My kid rocks at puking

Let's label this as yet another thing I never thought I would be talking about-- let alone bragging about-- before I had kids. But I am so proud of FunnyKid and his new puking skills that I had to share (it's the little things in life, you know?)

Up until this past weekend, FunnyKid had thrown up on two separate occasions. Both times, he was asleep in his bed when he threw up pretty much all over his face and hair, woke up crying and had to be stripped and rushed into the shower, where one parent got him clean while the other one stripped and remade the bed.

I felt awful for FunnyKid when this happened because the only thing worse than being sick is being pulled out of your bed, stripped of your clothes and being thrown into a shower when you were blissfully asleep just moments before. The poor kid would huddle under the water crying and begging to go back to bed while we explained why he was showering (multiple times in one night) and rushed to get him clean.

But that changed this weekend. We were staying at my dad's house for one night (the one fateful night). FunnyKid, who had exhibited no symptoms of not feeling well and had been running around just minutes before, was brushing his teeth when he suddenly started crying, asked for water and then began vomiting in the hallway outside the bathroom.

When he was done, he calmly asked to take a shower (he didn't need one as he had neatly avoided getting anything on himself, but I suspect he now associates puking with a shower afterward). After a nice, hot shower, we got FunnyKid into bed and prayed he wouldn't throw up all over a bed that doesn't belong to us, a rug that isn't ours and some various antiques and other nice stuff in the room he was staying in.

About half an hour later, FunnyKid called me upstairs and in a fairly calm manner told me he had to throw up again. I rushed him into the bathroom and held him while he threw up into the toilet like a seasoned pro. I denied him a shower after that round and he went back to bed and fell asleep.

Around 11:30, as the Pretend Husband and I were falling asleep, we heard FunnyKid call for us again. I met him in the hallway and again swooped him into the bathroom as he told me he had to throw up again. Another round of puking in the toilet and this time he got the shower he requested because if that's all your poor, sick kid wants, that's what he gets.

I feel like FunnyKid is growing and maturing in so many ways, and waking up to puke is one of them. Not the biggest deal, of course, but it makes for a happy mama who doesn't have to remake a bed for the fourth time and explain to a kid why he's showering at midnight.

Where does he get this stuff?

One of the side effects of having FunnyKid in preschool is him hearing and seeing things that I don't know about. At least, that's where I'm assuming he's gotten some of his expressions lately.

Today, he was holding FunnyBoy back from climbing up into our bay window and when I told FunnyKid to let go of his brother, he said, "there's broken glass up there!" There is obviously no broken glass laying around in my house, and I still haven't figured out where he heard it.

One of my favorites-- and another one that came out of nowhere-- is FunnyKid saying, "Me got it" when we tell him to do something. He even once busted out with, "Me on it." And he has learned how to shorten his dad's lectures about why he needs to brush his teeth before bed with, "Me know, Daddy."

As with most kids his age (3), FunnyKid is constantly asking, "why?" I try to answer him the best I can, but it does get old when I have to begin explaining things down to their most basic levels. One of the best calls I ever made as a parent was to teach FunnyKid to only ask "why" three or four times. There is nothing more satisfying than the seemingly endless string of "why's" finally wrapping up with him saying, "That makes sense, Mom."

And finally, FunnyBoy (who is always with me so I really have no idea where he got it) started getting in our faces, opening his mouth wide and roaring like a lion today. It is ridiculously cute and he will sometimes do it on command. It seems someone is following in his brother's footsteps in always keeping me on my toes and thoroughly entertained.

This and that (Preschool Edition)

Having a 3 year old (FunnyKid) and a 9 month old (FunnyBoy) means naptime battles, less sleep than I ever thought I'd be able to survive on and some of the funniest moments. These boys make me laugh every day and while being a full-time parent is the hardest job I'll ever have, I'm so, so lucky to be able to do it.

FunnyKid goes to preschool now, is into playing any sport we buy equipment for and is talking like a champ. The other day, we were trying to find a set of blocks and had found all but one. "Oh, there it is," I said, as I spotted the last block under a dresser. FunnyKid replied, "You have good eyes, Mom." (I say that to him a lot and it was funny to learn that he picked up on one of my expressions. And then scary to think about just how much I need to watch what I say around him...)

While FunnyBoy has his moments of screaming displeasure (usually in the middle of the night), he is generally the happiest kid I've ever met. Strangers in stores comment all the time about his huge jack o'lantern smile (he has two teeth on the bottom and three on the top) and his bright blue eyes. A couple of people have dubbed him with the nickname "Blueberry Eyes" for how blue they are (FunnyKid can never remember the name and calls his brother "Strawberry Eyes.")

