benefit of the doubt, sometimes when he gets himself on top of counters...(yes, the 'climbing on counters thing'is a fairly common occurrence and you're probably thinking I'm a terrible mom by now)...he has trouble getting down. So, I'm hoping...going out on a limb really...that maybe the urge hit him once he got on top, and then not really being able to get down very successfully or quickly, he thought..."Oh well, what the heck? Mom can clean it up."

Deep down I know he probably just thought it would be really cool to have a pile of poop on the counter. Glad there wasn't a tractor nearby. We already know what he does with tractors and poop.

10 hours + 2 kids...Need I Say More?

Well, we're back from Florida...and we survived. The last time we went to Florida, Cale was six months old. I remember thinking it was SO hard. He didn't do too well on the drive, he didn't like the beach AT ALL, and he didn't sleep well. Needless to say, we were a little nervous this year with two little ones. And Keaton is a much worse car-rider than Cale was at his age. Our strategy was to leave at 8:00 in the evening, in hopes that Keaton would sleep almost the entire ride. So, last Friday at 8:00, we loaded Keaton up...freshly bathed, fed, and in his jammies...and headed to Destin. We decided to let Cale ride with my parents because they weren't leaving until about 2:00 am and they were also taking his cousin Abree. Plus, Cale does not respond well to Keaton's screaming in the car. Our plan worked out better than I could ever have imagined. Keaton screamed for the first 20 minutes, then fell asleep. He slept for several hours, woke up to eat, and then slept until about 6:00 am when we were almost there! Too easy. Well, maybe not for Carl who did all the driving. I offered to help, but he doesn't trust my driving...especially in the middle of the night.

Cale arrived the next day and our vacation began. The first day, Cale was fearless. To the point of being a little scary. He ran into that water so fast, without ever hesitating. We couldn't believe it. But, he did hate the salt water in his eyes, which I had expected. By the second day, for some reason, Cale was more timid about the water. He would start to get in, but only stay a minute before getting out again. He spent most of his time running around on the sand, pushing his dump truck, and digging holes.

The beach, as I used to know it, has changed. Not so long ago, when I thought of the beach I pictured endless hours of laying out in the sun or under the beach umbrella reading a good book or napping. I thought of spending an hour primping and dressing up for nightly dinners where I actually got to sit and enjoy my food. I thought of going to bed late and sleeping in. Let's just say none of those things happened on this vacation. This vacation consisted of getting up at 6:00 am every day, spending 15 minutes getting the little ones all slathered with sunblock and ready for the beach, toting a two-year old, 5-month old, dump truck, sand bucket and shovel, blown up boat, towels, bottle of milk, and water down to the beach, toting the two-year old all the way back to the condo for bathroom breaks, bathing both kids after getting back from the beach, rushing to get a shower and throwing on some makeup before going out to eat, holding an infant as I clumsily tried to feed myself...you get the picture. Wow, things are much harder now. I'm tired just thinking about it.

But, it was so fun having our little family on vacation. The Kirtley fam is comlete and that's a good feeling. It was fun getting to see Cale's face when he saw the ocean for the first time, or the many air planes that flew overhead dragging banners advertising local attractions, or the parasailors, or helicopters. It was so fun carrying Keaton in a harness on the front of me as we walked through the Destin Commons mall (much similar to the Landing in Branson, but even more magical...especially at night). I loved riding on the train around the mall with Cale, two different times. This dinky little train was probably the highlight of the vacation for him. His face was priceless. I loved seeing Keaton asleep on his belly on a towel out on the beach. Besides his hate for car-riding and his constant need to be held, Keaton is such an adaptable little fella. He loved the ocean, didn't mind the sand, was content to be carried in a harness on the front of me for hours, was fairly easy to get down for naps, and slept pretty well at night in his pack-n-play. If he was being held, he was happy, one-hundred percent.

Cale had a blast at Florida also. He was quite tempermental, the opposite of Keaton. Cale doesn't do well with a lot of change...he likes routine. He started out the trip overtired from not sleeping well in the car, stayed up too late, and woke up too early each morning. So, little sleep was a recipe for a cranky little boy. But, he still had plenty of fun, happy moments. He like the beach, loved the pool, and had a blast playing with his cousins. When they weren't around, he would mope around asking about them. He and his cousin Kenzie spent much of their time playing The Three Little Pigs. One of them would lock themselves in a bedroom, and the other would stand outside beating on the door and saying, "Little pig, little pig, let me in" and then the other would give the proper reply. It was too cute. But, being two and three years old, they also had plenty of little arguments. 'Share' is a word that is not yet in their vocabulary.

A few weeks before we left, we started potty training Cale. We were a little worried that the trip would be hard on him and that he might relapse a little. But, he really did great. He even started going on his own. Like, walk into the bathroom, do his business without telling anybody, and then coming out to announce it to whomever would listen. But, since he's not a good aim yet, this usually resulted in a puddle on the floor and a wet toilet seat. And he refused to use any bathroom but my sister and brother-in-laws. Sorry guys. I had to bleach clean their toilet seat and floor on several occasions. Also, on the first day or two at the beach, we caught Cale trying to drop his swim trunks and relieve himself right there on the sand. Yes son, you do it at home but not here. Luckily we caught him in time.

On day two of the trip, we ate at a restaurant called Fudpuckers. It's a great place to go if you have kids. There is a small park, gift shop, and alligator exhibit for you to look at while you wait for a table. While we waited, Cale and his cousins got in line to hold an alligator. When we walked in the "alligator room" Cale was the first up. The alligator charmer, or whatever he was, asked if he should get a smaller alligator. The one he had was thirty-five pounds. Cale is about thirty pounds. Well, of course Carl (thinking this would make the picture even cooler) chimed in and said, "He can do it. This one will be fine". So, the man sat this big alligator in Cale's arms. Cale looked quite uncomfortable at first and even more uncomfortable when the alligator began to squirm, turned to look at him, and then hissed. I was quite uncomfortable myself. Carl stepped in to grab the alligator and the man went to get another, smaller one. When he came back in with the little alligator, Cale looking nervous said, "That's not a little one". We, in overly-excited voices said, "Cale, you get to hold this alligator for a picture!" He, replied in a not-so-excited voice said, "But, I already did." I don't think he wanted to give it a second try. But, even though he was nervous, he toughed it out and held it. I was proud of him. I'm not sure if I would have held another alligator after being hissed at by the first one.

We had a really good time on vacation, but we're glad to be home. I think this was probably the hardest vacation we'll ever have, with two little ones. I think it will probably get a little easier each year until finally the kids are going out to the beach by themselves and asking us to use the car to go to a movie. That makes me sad. Even though it will be easier then, I will totally miss my little boys. I need to soak up every hard, tiring moment. They will grow up way too fast.

Potty Training...Take Two.

