GUESS WHO

Your never gonna believe this. Guess who stopped by our house today for lunch and a play date.

Don't you see him?

Look closely, there to the left of a pant-less Khage.

It's Buzz Lightyear. If you can't see him, well safe to say your an adult and lost all your childhood sense of imagination. Picture me feeling sad for you.

And in true Khage fashion, answering the door for his imaginary friends dressed in a pair of jockeys and socks.

I say that like its a weird thing.

And for all we know he's got his imaginary pants on.

Fridays are a special day in our house. Typically I am pretty controlling around here. I'll put that right out there, I'm not ashamed of it. But when Friday rolls around its a little more laxed; Khage gets to pick what he wants to eat for lunch... and picking his lunch is a pretty big deal to this kid. I like to sneak pureed veggies into unsuspecting dishes whenever I can, so biting into a quesadilla that doesn't ooze green cheese is always a good day for him, but even more fun is that he also gets to invite over an imaginary friend.

He chooses the character and I give their mom a call. Mickey Mouse has stopped by a few times, then Woody and now Buzz.  And in case you were wondering, all their moms have been very nice. Mickey's mom is a little full of herself, but that's to be expected, her son is hugely famous.

I initiated Mission Grow Imagination about a month ago, and at first Khage didn't understand the magic in pretending. He would just sit back, very skeptical, and observe me as I talked to his friends. If ever Khage wanted to talk to them too, he would ask me to relay messages between them. He couldn't hear his friends when they talked to him and he definitely couldn't see them.

But now to him they are very real, as real as those pants he's wearing.

Khage is a very creative boy but needs a little boost in the make believe department, and this does just that for him. He has a very practical sense this one and he knows that his toys aren't real, and that I can't have. After all, the kids only three and I don't want him not believing in the tooth fairy before he even looses a baby tooth. But today he actually played with Buzz, they even wrestled together. They rolled around in the living room while Khage laughed and jumped around, thrilled to be doing something out of the ordinary. Something a little... magical.

Incase you are calculating how many hours of therapy he is going to eventually need to fix this mess, I want you to know that I am not tricking/forcing him into seeing these pretend friends. We have discussed how they are not real and its just fun to use our imaginations and pretend. I remember as a child wanting so badly to have an imaginary friend... only to find out years later that I could have had one all along. I don't want Khage to miss out on the wonderful magic that comes along with playing pretend, so now the pretend knocks on his door...

COURAGEOUS KHAGE

Remember last time you stopped by, you figured you would waste a few minutes of your day on some light hearted fun....

but then I was all BAM in depression mode because my daughter was bald and I started projecting on you.

Sorry 'bout that. It's just that, if I'm having a crumb day I want company.

I'm obnoxious like that... and I get lonely in my misery.

But maybe I owe it to you to make this right. Challenge accepted.

Who doesn't love a tale of courage and heroics?

Let us begin...

A few nights ago Khage was lying in his bed, we read him a book, told him a story and kissed him goodnight. The little tyrant still takes more then an hour of lying there before he actually falls asleep, so we left his door slightly cracked so the lights from downstairs could give him just enough comfort but not keep him awake. Brad and I were in the kitchen when Khage started calling our names, not completely unusual considering if you tell a kid to go to bed they will always ask for a drink of water. Always.

We ignored him. But then he started getting frantic. Brad went in to check on him and he told Daddy that a scorpion monster came into his room.

And so the nightmares begin.

But then he quickly changed his story to just a regular scorpion came into his room. Because his story was jumping all over the place, he obviously couldn't be trusted. Three year olds at lightsout will start getting desperate. So Brad tried to put him back in bed but Khage wasn't having any of that business. So the kind Daddy that Brad is agreed to black light for scorpions and prove there weren't any...

But then there was. A scorpion was right next to his door. Khage literally lied in bed and watched a scorpion walk into his room. Because the door was cracked, he could see it moving in the sliver of light. Apparently his eyesight is marvelous.

I think a thank you Mommy for making me eat all my carrots is in order.

After Brad killed it we let Khage lie in our bed for a good 45 minutes to calm down. By then it was getting pretty late and we all needed to get to sleep. Just to throw it out there Brad told Khage it was time for him to go get into his own bed. And he did it. He actually did it. When I was a kid and there was a spider in the house I avoided that area for weeks, even after it was dead. As far as I was concerned that area belonged to the bugs. It was like their delegated hangout spot and I wasn't gonna fight them for it. It was an unspoken agreement, if the spiders had clubhouses in various spots of the house they wouldn't need to go into my bed. Even as a child I was very wise.

But Khage and all his moxy. He didn't have an issue climbing back into his scorpion infested room to go to sleep.

This kids a warrior.

 

 

And that's the only picture you get.

 

If you thought for one second that I was going to leave my child alone in his room with a scorpion while I went for my camera, you are sadly mistaken.