FunnyKid is mildly obsessed with ponytails. Before his last haircut, he sometimes asked me to make one on top of his head. When I have one in my hair, he will ask me to turn around so he can see my "poy-tail." Then he says, "I kiss it, Mom?" and gives my ponytail a smooch. Weird, but sweet.

FunnyKid is quite the backseat driver. I get all sorts of orders yelled at me, everything from "Green light, go!" (I've learned not to hit the gas when I hear that since it's not always accurate and never takes the fact that there's traffic in front of us into account) to "Slow down, Mom, that's my house." In fact, the kiddo has gotten kind of possessive lately. We recently got a new car that I drive and the Pretend Husband drives the vehicle I previously had. FunnyKid describes it as "Daddy drive my cah. You drive red cah."

While playing in the driveway a few weeks ago, we heard a tapping noise and discovered a woodpecker high up in a nearby tree. FunnyKid had noticed the noise so I was trying to explain to him what a woodpecker is and what it does. While searching the tree to try to spot what was making the noise, FunnyKid suddenly yelled, "that's a big pecker!" This is me praying he doesn't try to recount the story at school.

Not my brightest parenting moment

Ah, toddlers. Who doesn't have the fondest of memories about the temper tantrums, the bedtime battles, the time your kid locked himself in the vault at city hall. Wait, what? Oh yeah, it happened.

On this fateful day, I had both boys with me as I ran into city hall for one quick thing.  As I looked at a computer, FunnyKid ran down a long (fun-looking) ramp next to me that went into the big vault full of city records. Then he ran back up and we headed to the desk to speak to an employee.

As I began speaking to the woman and FunnyBoy began fussing, FunnyKid (the 2.5 year old) saw his opportunity and took off to run back down the ramp into the vault. I picked up the baby carrier and was not too far behind him, telling him to turn around and come back. As I got to the bottom of the ramp, FunnyKid gave me a sly grin... and knocked closed a glass door at the entrance to the vault (a door with no purpose I could figure out since the vault also had one of those huge metal vault doors).

Seeing no knob on the outside of the glass door (just a keyhole), I immediately turned around and went back  to the employee I had been speaking with. "I'm really sorry, but my son just locked himself in the vault. Could you please get the key for the glass door?"

"Uh, I don't think we have a key for that door," the woman replied.

That's when I began to panic. Running back to the door, I smiled and urged FunnyKid to turn the locking mechanism on his side of the glass. Having fun playing our game, the poor kid tried to turn the lock, but wasn't strong enough. Standing there with a toy train in either hand, he watched as two different employees with two different keys each arrived and failed to unlock the door.

That's when a woman in a really nice outfit came rushing down and decided she was going to try to slide under the door (oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the glass door didn't go all the way to the top or the bottom of the door frame, making it even more useless and more confusing about what it was even there for). Despite the panic rising in my chest, that part was kind of funny because the poor, professionally-dressed woman had no chance of fitting through the couple of inches of space beneath the door, but she pressed herself to the floor and tried.

The ending of this story is a little anti-climatic: no firefighters rushing through the door for a dramatic rescue, no having to tell FunnyKid to go hide in the corner while a police officer shot through the door. Nope. Instead, we got FunnyKid to lay down on his side of the door and I reached under and slid him out.

Then we threw some more apologies around and ran out the door while the employees were making phone calls to see if anyone in city hall had a key to the door. In the aftermath, I felt ashamed that FunnyKid was able to get that far away from me and cause some mischief, but I also started to get kind of angry that a city office didn't have a key to the mystery door in its vault. I can think of a couple of (unlikely) scenarios in which that door could swing closed and need to be reopened. In any case, it's a funnier story than the battle FunnyKid and I fought over naptime this afternoon, and if I have to be embarrassed or admit some parenting failures, at least I want a funny story out of it.

Life with two

I read somewhere that the transition from one to two kids is harder than the transition from none to one. Almost eight weeks into our adventure as the parents of two boys, I'm going to agree. While there was a steep learning curve as we figured out what to do with a tiny FunnyKid when he was an infant, the challenges are even greater when we're not only trying to keep FunnyKid happy and healthy, but sustaining a (more helpless) baby as well.