Well, we decided it was time. Time to start the difficult process of potty training. About a week ago I asked my babysitter if Cale was getting low on diapers and she said that she really thought he was ready to make the leap. We've played around with using the 'potty' but I had planned on really starting this summer anyway, so here we are in the midst of big boy underwear...daddy insisted we start calling them underwear instead of 'panties' as Cale refers to them. The hardest thing for me has been remembering to have Cale go every 20 minutes or so. I failed miserably in the beginning. After a few days, it has finally become a little more natural. Now, don't get me wrong. We've had plenty of accidents. Mostly accidents of the worst kind...number two. Yesterday I was putting Keaton down for a mid-morning nap. I'm always a little nervous about what Cale is doing in the other room while I am getting Keaton to sleep. But, there's no way Keaton will go to sleep with Cale screaming and playing drums and bouncing around everywhere. When I came out of Keaton's room, I couldn't find Cale. Finally, I noticed the door to the garage was not quite closed all the way. (It's scary that Cale can open our doors and has even figured out how to unlock them) I stepped into the garage to find Cale in his most favorite spot...sitting on the lawn mower. It only took me a few seconds to notice the trail of liquid that followed him to the mower. I knew what must have happened, but when Cale climbed down from the mower, I noticed a big,saggy lump in the leg of his tight pajama pants. Already knowing the answer, I asked him what had happened. I can't explain the look Cale gets when he goes to the bathroom in his pants and is caught. It's a mixture of embarrassment combined with a lot of trying-to-be-cute, and topped off with a heaping spoonful of stubborness. So, I threatened to throw away his Christmas pajama pants (yes, we're still wearing the Christmas pj's because he loves them) Well, of course he got very upset. He said "You can't throw them away. Trash goes in there!" I tried to explain to him that poop-filled pants are equal to trash, but he didn't see it that way. So needless to say I took the poop filled pants out to the grass and sprayed them off with a water hose before covering them with half a bottle of Shout and putting them in the wash.

Later that morning, Keaton and I were sitting on the porch as Cale played at his playhouse out in the yard. I was feeding Keaton and talking on the phone with my mom. All of the sudden I heard Cale say, "The poo-poo came out" I looked up, dreading the worst. But, what I see is Cale, standing with his underwear half-way down staring at the ground. I ran out to see if he really did it. Sure enough, there was a pile right there on the ground. There was also a pile in his underwear (guess he didn't get them off quickly enough) But, I didn't care! I was just excited that he attempted to pull his pants down and go. I ran in to get some wipes. What didn't occur to me was...toddler left outside with a pile of poop and a tractor with a front end loader...bad idea. Cale decided to drive his tractor through the poop. Multiple times. So, he and tractor got hosed off in the yard. That tractor is now strictly an outdoor ONLY tractor.

The rest of the day was really a success. Cale didn't have any more accidents and he even began telling me when he needed to go. Feeling brave, we even went and did some things in town with Cale wearing underwear instead of a diaper. No accidents. He's still a long way from really being trained. But, we're off to a good start. And I've finally trained myself to be conscious of his bathroom visits. So, at least one of us is trained.

Oh and on a side note, the best potty training advice we've been given? Don't ask Cale if he needs to go...at least not in the beginning. Just scoop him up and take him. This works much better, because if we left it up to Cale he would rarely quit playing to go. So, I don't even say anything about where we're going. He figures it out once we're in the bathroom, but usually doesn't put up a fight. He just gives in and goes. Which is a huge improvement on the screaming fit he used to throw when we would make a big ordeal of going.

Have I mentioned that my two-year old is developing the attitude of a teenager? A teenager trapped in a cute little body with a cute little voice, but still teenager-ish behavior nonetheless. Being little and cute makes it a little more tolerable. If he acts like this at thirteen, let me just say it will not be quite so forgiveable. You're probably thinking, "He's only two, he can't be that bad." I don't know where this attitude is coming from, but Cale has it. Just last night, I told Cale to do something and he said, "you can't make me". And what could've been the best teachable moment...the moment when I said, "Oh yeah, let me show you how I'll make you..." was a flop. What did I do? My jaw dropped as I wondered where he learned that phrase that I will probably hear many more times in his young little life. He's only two. He's not suppossed to say thingsl like that. Yep, I froze. And I completely missed the moment. Oh yeah, we talked about it later. But, if the wrath would've come down in that exact moment it probably would have been much more traumatic and memorable.

Tonight we went to eat at McCalisters. I didn't feel like cooking. Big surprise. I don't EVER feel like cooking and if we were rich we would eat out every-single-night. And I would have my clothes laundered. And I would hire a weekly maid. It would be nice to be rich (gazing off with faraway look as suddenly I'm no longer typing) Hey,snap out of it. Ain't gonna happen. Okay, back to the subject. Cale has a really bad habit of getting loud when we get into any type of resturant. Really loud. Obnoxiously loud. I don't know if it's a "hey look at me" attention-getting thing or if he just gets that excited. We're trying to work on using a quiet voice but I don't think two-year olds have volume controls. In the middle of eating, Cale decided he wanted to try one of the olives from Carl's sandwich. I knew he wouldn't like it, but he went for it anyway. After a few seconds of chewing, he decided it was "yuck". So, as he started to spit it out, and with lightning speed only a mother or the Road Runner from those old cartoons can have, I put my hand up to catch it (the perks of being a mom). Well, I caught it. I guess I should clarify. I caught some of it. I took my hand away and then Cale decided to blow the rest of the olive-slobber-mess out onto the table. Thank goodness he was sitting by Carl and not me. This is the second time he's spit food out in a resturant, so Carl swatted him, which like a domino effect, caused him to start screaming at the top of his lungs. I could feel myself shrinking into the booth, hoping noone would notice. Because Cale wouldn't stop screaming, Carl scooped him up to head to the bathroom. Cale knows what this means. The whole way to the bathroom Cale kept loudly saying, "Daddy, don't spank me. I stop crying. Daddy please don't spank me!" I wanted to hide under the table at this point. But, I was holding Keaton and I figured it would be hard to get myself and a four-month old under a table. Plus someone would call SCAN on us for sure, then. I kept thinking, "maybe people will see that we have another little one and cut us a little slack." At least I didn't really know anyone there. Wait a minute. It's Russellville, of course there had to be someone there that I knew. As we were getting up to leave, I saw a teacher that I work with. With what I'm sure was an awkward, embarrassed smile and chuckle I said, "Ha..ha...I bet you heard us over there." I think everyone probably did.