 

Talk about traumatizing. Khage try not to get stung by the poisonous creature while Mommy documents this charade. I wanna capture the look of terror on your face so don't move a muscle.

 

And the award for worst mommy ever goes to...

OUR BALD BABY



Spoiler alert. This one's a real downer.

I don't think making the photos black and white did me any favors. Black and white's just make everything seem so much more dramatic. But, I guess seeing pictures of a Daddy shaving his daughter's hair doesn't help either... its all very depressing. Black and white or not.

I pondered for days how I was going to write this post. I planned on putting a funny spin on it.

That's just in bad taste, because there is nothing humorous about having to shave your daughters head to help prevent her from pulling out her own hair. It started with her gently playing with her hair when she was tired but within months she had bald spots. We started finding broken pieces scattered in her bed, covering her clothes when we took her out of the car seat, and tangled in her fingers all throughout the day. Initially we would tell her nono but that only resulted in her doing it more often and then simply handing us the hair as a pardon.

It was heart breaking to watch and we could tell that she did it instinctively. If she was hurt, sad or sick she would just sit their yanking strands out and it became unbearable to see. She was working through something and obviously she didn't know any other way to express herself. Brad wanted to shave her hair from the get go, but I figured it was all just a phase that she would grow out of and I didn't want to cut off all her hair if we didn't have to. I still believe it's just a phase but I also know a habit is hard to break, especially if you have access to the habit all day, every day. I'm looking at you cheese in the fridge.

So my MIL kindly crocheted Harlyn little blankets from a yarn with hair like fibers and we give those to her whenever she's tired or upset. They have become sort of an alternative and they seem to be working quite well.

Her pediatrician believes hair pulling to be a comforting technique for her and a means of handling the stress brought on by weaning her from breast feeding. There is a condition known as trichotillomania that involves the irresistible urge to pull ones hair, but her doctor doesn't think an impulse control disorder can affect a baby this young.

Only time will tell.

Until then we will just have to spoil this girl with love and help her to work through this situation as best she can.

Sad post over.

DADDY'S DAY

My kids have the best Daddy.

I know, I know. You think your kids have the best Daddy.

Frankly, in a contest such as this there really isn't a single winner. The world would be more then happy to grant every Daddy this award. And while Daddies win the title they aren't the only ones who win. Our kids win too for obvious reasons; they are the proud owners of a Best Daddy. And us wives win as well, because look at us marrying a man who deserves such a title. We really know how to pick em'.

But lets stop bogarting the glory....

Brad is an amazing father. He works hard, provides for us, yada yada yada. I could ramble on all day about the cliché qualities of a Best Daddy and you better believe Brad possess all of them.

Well, most of them. His patience could use some work.

j/k honey, me love you long time.

But seriously, work on your patience.

There is one quality in Brad that I know not all Daddies possess; he always want's to be here, at home with us, smack in the middle of the chaos and the crying. He doesn't have his own time. His time is devoted to our kids. This wonderful man chooses his family first, every single time. The only way I can talk him into going on a motorcycle ride or slip off to the gym is once the kids have gone to bed. Its not out of guilt, but because this is where his heart is. His children are his life and nothing makes a woman happier then to be married to that kind of man.

So what do you get such a guy when Fathers Day rolls around...

A pontoon boat or something equally amazing, of course.

But that's a smidge over budget. So Khage made him this instead...

I asked Khage numerous questions about Brad and then took note of his answers. Then we used the other side of the frame for Khage to draw a picture of his Daddy. He even included a little doodle of himself. And ya if you were wondering that is in fact a picture of Khage and Brad playing ball up on a wall.

 

Try and tell me in twenty years Brad wont stumble upon this and cry like he never has before.

That's my mission when giving gifts, to reduce Brad to tears.

I think this ones gonna get him. 
Sorry in advance old man Brad, but I'm coming for you.

MY LITTLE HELPERS

When my kids hear the mixer start up they all come a runnin'.

I dont blame them. If I was to hear something sizzling in a cast iron skillet I know I would hurry on over to investigate.

Khage says he just wants to help me bake, but I have come to realize that is really code word for Can I lick the spoon?

the bowl?

the wisk?

and/or the counter?

Harlyn is there purely to make a mess. Her job isn't complete until there is batter dripping down the cabinets and onto the floor.

Which works out quite well considering Khage is the self proclaimed clean up kid.

I had taken other pictures that actually included faces, but in my opnion this one takes the cake. Two little hands up to no good. The one on the right is Harlyn, busy scooping batter out of the bowl and onto the counter with a measuring spoon.

At least Khage is acting productive.  Fake stir. Fake stir. Lick. Repeat.

HARLYN'S ONE YEAR PHOTOSHOOT

I am inlove with these photos.