Oh, how life has changed for us. For one thing, I'm spending a lot less money. I haven't taken both boys out very frequently because of flu season and my inability to keep them both entertained and on track in stores. One of my first trips out with both of them was to good ol' Target. I had my list and I had my game plan (FunnyBoy in a wrap on my chest, FunnyKid in the cart). It all went according to plan until I got about ten steps into the store and spied a cute dress under a 70 percent off clearance sign. I hesitated for a second before realizing who I was with and quickly walking past. Browsing, my friends, is a thing of the past.

Another challenge has been FunnyBoy's digestive issues. After too many weeks of hearing him scream for an hour or two every night, we have him on medication. In addition, his doctor told me to drop all soy and dairy from my diet. After extensive research, I can tell you that soy and/or dairy is in EVERYTHING. I spent an hour at the grocery story yesterday reading labels, bought six things (soy free, dairy free butter? sounds delicious!) and spent $20. This couponing, grocery budgeting mama is dying as she writes that sentence. On the bright side, I learned I like almond milk and will probably end up shedding some more pregnancy weight as I'm forced to cut back on most things I ordinarily snack on. On the other hand, I will understand why my friends don't want to spend time with me for awhile because how fun will I be when I can't eat anything other than a handful of peanuts and some fruit?

It probably goes without saying that, as hard as it has been to give up so many foods, it's so worth it to make sure FunnyBoy isn't in pain every night. Overall, he's a sweet kiddo with the biggest smile ever-- well worth not having chocolate, ice cream or a lot of other things for awhile. And I'm getting better at being the mom of two kids. I took them out for a walk in the double stroller the other day and we have already conquered the library. Next up is a restaurant. Wish me luck...

How I Spent My Christmas Vacation...

As December quickly flashed by and we got closer and closer to Christmas Day (my due date), I began praying that the baby would not decide to make an appearance on Christmas. I didn't want to spend Christmas in the hospital and I also didn't want the poor kid to have a Christmas birthday. A few days before or after-- great. But as someone with a birthday three weeks before Christmas who *still* sometimes got shafted on gifts, I had some compassion for having a birthday right on the holiday itself.

As Christmas approached and nothing seemed to be happening, I relaxed a little bit and started to plan for having a late baby. The Pretend Husband and I started discussing whether we would want an induction or membran stripping, and I began hoping to go into labor on my own sometime in the week between Christmas and New Year's.

Christmas Day came and it was perfect. We had decided to keep the holiday simple, not knowing if it would even happen. We set out a bunch of food, told family when we would be home and sat back to wait for them to visit. FunnyKid alternated between riding his new backhoe, jumping on his new trampoline and snuggling up with grandparents. I alternated between talking and eating, mostly while cuddled up on the couch.

Everyone left in the evening and within two hours, I started having some cramping and then contractions, which were not at all regular (and had started and stopped before, so I didn't get too excited about them). That evening, I had the PH take a photo of me at 40 weeks pregnant, not knowing how little time I had left.

We put FunnyKid to bed and the PH and I watched some television while I timed the contractions, which were anywhere from 12 to 20 minutes apart. As we got into bed around 10:30, my water broke. And that's when things got real. The PH (who had a really bad cold) tried to grab a little sleep while I went downstairs to pace and time contractions, which got stronger and closer together but since I was still able to walk and talk through them, I figured I was still pretty early in the process.

As the contractions got down to 3-5 minutes apart, I jumped in the shower and the PH started preparing for a trip to the hospital while family members started to make their way over to our house to stay with FunnyKid. After getting dressed, I was fine with chatting with my dad in between contractions, but the PH started to get nervous ("I am not delivering this baby myself!") and started to rush me out the door.

We got to the hospital and, although I was having really, really painful back labor, everything was still manageable. In fact, the nurse told us later that she almost didn't admit us because I didn't seem like I was very far along. In fact, I was already 7 centimeters dilated when they checked me and that's when things started moving fast.

There was some really loud moaning (me) and some slightly scared looks (the PH) and some casualness from the midwife as the told the nurse to call my doctor, but tell her there was no need to rush to the hospital. As she was saying that, I could feel the baby moving down and started having the urge to push, but who was I to argue with the expert?

Which is how it came to be that I gave birth 15 minutes later without a doctor in the room. The baby basically flew out and was placed on my chest and I said, "it's a boy?" Then I said, "Brothers!" A little FunnyBoy to torture and tease and love and admire my FunnyKid, who I'm sure will do the same in return.

And so, three hours after Christmas Day had ended, that's how our FunnyBoy, Finnegan (we'll call him Finn), came into this world, in his own time in his own way and with a full set of lungs that reminds us he's here on a daily (and nightly) basis.