On the way home, for some reason unknown to us, Cale started saying, "I don't love you, Daddy." I think two-year-olds sit around and think about how to get a rise out of adults. Cale loves reactions. I think it gives him a sense of power. Like he's pulling the puppet strings. I explained to him that we don't say that and that it makes others feel bad." I really think I got through to him because Cale followed up our pep talk with "I don't love you, Mommy." Strongwilled. Then, as if to put the icing on the cake, he said, "I don't love Jesus." It's like he knew that would be the worst thing he could possibly say. Now, I normally wouldn't tell people about my child saying something like that, but he is only two and is still trying to understand who this Jesus is that we talk about and say our prayers too. (At the moment Cale's a little confused and uneasy, that Jesus lives in the ceiling...Cale's interpretation of Heaven, or that Jesus is in his belly...Cale's interpretation of "Jesus lives in your heart") I tried explaining to Cale that we love Jesus and that Jesus created us. In his agitated two-year-old way, Cale was insistent that Jesus was a girl. No idea why he said that. I think he just wanted to argue. I kept telling him, "No, Jesus is a man." He just kept replying in an irriated tone, "No, hers a girl, not a man!" Poor kid is so confused.

When we got in our garage, Cale told me once again that he didn't love me. So I swatted his leg, scooped him up, and took him to the time-out chair where he screamed and cried the entire time. When it was time to get up, I squatted down beside the chair, and asked Cale to explain to me why he had been put in time- out...just like I always do. But, this time instead of explaining in his cute little sniffly voice, he turned around in the chair, and said, with his back to me, "I don't want to look at you." So, he earned himself a spot in time-out awhile longer.

It was a rough couple of hours, but by bedtime Cale was back to being an angel. Well, at least a pretty good boy. He was funny and full of "lovins", as he likes to say.

Being with a two-year old is like being around someone with multiple personalities, ADHD, and OCD, all wrapped up in one. One minute it's great, the next awful. One minute full of love, the next minute mad at the world. Constantly bouncing off the walls. And the rituals. Oh the rituals. Like shutting the door when we leave Nonna's. Opening up his own gum wrapper. Turning on his light in the morning. If even one is forgotten or interrupted somehow, we have drama.

As much of a trial as he was this evening, we love him like crazy. It's funny how that works.

May

Wow. It is finally May. The time of year every teacher looks forward to and every parent of school-aged children probably dreads. Secretly, I'm sure. Summer vacation is just around the corner. Can I get an amen? Every August, I think back to May and wonder why I didn't feel more excited and relaxed knowing that I was about to get some time off. But every year, May is one of the busiest times at school and there's no time to just sit back and bask in the sweet reality that school is going to be over soon.

This year, May seems even more busy, especially since I'm trying to finish things up in my classroom but also begin to prepare for being in the library. It feels like I have too many things on my mind and no one thing is getting enough of my attention and focus. I'm pretty much scatter-brained right now. Not that scatter-brained isn't my normal day-to-day mentality, it just seems I've just taken it up a notch or two lately. Not good. And my procrastination level is at an all-time high. Also not good. I've got clothes in the laundry room that have been waiting to be ironed for weeks. Oh, I still iron every so often right now, but there are two shirts that I avoid each time I begin to iron. Those shirts have been sitting there since early April. I do not want to iron them. They're button down shirts that come out of the dryer so wrinkly, you would think they had been wadded up in a ball for years. I despise ironing them. In fact, I usually won't wear them because I know that I will end up having to iron them again. What's worse is, there is a pair of shorts that has been hanging in the laundry room, all wrinkly, since last July. No, really. July. But, in my defense, when I took them out of the dryer all those many months ago, I knew that I would soon be too fat to fit into them since I was pregnant. So, I just left them hanging there. Through the fall and winter months every once in awhile I noticed them, hanging there amongst sweaters and pants. But, I knew I didn't need them at the time, so I figured, "why bother?". And now, those shorts just seem like a permanent fixture in my laundry room. I don't know what I would do if nothing was hanging on my clothing rod. Maybe I'll get all crazy one day and try it.

Things at home have been a little chaotic as well. Cale, the bundle of joy that he is, has been a little tempermental lately. Okay, a lot tempermental. Anything and everything causes an all-out temper tantrum right now. It feels like he cries twenty times a day. His crying, screaming really, is usually accompanied by kicking of legs and flailing of arms and, if things are really terrible, occassionally flopping face down on the floor. And it's over ridiculus, seemingly unimportant things. Let him stick a piece of ice to his tongue, pull skin off his lip as he rips the ice away, and have blood dripping down from the wound...no tears. But, let me cut his Pop-Tart in half in an attempt to make it easier to eat...and all heck breaks loose. He's hard to understand right now. One thing I know is that he wants complete independence. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E. He puts things that I open for him back in the wrapper just so he can be the one to take them out. He must open every door himself and shut every door himself, and if I forget, I'm in for a punishment. Punishment in the form of a two-year-old temper tantrum. Yikes, the worst kind of punishment.

Sunday, as we were about to eat dinner on the back porch, I sat Keaton down in his walker...not that he can actually make it move now, but he loves to be sitting up where he can see all the action. As we were eating, Cale got up and started playing. I didn't think much of it until I looked up just in time to see "Baby Hulk" lifting Keaton's walker up and flipping it over on its side. With Keaton in it. On the concrete. I have never moved so quickly, but I was still too late. I watched as the walker landed and Keaton's head, thankfully slowly, hit the hard, concrete porch. I'll tell you the truth I just about went all "Mama Hulk" on Cale. I think I even turned green. I grabbed Keaton and swatted Cale several times while yelling, "You can't do that! You can't ever do that!" Of course Keaton was screaming and then Cale was crying. Thank goodness, no one was really hurt. I think Keaton was just a little stunned. What if Cale would've pushed Keaton off of the porch? It makes me sick to think about it.

Just when I thought Keaton was safe. Lesson learned: I guess a baby is never safe with a two-year-old around. Never.

Last night Carl and I decided to take Cale to see a movie. We tried about 6-7 months ago, Toy Story 3, and ended up leaving after only fifteen minutes. We were a little nervous this time around, but Cale has been to the movies a few times with his Mammaw and has done well, so we were willing to give it a try. On the way to the movie we got a call from my sister saying that she was taking her girls to see the same movie, Hoodwinked 2. Cale was pretty excited when he found out Abree and Kenzie were going to be there. I was a little nervous up until the point the movie actually started. Cale wouldn't sit down and was being a little rowdy. But, the minute the lights dimmed, he was in a trance. I never would have believed he would sit there the way he did. His eyes almost never left the movie screen the entire movie. About halfway through he leaned over and said he wanted a snack (aka popcorn and coke) It was so cute to watch him reach his little paw in the bucket, pull a much-too-big handful of popcorn out, and shove it in his mouth...all the while his eyes never leaving the screen. As silly as it may sound, it was a monumental moment for us. Now we know that we can take Cale to a movie, he can happily sit through it, and he truly enjoys it. This is probably the first of many family movie outings for us.


