Sleep: Interrupted

Happy Hump Day.  Did yours start at 3 am like mine?  No?  Well, then you're in luck!  Finn is throwing a middle-of-the-night-party...and y'all are invited.  Please show up at my house between 12:30 am and 4 am for a swinging good time with one very alert boy.  No RSVP necessary, I'll just open the door and pass him off to you...entertain at will; lock the door behind you when you leave.

What?  You don't want to show up at my house in the ass-crack of night?  You don't want to get out of the warm softness of your bed, walk across a cold hardwood floor to a crying baby?  You don't want to wipe away snot form his nose and real tears from his eyes and change his diaper and have a lovely conversation before the sun has even started to think about maybe rising?  I can't imagine why not.

Monday night (so I guess, technically Tuesday morning...) he woke up about 12:30 am.  I changed him.  I rocked him.  I talked to him.  I rocked him some more.  I gave him a snack.  And then he and I had a bit of a come-to-Jesus chat when he decided that he still didn't want to go to sleep and the clock said 2 am.  Last night he was awake at 3am.  Uriah got up with him and, of course, he was only up for about an hour...but it's hard to fall back  to sleep when you've been rudely awakened and then once I do, it feels like I'm only asleep for 12 seconds before the alarm goes off.  On the plus side, my alarm clock is set to the Christmas music station.  Don't judge.

I'll be happy when he has his 4-month check up in a couple of weeks because I'm not quite sure what's going on.  He went from sleeping really well through the night to waking up in the middle of it.  We thought maybe he was hungry, so we fed him a little more before bed, but that does not seem to be the problem because, clearly, he's still waking up.  I'm hesitant to put some rice cereal in his bottle yet, although everyone I've talked to said it's like the nectar of the Gods and it got their kiddos through the night.  I may buckle if this late-night trend continues because I am dang tired today. 

In other news...Abby's birthday is coming up.  She lets us know just about every night.  And she also marked it on the calendar.  In case we forgot.  Let me just tell you that if I have another baby (in 74 years) it will not be born in December.  It is too hard to come up with a tween-appropriate gift for one holiday, much less two in the same month.  Suggestions would be nice since she put cowboy hat and cowboy boots on her list.  Seriously?  I'm gonna need some help here...

Happy Hump Day.  Did yours start at 3 am like mine?  No?  Well, then you're in luck!  Finn is throwing a middle-of-the-night-party...and y'all are invited.  Please show up at my house between 12:30 am and 4 am for a swinging good time with one very alert boy.  No RSVP necessary, I'll just open the door and pass him off to you...entertain at will; lock the door behind you when you leave.

What?  You don't want to show up at my house in the ass-crack of night?  You don't want to get out of the warm softness of your bed, walk across a cold hardwood floor to a crying baby?  You don't want to wipe away snot form his nose and real tears from his eyes and change his diaper and have a lovely conversation before the sun has even started to think about maybe rising?  I can't imagine why not.

Monday night (so I guess, technically Tuesday morning...) he woke up about 12:30 am.  I changed him.  I rocked him.  I talked to him.  I rocked him some more.  I gave him a snack.  And then he and I had a bit of a come-to-Jesus chat when he decided that he still didn't want to go to sleep and the clock said 2 am.  Last night he was awake at 3am.  Uriah got up with him and, of course, he was only up for about an hour...but it's hard to fall back  to sleep when you've been rudely awakened and then once I do, it feels like I'm only asleep for 12 seconds before the alarm goes off.  On the plus side, my alarm clock is set to the Christmas music station.  Don't judge.

I'll be happy when he has his 4-month check up in a couple of weeks because I'm not quite sure what's going on.  He went from sleeping really well through the night to waking up in the middle of it.  We thought maybe he was hungry, so we fed him a little more before bed, but that does not seem to be the problem because, clearly, he's still waking up.  I'm hesitant to put some rice cereal in his bottle yet, although everyone I've talked to said it's like the nectar of the Gods and it got their kiddos through the night.  I may buckle if this late-night trend continues because I am dang tired today. 