That "Super Nanny" technique where you put the kid back into bed again and again again? It's exhausting.

Last week, for various reasons, we decided it was time to move FunnyKid out of crib and into his new, twin bed. Not only that, but he was moving out of the nursery into a bigger bedroom (where, although he was only slightly impressed, he found a train table waiting to be played with).

After a few nights of me sitting in his room for two hours putting him back into bed again and again and again and again (and again) until he wore himself out and fell asleep, I was ready to throw in the towel. I called up a bunch of my mom friends and cried, "What are we doing wrong?" And the answers were plentiful... and not at all hopeful.

Basically, they all described the transition from crib to bed as one of the worst times of their lives and all said it would take weeks of tears (mine) and sleeplessness (mine and FunnyKid's) to get it to stick. So, we pulled ourselves up by our boot straps... and decided to take a break.

We moved the crib into the new room to give FunnyKid a chance to acclimate to the new room and decided we would try the bed again next week. The best nephews in the world (and an awesome niece) are in town this week, FunnyKid turns two later this week and we just thought it was a little too much excitement to throw a bed transition into the mix.

So, FunnyKid went to bed in his crib the first night... and the second night. And the third night, he climbed into bed, yelled for about two minutes and then went right to sleep! Worried it was a fluke, I didn't have much hope for nap time yesterday, but he did it. He actually played quietly for an hour in his room then climbed into bed, pulled a blanket up over him and conked out. And last night took a minute of yelling at the gate across his doorway before he got back into bed and promptly fell asleep.

What?!? The Pretend Husband and I keep looking at each other saying, "How did we get so lucky?" We're guessing he was just ready after having some time to acclimate to his new surroundings and the idea he can get out of bed if he wants to. It's tough to declare anything truly, finally "done" with a toddler, but I'm going to venture onto a limb here and say we (and he) did it.

I'm not just writing this all out to brag (although, if I may, my kid is pretty stinking awesome!) but to give other parents hope. While every one of your friends and family members will tell you how terrible the transition is-- and it usually is-- there are always the exceptions. And you might join us in being lucky enough to be one of them (fingers crossed).

Oh Lord, when did my son turn two?!?

FunnyKid isn't actually two yet, but he sure is acting like it these days. A few examples:

- Everything is dramatic. Everything includes the need for tears and yelling and struggling against me if it's not done exactly as he wants it (which changes daily, of course). These traumatic events include having his diaper changed (thank goodness we only have to do that six times a day!), being asked to get dressed and-- although I have no idea why-- having his hands washed.

-Diapers are now a curiosity. As in, FunnyKid likes to check out what's in them and-- to put this delicately-- doesn't always leave things inside. There was an incident a week ago in which the Pretend Husband thought FunnyKid's crib was covered in blood... until FunnyKid pointed at the mess and proclaimed, "yuck!" You can guess the rest.

-Diapers also serve as practice sessions for FunnyKid's Houdini act. The other day, I heard splashing in our bay window. Thinking the kiddo was pouring the water from his sippy cup into the window where he had climbed up, I turned around... just in time to watch him finish peeing on the window and start dancing in the puddle to make it splash. I couldn't even find his diaper at first. He had shed it in the kitchen before getting up on stage for his performance.

-Nothing gets said once around here. A typical diaper change includes me saying, "FunnyKid, let's change your diaper. Come here, bud. Kiddo, time to change your diaper. Are you listening to Mommy? Let's go. Diaper change." Then I chase him through the house, bodily bring him to where his new diaper is and try to hold him down while completing the challenge. I often break a sweat before it's over. Then, just a few hours later, we get to do the whole thing again.

Oh, and today we hung out with a couple of three-year-olds. Where I learned this crazy behavior that is testing me and sometimes pushing me to my limits is not going to end anytime soon. I'm scared.

We should have named him "Jeeves"

FunnyKid is going through an awesome phase right now where he wants to help in any way he can. It started with him wanting to help feed the dogs in the morning so we began with him helping us carry their bowls from the counter to their mats. We're now at the point where he gets the cup of food out of the pantry and brings it to me at the counter. Then he gets the dogs' bowls from opposite ends of the kitchen and brings them to me. I fill the bowls and give him the cup back, which he takes back to the pantry. Then he carries each bowl to the dogs' mat and "places" it down (which sometimes meaning lowering it slowly and sometimes means dropping it from chest height). I give it another two weeks before he's the one doling the dog food into the bowls while I sit comfortably on the couch giving directions.