Cale has been saying some silly things lately. I think he's finally to the age that he knows it gets a laugh if he says funny things. Sometimes when I ask him something, I can see the wheels turning in his mind, thinking about the perfect silly response. On the way home from the park the other night, Cale suddenly said, "Daddy, you're driving too fast. You better slow down, or a 'pop car' will get you." Then I asked him, "What will the cop say to Daddy if he pulls him over?" Cale replied in a very deep, growley voice, "I'm going to get you, Daddy!" Then, I asked Cale "What will Daddy say to the cop?" Cale quickly responded, "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin." I sure hope that's not what Daddy says if he gets pulled over.

The other morning, as Cale was sitting by Carl finishing his breakfast, he let out a rather loud poot. I said, "Cale was that you?" He said, "No, it was you Mommy." Then, he turned to Carl and said, "Mommy just pooted in her panties", to which Carl reponded with uncontrollable laughter. Feeding the fire, aren't we there, Daddy? Who knows what Cale says about us when we're not around. So, to clear things up any misconceptions you might have about us after talking with our son...Cale has developed a little habit of stretching the truth or just twisting it up completely. So, if he tells you something embarrassing about us, then you should just assume it's not true. None of it. All fiction. Even though half of it probably really happened.

The other afternoon, Cale was sitting in Carl's truck. He loves to pretend he's driving. Makes him feel so big. He spotted a pack of gum in the cup holder. He asked Carl if he could have some gum. Carl said, "One piece". Yeah right. You can't tell a toddler, "only one" and then leave the entire pack in their reach. Carl said he turned his back for about two minutes. When he looked back in the truck, Cale was sitting with nine gum wrappers lying around him. And he didn't have a huge mouthful of gum. He did what I assume most 2-year olds do...he swallowed all of it. Each and every piece. We haven't noticed any side effects of it...yet.

This post is mainly about Cale, but Keaton is very much a part of our lives too. He's beefing up and grinning like crazy right now! He smiles so much...more than Cale at this age. All you have to do is hold Keaton up, facing you, and he grins and coos. He still wants to be held...a lot. But if you're holding him and looking at him, he's pretty content. We're really starting to get attached to Keaton. We've loved him all along, but now he's finally getting some personality.

I noticed a lot of people posted about Easter and I completely forgot to. We had a really good Easter this year. Cale loved waking up to the overflowing Easter basket sitting outside his door. Sundays are always hard around here, getting everyone ready on time, avoiding meltdowns...you know how it is. Well, I was determined on Easter to not feel rushed and to actually be on time, for once. *Snort*...yeah right. So, I woke up earlier than the boys, showered, and began getting ready. I was almost completly ready before anyone else awoke. Success. But, somehow we still managed to be rushed in the end. I was really wanting to get an Easter pic of the boys before we left. Keaton spit up on his initial Easter outfit just minutes after being dressed. More like drenched. I tried to handwash it and throw it in the dryer, but who was I kidding...there wasn't enough time for all of that. So, a little disappointed, I scrounged up another outfit...outfit number two.

Just as we were about to go outside for the picture, already being a minute or two past the time in which we needed to leave, Keaton had a dirty diaper. No big deal really. I didn't panic, just headed to his room to change him. But, then as I opened his diaper I realized it wasn't just any dirty diaper, it was a blow-out. If you're not a mom and you don't know what that means, you soon will when you have one of your own. It was all over Easter outfit number two. At this point, I was beginning to hit that panic-level that I hate to reach...especially on Sunday mornings. I tried to get the oufit off of him without making a mess. Unsuccessful and nearly impossible with a onesie. So, I cleaned Keaton up, but left everything else to be cleaned up later. By this point I was a sweaty, stressed mess.

So, we ended up being about 15 minutes late for church. Grouchy, sweaty, and with no Easter picture. About halfway there I calmed down, cooled down, and realized that little things don't matter. Funny ending to the story. When we picked Keaton up from the nursery, he was no longer in Easter outfit number three. No, he was pantsless with a plain, old onesie that the nursery workers must have found in the bottom of his diaper bag. Outfit number four. Yes, another blow-out.

Welcome to our not-so-perfect life. Some days are just like that, even on Easter Sunday. And I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.

Boogers and Strawberries

It just seems like I can't get a spare minute to blog these days. And when I do have a minute, I just don't have it in me. By the end of the day my brain is pretty much shot. But as crazy as life is right now, we're having a lot of fun. Cale is saying and doing new things each day. He now tells a few knock, knock jokes. So that I don't forget years from now here's the one he tells the best: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Och. Och who? Bless you."

Cale has also gone to the movies two times now. I can barely believe it, but his Mammaw has taken him both times and says he sits through the whole movie. And he even kept a pair of 3-D glasses on through one of the movies. We're looking forward to taking him to the next good cartoon movie that comes out.

Today when I picked Cale up from the babysitter, the school-aged boy who opened the door immediately informed me that Cale had picked a booger and eaten it. I knew this day would come. I see it everyday in my second graders. Some are closet eaters. You know the ones. They sit at their desk and nonchalantly dig one out. They glance around in an attempt to be inconspicuous all the while being completely obvious and then lean down pretending to tie their shoe while quickly shoving the booger in.

Some eat freely, out in the open, not caring who can see. They take their time, really trying to get in there and get the best one. As if they are eating something innocent and socially acceptable like a cookie. Then, two minutes later they come and give you a hug. Gross.

Well, I've been dreading the day that Cale ate his first booger. Oh, I'm not naive. I know this is probably not his first rodeo. He's probably eaten many 'a booger in his day already. But, this is the first time he's been caught.

When I walked in and heard the news, I could hear some of the other older kids chanting, "Cale ate a booger. Cale ate a booger." I cringed. Is he seriously the gross kid already? Cale just stood there with this happy-go-lucky look on his face, having no idea that he was becoming the resident "cootie kid".

Then, his baby-sitter told me that she asked Cale why he ate the booger. He stood there a minute and said, "I don't know." Then, she asked him what it tasted like, in hopes of getting a response like, "yucky" or "gross". But no, not from Cale. He said it tasted like strawberries. Strawberries, which are red, juicy, and delicious. It's really kind of strange because the day we had the "poop eating" incident, he said his poop tasted like grapes. Maybe he has some kind of unhealthy relationship with fruit. Heaven knows what he thinks of vegetables.

Well, being a school teacher and knowing that booger pickin' and eatin' can follow a kid through their elementary days, I realize that we must to put a stop to this now. How, I don't know. I just have to keep telling myself...at least it's not poop...at least it's not poop. Is that something to be proud of?