Every. Last. One.

I guess I could really do without the crying one down at the bottom right. But for the sake of capturing Harlyn at the age of one, it needed to be included because lets face it this girl crys a lot.

Shes a big crier.

Huge cry baby.

But now we're just name calling.

She refused to wear her headband for most of the photos so that's probably why she's crying. I always make a big huff over her taking them off, seems like I hurt her feelings.

Get over it girl, Mama's trying to freeze time and I want you fully accessorized. Now spit out that mud and stop playing in the dog's water bowl.

Yup, that pretty much sums up all backyard dialog between Harlyn and I.

This was probably the hardest photoshoot to date, which is ironic because it entailed zero posing. I just wanted to follow her around and capture the tiniest details while she played; the way her wispy hair sits atop her tiny head, her little toes with the overgrown toe nails (fail), her scrawny little neck and long legs, the expression on her face while she sucks on her fingers and her adorable toothy grin. I wanted it all.

I'm greedy like that.


*Don't for a second think this concludes the Harlyn Turned One series. I haven't even talked about her birthday yet. If you don't much care for babies' faces covered in cake steer clear of this blog for a few days.

But do come back, oh how I love our one sided conversations.

ONE YEAR IN PICTURES

12 arm chair relocations
11 of which required lugging the chair downstairs from the upstairs
10 headbands
747 pictures taken
90% of those pictures discarded
9 baby smiles
and a whole heck of a lot of yelling and song singing (at an annoyingly high level) just to get said smiles.

Worth it?

 

Absolutely.

Just for the record, I deserved the full 12 smiles.

But in the first few photos she was a newborn and newborns are always blah. They don't respond well to my singing or my jokes... obviously that's a character flaw that they grow out of because soon enough her and I started jivin'.

Then at six months she went through another shady phase. But that one I deserved. We needed to work through some things. That was the month we transitioned her from her safe little baby bath into the real bathtub... needless to say, I forgot how slippery babies can be and she went under a few times during the washing cycle.

My bad.

 



BABY HATING

When it comes to babies, there is one thing I hate more then anything else.

Birth?
Heck no, that gave me warrior status, and I desperately wanted that.

Poop diapers?

Wrong.

Spaghetti night? Oh how I hate spaghetti night.

A poop diaper doesn't even come close; that's only one crack to take care of but with spaghetti night we are talking about a bunch of cracks and crevices filled with pasta sauce and noodles. And not to mention what can be found tangled into hair, shoved into ears and smashed onto every surface in a two foot parameter.... and Harlyn's poop diapers never get that bad.

And no matter how good you clean the kitchen, the next day you'll still find one last covert noodle hardened onto the underside of the table.

Just stop serving spaghetti...

You hold your tongue. Spaghetti has been served in America since the 19th century, what business do I have removing it from the menu? And it's delicious, all piled high with parmesan cheese. A little spaghetti on your parmesan anyone?

So its not the dish that boils my water, its the sudden impulse that a baby gets to flail and fling sticky noodles in every possible direction BUT into their own pie hole.

In Harlyn's spaghetti throwing rage she even flung off one of her shoes.

That has never happened on quesadilla night.

It's acceptable when people's shoes fly off when they get into bicycle accidents but not during dinner.

So from now on, shoes stay on. Noodles go directly into mouth. And red sauce stays off white chairs. All spaghetti induced seizures shall be saved for dinner out at restaurants.

By order of the warrior.

OUT WITH THE NEW

Typically this blog has had a single purpose: document the cute, gross and weird things my kids do. I try and  keep it lighthearted and fun, and I don't want to bog you down with information about me. I just flash you cute pics of my kids and keep you at arms length. Were not best friends, I dont want to make any assumptions... I made that mistake in elementary school once and then that girl stole my jacket. And it wasn't any ol' jacket it was reversal. So really, she stole two of my jackets.

But today I am going to confide in you. Brad and I are budgeting. I'm talking about serious Dave Ramsey live like no one else so later you can live like no one else budgeting. It's intense but we are committed.

Committed enough to trade in my precious iphone for a new phone... and I use the term new very very loosely. It's rickety and akward and it has had a few previous owners, including myself a few years ago.

I know I just lost all street cred.

But Dave is gonna be so proud of me... he's gonna wanna be my best friend and borrow my winter wear and I know he will return it because that's what real BFFs do. So who cares if my phones a little outdated, doesn't receive texts sometimes and I hate it so much that I left it on the hood of my car and drove a few miles because subconsciously I want it die.

It's all for you Dave... you and the millions of dollars I'm gonna have soon enough.

I'm really glad you and I had this talk. Not Dave and I, you and I. I'm talking to you, person on the other side of the computer screen. I feel closer to you already.

But not as close as Dave and I are gonna be. We may end up buying matching best friend bracelets... on sale of course.