As if that wasn't enough help, I pulled out the coffeepot this morning and when FunnyKid pointed to it, I said, "Mommy's making coffee." The little smarty immediately walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a can of coffee, which he walked over to me! I just need to buy a step stool so he can climb up and finish the job.

Lastly, this morning, I casually mentioned, "We need to clean up the family room so Mom can vacuum" and realized a few seconds later that FunnyKid had disappeared. I found him in the hallway, where he had opened the closet door and pulled out the vacuum. He was in the process of rolling it to the family room when I got to him.

People told me I would love having kids, but not because they would do all my work for me! I'm loving this. Now, if I can just nurture this work ethic into his teen years... I may never have to lift a finger.

Toddler!

FunnyKid is a toddler! through and through (if this is 16 months, I'm scared about what two and three are going to look like). And that exclamation point isn't a typo-- because toddlers! don't do anything quietly or calmly or with precision. Toddlers! are loud and they're fast and they leave messes.

When the Pretend Husband got home last night, he walked in the door and stopped in shock. There were toys scattered all over the family room among the coupons I had been cutting before my toddler! got hold of them. In the kitchen, there were pots, pans, towels and other cooking implements all over the floor. In the living room, Cheerios on the rug (I blame our dogs for not getting those cleaned up more quickly). In the hallway, an abandoned Cozy Coupe, the vacuum cleaner that had been pulled out of the closet and some random kid socks.

And the worst part? I cleaned yesterday. Actually, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, putting toys away as my toddler! followed behind and took them out again. I finally gave up and figured I would let the toddler! wear himself out and I could pick everything up once he went to bed.

This morning I couldn't find my car keys and didn't know if I had misplaced them or if my toddler! had taken possession of them. If I had misplaced them, I could have looked in the usual places of in my bag, in my coat pockets and under the driver's seat. But if the toddler! had a hand in their disappearance? Well, that's a whole different search. One that found me digging through the garbage can (FunnyKid likes to throw things away whether they are trash or not) and going through the kitchen cabinets (he doesn't only like to take things out of the cupboards and drawers).

It turns out the missing keys were in my coat pocket, but the search for them made me realize just how on my toes I have to be when my toddler! is awake. Wish me luck...

The body in my front yard and other events in my life

I don't have enough for a full post right now, so you get snippets of what life in the FunnyGal household is like these days.

First, there's this guy....
This movie star of a son who continues to amaze me with his words (you try not smiling when he yells "Cah" like he's a lifelong Bostonite talking about the traffic or points to my coffee in the morning and calls it "ca-ca.") And he amazes me with his abilities and his kindness and the fact that he barely speaks and yet had two different people point out how funny he is today at story hour. Life is good with FunnyKid.

***

Christmas was perfect. That's all I really need to say (although have you ever known me to stop at one sentence? Yeah, me neither.) It involved grandparents so excited about watching the kiddos open their gifts that they got up early and other relatives who spent part of Christmas Day pushing a Cozy Coupe filled with cousins around the house and good food and laughter and really, what more could you ask for?

***

While I'm amazed at each of the skills FunnyKid has learned in his 16 months, I'm still surprised each time he picks up a new one. Last night, while I was making cookies, he came over and wanted to be part of the action. I put him on a stool and handed him a spoon and I'll be darned if the little guy didn't understand enough to scrape the sides of the bowl down with the spoon and not go near the mixer when it was running. He also knows where the cookies are stored and how to convince Mom he needs to eat one for breakfast, but that's another story...

***

I guess that's about it. Oh, the body in the yard? You want to hear that story? Yeah, I guess I would too. I'm still not clear on exactly what happened, but I think I've pieced together most of it. See, our house is along the route the local high school cross country team runs (I guess? Does cross country practice in January?) Yesterday, I walked out of the garage to take FunnyKid for a walk, looked up and saw a girl lying face down under a bush by the road. Startled, I stepped closer and saw... five more kids laying behind a rock wall in our yard. They didn't say anything to me (but I saw them move so my initial thought of a dead body in my yard was quickly erased) and I didn't say anything to them because it looked they were lying in wait and I didn't want to ruin their game. About a minute later, as I was getting FunnyKid in his stroller, the group of kids jumped up and started running. I didn't see it clearly, but I think someone had run by and they were surprising her? I heard one of the kids say, "Best hiding place ever" as they ran off, so perhaps it will become the norm for me to have a bunch of bodies scattered around my yard.