It's crazy how one minute having two kids doesn't seem so hard, but the next minute I can barely find any spare moment throughout the day to relax...or blog...or really do anything. Whew. The past few weeks have been filled with moments like the latter. Thank goodness for coffee. And lots of it. I drink it in the morning, I drink it in the evening, and if it wasn't for work...I would probably drink it in between. It's becoming the new 'Coke' for me. Well, if only it was taking the place of Coke. Instead it's just become a highly addictive addition to my soda habit. But, I actually think I look forward to it a little more than my Sonic drink now, which says a lot.

The other night it was very stormy and loud. Of course Keaton woke up, that's nothing new. But, Cale also busted out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, bawling like crazy. I guess the storm scared him. So, I decided it might be a good time to try letting him sleep with us again. Maybe he would actually go to sleep in our bed...which is something he has never in his life done. Really, never. Well, the 'never-in-his-life' record still stands. He didn't make it. But, I must say he gave it a good effort. For about 30 minutes, he sat there halfway quiet, but not halfway still, unfortunately. He wiggled and flipped and flopped the entire time. Every few minutes he would lean into my face and in his best attempt at a whisper say, "It's still raining." I kept telling him to be quiet and to be still, but it just didn't happen. So, back to his bed he went, without much protest thankfully. That was at 4:45. My alarm went off at 5:15. Oh how I miss sleep.

Tonight in the car on the way to the park Cale suddenly informed us that he was a "cwack baby" No son, actually you're a caffiene baby, not a 'cwack baby'. Get your addictive substances straight. (I'm sure he meant quack, as in duck) I wish I could bottle up Cale's sayings for those teenage years when he's not quite so endearing.

When we got to the park, Cale started trying to swing. These days he has to do everything himself. And I mean everything. He would rather sit there on the swing, completely still, instead of letting me push him. At one point as I began to give him just a little push to get him started, he said, "Momma, get away from me." And he said it in this, two-going on-thirteen, hateful sounding tone. And in front of another set of parents who were pushing their sweet, content little girl on the swing beside Cale. I was a little embarrassed. I told Cale to be nice. So he said, (and I'm sure I noticed a hint of huffiness) "Please, will you get away from me?" Not exactly the "be nice" I was hoping for. But, he did say, "please".

A minute or two later, Cale was sorta-successfully making the swing move just a little, I started to tell him "good job, keep pumping those legs, blah, blah, blah." He quickly cut me off in a loud voice, and said, "You stop talking!" Again, in front of the other parents. I cringed on the inside, as I scolded him yet again.

Needless to say, we're having to work on using a nice tone and asking, not telling.

The Incident

Cale, you were doing so great...right up until the end.

Today we ventured out to the train depot for a safety train ride with Cale. Cale is completely obsessed with trains right now...almost to the point that he has forgotten about tractors. Which is saying a lot. The train ride went about as well as it could have. Cale loved it, and even though he was getting bored by the end, he still remained a good boy. So far, so good.

The rest of our day consisted of me cleaning out closets and hanging out with Keaton while Carl and Cale did yard work outside. Still a great day.

At one point while Carl wasn't watching, Cale got all three strollers out of the garage one-by-one and pushed them down the hill into the fence. Carl caught him on about stroller number three. He said Cale gave the stroller a big push and then as it hit the fence he said, "I wrecked." Now, this was a bit of destructive behavior, but the strollers weren't harmed so it was okay.

We even flew Cale's new jet plane kite, which he really could've cared less about because he was busy "hammering" things with the hammer that he found. Cale with a hammer, scary, I know. Nothing like a great, productive day outside.

At about 7:00 Keaton's eyes started becoming red and he got fussy. This was my cue, it was time for bath and bed. So, I gave him a quick bath, dressed him in his jammies, swaddled him up, and began to feed him. Suddenly I heard, "Lori!". I looked up to see Carl and Cale. The strange thing was Carl was holding Cale upside down by his feet. At first I assumed this was some kind of trick and I was suppossed to laugh or cheer at Cale's amazing upside down act. But I could tell by the look on Carl's face that they weren't playing. And then I saw it. Well, I smelled it and I saw it. The reason Carl was holding Cale by his feet is because his shirt was covered in poop. His hands were covered in poop. And I'm ashamed to say his mouth...was covered...in poop. That sweet mouth that gives me kisses. That sweet mouth that can say the funniest things.

Yes, it was a complete disaster. And of course this all happened right as I was trying to put Keaton down. So, I helped Carl get the poop monster undressed, scolding him the entire time. We got him in the bath, kicking and screaming, turned on the cool water, not warm (this wasn't suppossed to be an enjoyable bath) and attempted to de-contaminate him. I say we, but what I really mean is Carl. I guess you could say I was with him in spirit. Yes, since I had already started Keaton's bedtime routine, I don't think Carl had the nerve to give the clean-up job to me. So, he manned up and handled it himself. I must say, I usually want Keaton to hurry up and guzzle his bottle. He is sometimes a frustratingly slow eater. But, tonight I savored every minute of rocking him as he slowly ate. He even fell asleep about 15 minutes in and I sat and rocked him awhile longer. Not that my husband knew. As far as he's concerned, it took me about 25 minutes to get Keaton to sleep. Shhhh.

At one point as I was feeding Keaton, I started laughing. Like, out loud laughing. I'm not sure if I was laughing at the thought of Carl having to handle the poop monster (it seems like it usually always happens when I'm around) or if I was laughing as I pictured Cale hanging upside down covered in poop. Maybe I was laughing at the fact that though my son seems to be fairly bright, he goes and does something like this. Oh, he can have a full conversation with us, remember almost anything we tell him, but he can't resist touching and now eating (gag) his poop. A smart guy who eats poop. It's like an oxymoron. No, I didn't just call my son a moron. A kid with a weird obsession, yes.

After I put Keaton to sleep, I headed into the playroom where Cale had been laying watching TV when he became...curious. Let's just call it curious. I was armed with a wet cloth, a scrubbing brush, some resolve, and my nose. The last thing may not seem like a tool that could help in a situation such as this, but it did.
I went around on all fours sniffing the carpet for suspicious odors. I ended up just cleaning the entire area near where Cale was laying. And I also picked up every.single.Thomas Train and took a whiff, trying to decide if they had come in contact with "the poop hand".

So, tomorrow I will be making a trip to Wal-Mart for come Clorox wipes, since I am out. I will wipe down each and every one of Cale's trains. I need peace of mind.

I guess it's just one of those things you have to look back on, laugh, and just remind yourself that crap happens. Literally.

Mom-ish

So today I officially felt old. Not that it's the first time or anything. It's happening more and more these days. As I shared my vehicle this afternoon, I felt like the "soccer mom" in a car full of younger girls. The sad thing is these girls were actually about my age, one even a tiny bit older. Tiny as in about 6 months. If that counts.