***

The other day, I received an email from someone I met for the second time and she complimented my personality. She said she hadn't realized from our first meeting how funny and sarcastic I am, but had enjoyed it during our second meeting. I read the email to the Pretend Husband, who proceeded to tell me I'm not funny! Like, at all. (I may have told him he's bad at his job as an illustration of how important my sense of humor is to me). He later said he was kidding, but it was too late. I had already filed for divorce by then. (Ok, I'm kidding. I'll keep the PH around-- but only if he starts laughing at my humor real quick).

Sixteen months after giving birth, I became a parent

After months of raising FunnyKid, middle-of-the-night feedings, kisses for bumped foreheads and more diaper changes than I can count, what finally earned me the title of parent? This.


The Pretend Husband and I had been patting ourselves on the back that we had finished Christmas shopping for FunnyKid and hadn't gone overboard. We had discussed getting him a Cozy Coupe, but figured we could get it for his birthday next summer. Then, while picking up some groceries at a warehouse club the other night, we spotted it. And it was cheaper than we had seen it anywhere else. And, despite my fears that having one more big gift under the tree will turn my sweet boy into a spoiled brat, we bought it.

And then I tried to assemble it. Pulling the large plastic pieces out of the box at 10 p.m., I thought, "how hard can this be?" Ha! Picture me two hours later, sweating and cursing because I'm still not finished and it's impossible to tell from the drawings which part is pictured and how does this thing fit? I had to view on-line video instructions and pull out a drill in order to get most of the way done.

It was after midnight, and long after the PH had gone to bed, when I got to the part of the instructions where you need two people to finish the stupid thing. That's when I abandoned the project and went to bed, knowing I still have a couple of days to get it done.

FunnyKid is going to LOVE the cozy coupe and I know that seeing the joy on his face is going to erase any dark memories I have of putting the stupid thing together, but remind me next year to start assembling his gifts well before Christmas Eve because they are never as easy to assemble as they look. Oh, and when you remind me, call me "Mom." I've earned it.

*tap tap* Is this thing on?

Wow. It's been... let's see... forever since I last posted (and even longer since *someone* who shall not be named has been seen in these parts, but who am I to throw stones after my little absence, right?) I will try and be better and all that...

There are, of course, tons of things I could talk about. Like how we lost power for four days and fled the state to save our freezer contents and be able to shower again, or how I have a new niece or how the Pretend Husband and I celebrated our very real wedding anniversary (four years!)

But you (you know, any of you who are still actually reading this little ol' blog) don't want to hear about all that. You want the good stuff. You want to see FunnyKid in his Halloween costume (which was celebrated in our town on Nov. 10 because of the aforementioned power outage). And maybe you'll even comment and let me know you're still here and I should make a better effort to be here too.

Alcohol, hors d'ouevres and me pulling my boobs out in the middle of the party (or: how my husband finally learned to deal with me)

If there is any area where the Pretend Husband deserves a "Most Improved" Award, it's in the "What To Do When Your Wife Cries" category. Seriously, the man used to be terrible. If I started crying about something, he would try to pretend I wasn't. He would look anywhere but at me and try to carry on a conversation as though I wasn't sobbing loudly with tears running down my face.

I have spent *years* training the guy to A) not ignore the fact that I'm crying and B) do or say something that makes me feel better. It took many, many times of me telling him to just sit next to me and hold my hand or rub my back. He doesn't have to even say anything-- just be there.

Well, the PH was tested last week and I'm proud to report he has finally learned the lesson I began teaching when we were dating. Last week, I abruptly stopped breastfeeding FunnyKid. It had been coming for awhile, he was down to just one feeding a day and I knew he was only doing it as a comfort thing before bed and no longer needed it for nutritional purposes. I knew we were going to stop soon.

But I wasn't prepared for the night we were putting FunnyKid to bed and everything fell perfectly into place for us to try putting him to bed without that last feeding. And-- this is the part that especially ripped my heart out-- he rolled right over and fell asleep without protest.

The PH and I walked downstairs and I just stared at him. "Are you going to cry?" he asked. "I don't know," I replied... and then I burst into tears. And-- shocker of all shockers-- the PH said he understood and rubbed my back as I let it all out. "I know this is for the best. I'm ready and he's ready," I said, "but I didn't realize last night would be the last time I ever breastfed him. He's growing up so fast."

Then, the guy who used to try to chat about football while I cried actually offered to throw a party to celebrate the end of breastfeeding. "And in the middle of it, you can have your one last time," he proposed. I'm still not sure if he was serious or just trying to make me laugh, but it was the perfect response to the situation. Ok, maybe not perfect. Bringing home some "end of breastfeeding" jewelry the next day would have been perfect. But it was close enough for me.