To explain, I am in a wedding tomorrow. My life-long best friend is getting married to her childhood sweetheart. The rehearsal was this afternoon. After the rehearsal we had to drive about 15 minutes to the dinner. The bride asked if she and several other girls could ride with me. I smiled and said, "Of course. That will be great! (fake smile)" But, in my mind I panicked. I mean, I now have two car seats in the back. And if you have ever had car seats in your car, you know how dangerous it can be to pull those things out. You never know what's hiding beneath them. It could be living. It could be gruesome and rotten. Most times it is the latter. Seriously. I have had to pull Cale's carseat out, carry it sideways to the grass, dripping the whole way, and pour smelly, mysterious, syrupy liquid out of it and then spray it down with a water hose. And who knows how long that, whatever it was that had liquified or fermented in the hot summer sun, had been there. At least I had found the source of the smell.

Back to this afternoon. So, I crossed my fingers as I unhooked Cale's seat and carefully lifted it out, hoping no one was looking. It was messy underneath, no doubt. But luckily the mess just consisted of Goldfish crackers (some whole and some crumbs), and sweettarts. No mysterious liquid stains or moldy food. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But once the car seat was out and the crackers were swept off, my job was still not finished. I had to get the baby blankets, bibs, four or five Thomas trains, cars, and plastic toy dinosaur out of my floor board. As one girl sat in the front seat beside me, she pulled the visor down, trying to look in the mirror. But, she couldn't even get to the mirror because of the visor-case holding the sea of cartoon DVD's that now help us survive all car rides with a two-year old. And once my car was "clean" I couldn't help wondering if there was a smell. Like a sour spit-up, urine-ish, dirty toddler/newborn smell. You know, a smell that you can't detect because you live in it, but a smell that hits others like a punch in the gut. I didn't notice anyone cringing or gasping for air, so hopefully the smell wasn't too bad.

Yes, I felt old. These girls weren't married, yet. They didn't have kids. They were about my age. But here I was in the mom-mobile, complete with carseats, spilled food, toys, and mysterious stinky smells. And why is my passenger side visor mirror not accessible? Because I no longer have time to look in the mirror.

Yes, I am old. Maybe not in actual number years. But, I'm "Mom-old". Having kids will do that to you. Occasionally I miss that feeling of being young and carefree. Sometimes I miss having a clean car complete with the scent of air fresheners. Sometimes I miss having a back seat that people can actually sit in, without the hassle of carseat removal or fear of contamination.

But always, those moments of reminiscing about my carefree days, are replaced with moments of being so thankful for our two little ones. They are a lot of work. They do make messes. But they are truly worth it and life wouldn't be nearly as much fun without them. More restful, but not as much fun!

This morning Carl woke up early to go fishing. So, for the first few hours of wakefulness, it was just me and my boys. Cale is becoming so good at entertaining himself...especially when he is on a DVD kick. It's been Blues Clues, it's been John Deere Heaven (thank goodness that seems to have passed, the annoying soundtrack makes my skin crawl), it's been, and probably still would be, Polar Express (but the addiction to that was getting so out of control that we had to mysteriously "lose it" until next Christmas)

Right now the addiction is GeoTrax...a train DVD that came with a Fisher Price toy Cale got many months ago. Trains are the new tractors for Cale. There was a time when Cale wanted EVERYthing "tractor". He lived and breathed tractors. But, now he seems to be losing interest and he only has eyes for trains. Steam locamotives, mountain trains, bullet trains...yes, I guess I'm becoming more informed about trains these days. This morning Cale spent much of his time with his babysitter...uh, I mean GeoTrax DVD. I would like to say it was educational, but it wasn't. It did keep him entertained, though, and made my morning fairly easy. Until...

At one point, Cale ran into my bathroom and said he wanted to "poop". Well, he sat down and within a few seconds started to pee. I quickly pointed the "gun" downward because Cale doesn't quite have the hang of that and things can get messy if you don't intervene. After a few minutes of serious grunting, Cale gave up on the pooping thing. He got an A for effort. He did get his handful (it's only suppossed to be one or two but I usually end up giving him a big 'ol handful) of M&M's. I pulled Cale's tight pajama pants back up and let him walk off diaperless, because we were in my bathroom and I didn't have any diapers handy. I had intentions of walking straight into his room to get one. But, as I often do, I got sidetracked picking up toys, washing some bottles, the stuff that never ends.

About thirty minutes later, I went to check on Cale. The door to his room was shut, as it always is when he's playing at his train table these days. Guess he likes his privacy. I opened his door and was greeted with a bad, but unfortunately oh-so-familiar, stench. I heard Cale saying, "Gross. Poop is nasty". I agreed with him of course, and then asked him if did indeed poop. He actually fessed up, which is progress because normally he says "no" and runs off to hide somewhere as if that's not obvious. I could tell by the way he was holding his hand that he had touched the poop. I guess he relapsed, as all addicts sometimes do. Oh, what was his addiction? He had a bad problem with touching his poop awhile back. Back to the story. So I grabbed him, in the same way one would grab a skunk...holding him as far away from myself as I could, and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. The whole way there I was giving him the "We don't touch our poo-poo" speech...a speech I've given far too many times. After washing his hands I got ready to change his diaper. As I was about to pull his pajama pants off, I noticed a mysterious big lump in one leg. You know, like if something such as a ball had been put down his pants and had slid down to the mid-calf area...that's what it looked like. What on earth was it? Then it hit me. I never put a diaper back on him. Darn it, darn it, darn it. I knew better. Not putting a diaper on Cale is like an open invitation for bodily fluid release. I guess it's the freedom. Or maybe he likes to torture me, I don't know. All I know is, the poop had been smeared all up and down Cale's leg. I don't really know how it made it so far down, but it did.

So I put Cale in the bathtub and prepared for the worst. Let's just say his cute little pirate pajama pants are resting in a tied-up Wal-Mart sack in the bottom of the garage trash bucket. I'm not usually wasteful...I mean I attempted to "scrape" the pants...but I'm not super-mom, I guess. It just wasn't worth it for a cheap pair of pants. He was almost too big for those pajamas anyways. And believe me, Keaton would not have wanted those hand-me-downs.

Carl made it back from his fishing trip about five minutes after I got Cale all cleaned up and had hosed the house down with Febreze. How convenient, right? It's like men have a radar for difficult moments, especially those involving poop.

Drama

Sometimes I feel like drama follows us wherever we go. Not drama like you may be thinking. Carl and I aren't confrontational. We don't fuss or argue with others. I'm not talking about reality show-type drama. The drama I'm referring to is "baby drama". It seems like if it's not one thing, it's another. Between my two kids...one of whom is only six weeks old...I've been to the doctor way too many times to count, or admit for that matter. Our oldest had a rough start on life. We were in and out of the doctor many times during his first few weeks. The doctors finally discovered that he had pyloric stenosis, which is why he threw up every few minutes and got down to 4lb 5oz. Once he had surgery to fix his stomach, he started gaining weight and we were out of the doctor's office for awhile. Then, the ear infections began. At about 9 months of age Cale began having them. He had one or two a month until he was almost a year old. Then, he had tubes put in...just like almost every other kid in America it seems. The tubes didn't stop the infections at first. Between ear aches, several bouts with thrush, and then chronic diarrhea...we felt like we lived at the doctor's office. It was kind of embarrassing. Well, now Cale is two and I don't know if his immunity is up or if he is just tougher...but we haven't really had to take him to the doctor at all the past few months. Yes!