This boy of mine

One year ago today, I felt the greatest pain I had ever experienced. One year ago today, I felt the greatest joy I ever experienced. Though I can hardly believe it, FunnyKid is one year old today. And what a year it has been.

One year ago, I met this guy.


Today, I was lucky enough to be greeted by this guy.

I'm busy preparing all sort of surprises for FunnyKid's party-- and praying the hurricane headed our way holds off on the rain until after we're done celebrating. But I wanted to take a minute to share the joy that this kiddo brings to my day.

It's hard to sum up my pride for FunnyKid and all of the abilities he has gained over this year. As a new mom, I have been-- of course-- enamored with every "first," from that first awesome smile to his first steps behind his push toy. But perhaps what makes me most proud about this kiddo is how he has lived up to his FunnyKid nickname.

I never knew a baby could be so funny. FunnyKid loves to laugh (and what a great laugh it is) and will bust out with a belly laugh even when we're not trying to do anything funny (he finds someone throwing something-- or even just making a throwing motion-- absolutely hilarious). And he is a little ham who does what he can to make people laugh. He somehow came up with this cute little head tilt that gets people every time. He "kisses" me by coming at my face with an open mouth and sucking on whatever part of my face he catches (it's impossible not to laugh when someone is sucking on your cheek). And, although it's not on purpose, his little butt sticking out when he walks behind his push toy is sure to elicit laughs.

One year. A year of smiles, new talents, tears (oh, the tears! from both FunnyKid and I), adventures, new experiences and laughter-- more laughter than I could have hoped for when I came up with the nickname FunnyKid. Thanks for living up to that name, kiddo. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Bubby!

If he wants to push the next kiddo out of his nether regions, I'm happy to listen to him complain. Until that happens, zip it.

FunnyKid is an Eater. With a capital E. We have yet to discover a food he won't eat (except for a three day period where he wouldn't eat-- of all things-- watermelon). And when he's in his high chair, in your lap or anywhere where there's food, he wants to eat and he wants to eat now.

Let me preface the next little story by saying the Pretend Husband is an awesome father. He has one evening a week alone with FunnyKid while I work, he rushes home at the end of a busy day to make sure he gets time with FunnyKid before bed and he's very hands-on with everything from playing to changing diapers.

However, if there is one thing the PH hates, it's being interrupted when he's eating. He will spoon veggies into FunnyKid's mouth before he sits down to eat so it doesn't interfere with his meal. So, if there's any additional cutting up of food or throwing Cheerios onto FunnyKid's tray, that has fallen to me.

I'm not sure the PH even realized how harried I was during meals as I tried to grab bites of my own meal in between cutting things into little chunks for FunnyKid and keeping him well-fed. Until a few weeks ago. FunnyKid and the PH had come to my soccer game, but the grass was too wet for them to sit and watch at first. So the PH loaded FunnyKid into the car and took him out to breakfast.

On the way home from the game, I was treated to a litany of complaints from the PH. "It was so hard to eat! He kept yelling when he ran out of food so I was constantly cutting stuff up for him. I had to choke down my food in, like, 30 seconds at the end."

I think he was looking for sympathy from me, but he was looking to the wrong person. "Really? That's what it's like to eat with FunnyKid? I wouldn't have realized that, being that I feed him three meals a day and all. Cry me a river, PH, I've been dealing with this for months."

Giving it to you straight about motherhood... or I haven't used the bathroom without an audience in over a month

Yeah, yeah, there's a ton of books, blogs and other resources out there about what it's really like to be a mother. But I'm going to give you the straight poop with a look into my life from just the last 45 minutes.

Motherhood is:

-Holding your son's attention for a minute or two by singing, dancing, clapping, waving and any other inane thing you can think of... and him turning around, finding the tote bag we keep library books in and having it hold his attention for almost 10 minutes.

-Learning to use the toilet while a little one is using your legs to pull himself up to standing. Privacy? What's that?

-Being so tired, you mess up the lyrics to "Old McDonald Had a Farm." Apparently, around here, ducks say, "duck, duck!" rather than "quack, quack!" If FunnyKid ends up having to repeat pre-school, I'm going to feel so responsible...

-Using your child as a dumbbell by lifting them from the floor to the ceiling multiple times. Hey, anything that gets me into shape and keeps FunnyKid laughing is a win in my book.

-Feeling good about yourself because the kiddo bumped his head and was immediately comforted by your touch and voice. Then immediately not feeling good about yourself when he bites your shoulder. Hard.