But, now there's kid number two. Sweet little Keaton. He's six weeks old and has already had his fair share of doctor's visits. He's a reflux baby with a milk allergy and a body rash (eczema) because of it. So, we've been on 4 different formulas and still see no results, at least no good ones. We have an appointment with the GI on April 18th. That's right, today is March 2 and they can't get us in until the 18th...of stinkin' April! So, I'm frustrated but I guess it's nobody's fault and we just have to grin and bear it.

I feel like I call the doctor's office every other day right now. For awhile it was about the reflux. Then, it was about the constipation due to a formula change. Then it was about the diarrhea due to a formula change. Well, today I had Carl call. I was just too embarrassed to call again so soon. Embarrassed because I don't want to be labeled as one of "those" moms. You know the kind. But, also embarrassed because of the issue with Keaton.

For over about two weeks now, his ear has smelled...bad. At first I felt horrible, thinking I wasn't washing behind his ears well enough. So I went to town on those bad boys. But, even with scrubbing the left ear still had a stench. Well, that infectious smell...not infectious like a cute little baby giggle is infectious. Infectious like...infection-smelling...well that smell now smells like something has crawled up into Keaton's ear and dropped dead. Yes, my sweet little innocent baby's ear smells like a dead animal. Like roadkill. There's no other way to describe it. And I would know. I grew up in the country where dead animals can always be found.

No, I didn't have the nerve to call and tell the nurse about my son's ear "situation" and ask her about how to fix it. So, I gave this one to Carl. He called this morning but still hasn't received a call back yet. He better not think he's going to get out of this one! At lunch I talked to him and he told me the nurse said, "Use some soap and water." Let me just tell you, my blood started boiling. I was just about to start giving Carl an earful about that nurse, when he told me he was just kidding, he hadn't heard anything yet. Leave it to my husband to make up a story...and then he gets frustrated when I sometimes won't believe him. I often have to remind him of the boy who cried wolf...

Terrible Twos

Terrible twos. Something every parent hears about. Something every parent comes to fear. Well, I think we are here. This makes me actually feel a little relieved because it's no longer something I am dreading. It's now become something I'm living, several moments each day. And overall it's really not that bad. It's a little deceiving because not every moment is "terrible". Some days I'll start to think, maybe these TT's aren't going to be as bad as everyone says. Then, boom! Cale drops a bomb on us. But, truthfully I think Carl and I enjoy this stage that Cale is at more than any other he's been in. Well, most of the time.

Sometimes it feels like we're living with a teenager in a tiny person's body. Cale can be so extremely moody for no apparent reason. And his moodiness is always directed towards his parents. Lucky us. I heard him crying in his room at about 6:00 yesterday morning. I opened his door ready to love on him and make him feel better because I'm a Mommy and that's what we do best, right? Well the minute he sees me, instead of the look of pure joy and relief I was hoping for, he shot a dirty look my way and yelled, "No! Get out!". I tried to talk to him to see what was wrong and in a very exasperated voice he said, "No, don't talk!". Seriously, I am not suppossed to get on his nerves yet. I can only imagine what he'll be like at fourteen. Sheesh.

Same exact thing happened this morning except that I didn't go in his room. Nope, wasn't going to make that mistake twice. After a few minutes of fussing, Cale came out of his room to find me cooking eggs in the kitchen. The minute I said hey, he grumpily said, "Don't talk, mom!". I didn't think my son would start hating the sound of my voice until he got older.

And in Cale's case one of the most obvious characteristics of terrible twos is: throwing himself ever so dramatically onto the floor, face down, and crying horribly. I mean, you would think he just lost his best friend. Nope, I simply told him he couldn't have another Tic Tac. Even the tiniest, seemingly small thing results in an Oscar-worthy crying performance by Cale. We've really tried to start ignoring his tantrums, even though they are a bit amusing. The good thing is, since he buries his face in the ground as he cries, Carl and I can point, laugh silently, and smile at each other without Cale ever knowing. Of course a strong-willed child never gives up, he simply monitors and adjusts. Cale's new and improved strategy is to throw the tantrum, then get up, stretch his lower lip out into the perfect pout, and in an almost irresistably sad voice say, "I sad. I been crying. Real bad." Oh really son, we hadn't even noticed. Thanks for telling us.

But for each terrible two moment there is usually an equally terrific two moment. Terrific either being something very funny or very sweet that Cale does.

Sweet: This morning, after Carl and Cale had gone out the door, Carl comes back in and tells me to walk outside. Cale was sitting in his carseat, not wanting to leave because apparently he had told me he loved me and he was worried I had not heard him. So, he said it again. "I love you Mommy. Be careful". Melt my heart. If that kid ever discovers what those words do to me, we just might be in trouble.

Funny: A few days ago, Cale runs in and says very seriously, "Mommy, Keaton's eating himself!" I go see what's going on and I find that Keaton is slurping on his fingers as all baby's do. But, to a concerned big brother, he was eating himself.

That same night, I walk into Cale's room to find his dirty diaper (and I mean,
dir-ty) on the floor and Cale standing on his tippy toes with poop all over his bottom, trying to get his wipes out of the top drawer of his dresser. Guess he was going to change himself. Interesting idea. Hmmm, he can attempt to change himself but can't tell us when he needs to go to the bathroom. Somehow that just doesn't quite seem right.

My maternity leave is quickly winding down. What started out as eight long weeks, has suddenly dwindled down to 14 measly old days. It seems hard to believe that I'm about to go back to school soon. I'm going to trade in my eight hours a day with an innocent newborn for eight hours a day with 23 second graders. Well, second, third, and fourth graders on cafeteria and recess duty days. I shiver at the thought.

I guess a lot has happened in eight weeks. Keaton has already changed so much. He's beginning to stare at us, in a way that lets us know he can clearly see us, with this look of curiosity. He's starting to make noises that somewhat resemble baby coos, and is even flashing a smile or two every now and then...smiles that we're like 98% sure aren't to be blamed on gas, unlike the previous smiles of relief he's given us since he was born. Don't get me wrong, he still has plenty of gas. That boy is gassy 24/7. Let's just hope he grows out of that.