-Being able to write this post one-handed while simultaneously wrestling a baby. Don't get me wrong, he's still winning the match. My only victory will be hitting "Publish Post" if only I can get my hand free to do so.

The day trip that only cost $50, my sanity and my will to ever travel again

While FunnyKid and I were vacationing at my sister's house last week, she and I decided to take FunnyKid and the two cutest nephews in the world to Baltimore's Inner Harbor for a day. We figured hauling around three kids ages 2 1/2 years, 18 months and 10 months would be a little stressful, but were willing to do it for the experience.

We had an "experience" alright.

The fun started with finding a place to park (and finding out we would be paying $23 for the privilege) and then trying to get into one of the buildings where the shops and restaurants are. Handicapped entrances, which we needed in order to get two strollers into the building, were hard to find and required a long walk to get to them. Having done this before, we were smart enough to have packed a picnic lunch rather than try to navigate a restaurant.

Because FunnyKid is still limited by crawling, I had to get used to the fact that my nephews were able to take off in two different directions with no notice. More than once, kat's lil sis went after one while I tried to head off the other with my stroller.

We adapted well. Kat's lil sis is very laid back (she has to be with two toddlers!) so it didn't bother her when the boys got soaked in a fountain and when we picked a spot on the grass to change diapers (there was no way we were going to navigate handicapped entrances again to find bathrooms). And she barely batted an eye as we walked along the water with one of her boys throwing a temper tantrum because the carousel was being repaired.

While one of the most fun parts of our trip was taking the boys on a water taxi to a different part of the city, it was also one of the most challenging. On our way out of the Inner Harbor, we had the advantage of full stomachs and cooperative kids so even having to empty the strollers of kids and bags before boarding and then begging the boat employees to help heft the strollers onto the boat didn't bother us.

The way back was a different story. Both the moms and the kids were exhausted and hot and hungry. It was a recipe for disaster. Basically, I tried to divide my time between keeping FunnyKid from throwing himself overboard and talking one of my nephews out of disappearing under the seats, while lil sis had a wrestling match her younger son to keep him in the seat, suffering multiple slaps to the head in the process (I think I had the better deal because at least FunnyKid is too little to put up much resistance).

The way home included tons of traffic and overtired kiddos who kept waking the others up. And the irony of it is that all of the boys are too young to ever remember the trip outside of looking at all the photos we took. We agreed it's going to take some time for us to forget the experience and try to take all the boys out again with just the two of us. Eight or nine years ought to do it.

At least he let me come back

The Pretend Husband called me one afternoon last week and said, "You know, you should go visit your sister and nephews. You both stay home with the kids and there's no reason you can't go in the middle of the week." I said he was right and thought that I should plan a trip to visit the cutest nephews in the world soon. But the PH was thinking even more immediately.

"I think you should go this week."

His reasoning had something to do with having a very busy week ahead of him at work and not wanting to feel pressured to get home to see FunnyKid and I, but he was so persistent, I started to get a little suspicious. When I told him I had spoken to kat's lil sis and would be leaving the next morning, the PH said, "Why don't you leave tonight? You can get in the car at FunnyKid's bedtime and get there around midnight."

If I had taken his advice, it would have meant leaving within two hours. Maybe more experienced moms can pull off packing for herself and her kiddo and being out the door in 120 minutes, but I need more time to prepare. I stood up to the pressure and kept the plan that didn't involve me driving five hours in the middle of the night with no notice.

So FunnyKid and I took off the next morning-- but not before I set up nannycams around the house, put a tracking device on the PH's car and paid the neighbor to keep an eye on things (with binoculars).

Let me count the ways in which I am screwed...

My nine-month-old can negotiate the step between the family room (where all his toys are) and the rest of the first floor (where a lot of dangerous things are) and now pretty much has the run of the house.

Today, he wrestled me for access to my boob... and almost won.

Drawers in the kitchen are no match for Mr. Adventure and putting a yardstick through the handles to keep them from opening just gives him something new to play with (the yardstick makes a fun noise when it's pulled back and then let go to snap against the cabinet).

Changing a diaper is a full-scale wrestling event that involves pins, spin moves to break the opponent's hold and once he tried to tag the dog in when it looked like I was about to win.

Speaking of the dogs, they don't know what hit them. Or-- more accurately-- what suddenly and violently yanked at their crotch hair while they were sleeping.

Perhaps the worst part of all is how stinking cute he is while he wreaks havoc all over the house. This face almost makes me want to give in and let him do whatever he wants. Almost.