A lot has changed with me over the course of eight weeks as well. I finally feel good. Like, completely back to normal good. I've lost some weight. I would like to say I've lost all my baby weight but that would be a pretty hefty lie (no pun intended...okay maybe a little pun). Like...a twelve pound lie to be exact. And I'm pretty sure these twelve persistent pounds and I are gonna go round and round before it's over. I've been running, going to the gym, and P90X'n for goodness sakes (half-heartedly...but who can actually really stick to the P90X six days-a-week schedule...blah, not me). I've even been eating significantly smaller, kinda healthier, portions...trying to get the scale to drop. But my twelve-pound enemy just will not take the hint. Guess we'll just have to learn to live together for now. But, I'm vowing that this is just a temporary arrangement. By Florida this summer, she's got to go. No exceptions.

Cale is adjusting so well to his baby brother. He has never been even one little bit jealous as far as we can tell. And it seems that he genuinely loves his brother. When Cale hasn't seen Keaton for a few hours, his face lights up when he realizes he's near. Several times a day he can be spotted kissing Keaton on the head...okay, he also can be spotted driving a small tractor across Keaton's head often, but why wouldn't Keaton like that? I hear Cale tell Keaton that he loves him, several times a day. Melts my heart every time I hear it. No, Cale hasn't shown any real jealously, just disappointment occasionally. Disappointed that Keaton can't play with him yet. A few weeks ago, I put Keaton's small bathtub into Cale's bathtub so they could "take a bath together". Cale was thrilled at the idea of bathing with his little bro. But, his excitement was short-lived as Keaton screamed through the entire thing. Cale just sat there looking at him with this expression that said, "This was not exactly what I had in mind." I felt kinda sorry for the little guy.

I'm sure before we know it, they will be fighting over toys and wrestling together. A part of me can't wait for those days. But, I want to enjoy the moments we're having right now. They'll never be this little again.

Scaredy-Cat

I used to tell myself that I was brave. When I was at friends' sleepovers, I would always be the one to check things out if we heard a noise or something outside. Well, it was all an act. Who was I kidding? I am a scaredy cat. I have never much liked to stay alone at night. Even when I was younger, when my parents would be gone somewhere at night, I would always freak myself out. I can remember locking myself in my room with a knife from the kitchen (like I would be that scary with a small knife that I probably wouldn't even know how to use). I would stay there for hours until my parents got home, not even leaving to go to the bathroom. No, I didn't go on myself, I just held it for a long time. I would like to say that now that I am an adult, my nighttime fears have gone. But I think they're worse than ever. When we lived in town, it wasn't so bad. I felt pretty safe with neighbors all around me. But, something about living more in the country scares me a little at night.

In my defense, weird things have happened in the past. At our old house one night, actually the night we found out we were pregnant with Cale, we had a late night visitor. At about 1:00 am, we were awoken by the frantic ringing of our doorbell. Imagine your doorbell being pressed over and over and over. I remember being so groggy I didn't really understand what was going on. Then, we heard the banging on the door and the screaming. A girl's voice was screaming and yelling, "Help, he's going to kill me. Please help!" I remember my heart just about stopped beating at that moment and my legs went numb. I grabbed my phone and started calling 911 as Carl opened the door. It was a hispanic woman and her baby standing there. Carl pulled them inside and back into our room. The woman's face was a gruesome sight to see. She was very bloody, swollen, black and blue, and her nose was broken. She was crying and her baby was screaming. It was like a bad dream. Her boyfriend, who was on meth, had beaten her up pretty badly and was in the process of filling the bathtub to drown her when she got away and came to our house. Now, we didn't have a weapon of any kind in our house, so we were a little nervous that this crazy meth addict was going to come looking for her. But, luckily the police and ambulance arrived after about 10 minutes. But, the boyfriend was long gone.

I remember I didn't sleep a wink that night in fear that the boyfriend would come to our house. I also kept hearing the eerie sound of the doorbell ringing in my head. Ever since then, I'm always afraid something crazy like that will happen while I'm home alone.

So, on our new house we got an alarm installed. This does make me feel safer...a little. Last week as we were sleeping one night, suddenly the alarm went off. I felt that same feeling I had felt the night the woman was beating on our door. My heart started beating like crazy and my legs went numb as we jumped out of bed and ran to check on the boys. As Carl checked the house he found that our back door was open a little, which is what caused the alarm to go off. Of course this freaked me out because I just knew someone had been trying to get in the house. I realized that I had forgotten to lock the door but then I also remembered that Cale was the last one that came through that door and he had shut it behind himself. So, Carl convinced me (or tried to convince me) that Cale just had not shut the door very well. I really wasn't convinced because I can remember watching Cale shut it and being nervous because he almost shut his fingers in. Also, that door is very heavy and I can't imagine the wind blowing it open. So, needless to say I didn't sleep much that night either.

So, all that background information was to say that last Sunday night I had to stay home alone again. We had been gone to Branson all weekend with my parents and then drove from there straight to Havana to see Carl's mom. Carl ended up staying with his mom (due to a family crisis) and so I drove the boys home by myself. It's about an hour drive from Carl's mom's house to our house. An hour is a lonnnng time to sit and dream stuff up in my head. And that is just what I did. I sat and wondered if maybe someone would be in the house when we got home. When I pulled in, of course our garage door lights were on for some reason. So, a little bit scared just turned into, a lot scared. I walked in, turned almost all the lights on, and set the alarm. Of course Cale had fallen asleep on the way home and when I tried to ever so carefully get him out of his car seat, he had woken up. He was in the worst mood and threw one of the biggest fits of all time. He kept throwing himself on the floor screaming and slobbering. Then, Keaton decided to start crying due to hunger. So, it was just mass chaos. I'm usually okay at night by myself until bedtime. For some reason, bedtime is when I get scared. I think it's because the house is so quiet. So quiet, you can hear all those strange sounds that probably exist during the day but just aren't noticeable. I finally got Cale to calm down and I bathed he and Keaton. Then, I put him to bed. After about 15 mintues, he came back in crying. I decided to try and get him to sleep with me. Yes, kinda for selfish reasons. Keaton was already sleeping in the carseat in my room so Cale climbed into bed and we started watching cartoons. I had hopes he might fall asleep while watching, but that didn't happen. Finally I turned the toons off and tried to get Cale to go to sleep. Well, that didn't happen either. He flipped and flopped and kept sitting up and talking. Finally, I had to take him back to his own room. After crying for a few minutes he finally went back to sleep.

And after laying in bed for awhile, I finally went to sleep too, with the bathroom light on and a baseball bat by my side. I wanted to get the mase, but it was out in my car and I wasn't about to go out and get it.

I wish I was brave. I wish I wasn't scared of anything. I wish my only sign of having any kind of imagination wasn't linked to the crazy thoughts I think up when I'm alone at night. But, I'm not brave. I am scared. And I do let my mind think some crazy things. Thank goodness there are very few times in the year that Carl is not home at night.