In other news...Abby's birthday is coming up.  She lets us know just about every night.  And she also marked it on the calendar.  In case we forgot.  Let me just tell you that if I have another baby (in 74 years) it will not be born in December.  It is too hard to come up with a tween-appropriate gift for one holiday, much less two in the same month.  Suggestions would be nice since she put cowboy hat and cowboy boots on her list.  Seriously?  I'm gonna need some help here...

Louisburg Cider Mill

I love fall.  It's my most favorite season...good things happen in the fall.  Flip flops get replaced by flats in the fall and sweaters come out of hibernation.  Scarves become necessary and don't get me started on hats.  I love love love hats. 

Saturday, in honor of the crisp air, and the fact that I didn't have to work, I loaded up my little family and headed deep into Kansas to visit a cider mill.  Does it get any more fall than a cider mill...apples and hay bales and pumpkins? 

I have been wanting to go to the Louisburg Cider Mill for weeks now, and it finally worked out that Uriah didn't have an event yesterday and I didn't have to work (I love love love the first Saturday!).  As I was feeding Finn early Saturday morning, I broached the subject of maybe taking a family road trip.  Uriah procrastinated for a bit, I think he just wanted to stay home and relish in an entire weekend off...he actually used the fact that laundry needed to be done as an excuse to stay home.  But I was determined. I didn't care that there were storm windows to put up and leaves to rake, I wanted to go to the cider mill and I would not be delayed another weekend.  I demanded that everyone get ready to go and loaded them into the car. 

It was one of those glorious fall Saturday mornings.  It was a little bit crisp outside and there was a bit of a breeze, but the sun was shining bright in the blue sky.  We took off down 69 Highway farther into Kansas than I have been in the 4 years that I've lived here (yes, I realize that I work in Kansas, but that's just across the state line and doesn't really count.  I'm talking about going into Kansas).  It's prettier than I thought it would be.  In fact, I commented a couple of times to Uriah that I felt like we were driving to Uncle Mike's house in Minnesota and for a minute I was so homesick that I couldn't breathe.

It was just after 11 when we got to the cider mill and they were doing a bustling business.  People were coming and going with brown bakery bags in hand, the slight stained outline of cake doughnuts could be seen on the sides.  The smell of apple cider brewing hung heavy on the air and the sound of kids running around mixed with the crunch of leaves beneath our feet.  We looked around outside; I thought there was a corn maze, but apparently not this particular weekend.  We wandered through the General store, our mouths watering at the smell of the doughnuts.  Uriah bought a bag of doughnuts and some hot cider and we took our morning snack outside to enjoy the sunshine.  I'm ready to go back just for the doughnuts.  They were...amazing.  Light with a hint of cinnamon and the cider was hot, but not scalding; the perfect accompaniment for the doughnuts.  Before we took our self-guided tour of the cider mill, Uriah put some cinnamon sugar on Finn's lip and that baby's eyes got really big and his tongue licked at that sugar with the quickness of a lizard.  I think it's safe to say that he liked it...and that I passed my sweet tooth on.

We finally meandered our way back home where Saturday chores awaited us.  The house got semi-cleaned, the laundry got done, and Uriah raked some leaves.  Abby spent the afternoon playing with her friends and she came in smelling like fall.  I made ribs for dinner and we rented a movie for Abby (How to Train Your Dragon) and a movie for us (Robin Hood). 

It was the perfect Saturday...and on Sunday-Funday, in the midst of football and snacks and pumpkin bars...Finn learned to roll from his tummy to his back.

I love fall.  It's my most favorite season...good things happen in the fall.  Flip flops get replaced by flats in the fall and sweaters come out of hibernation.  Scarves become necessary and don't get me started on hats.  I love love love hats. 

Saturday, in honor of the crisp air, and the fact that I didn't have to work, I loaded up my little family and headed deep into Kansas to visit a cider mill.  Does it get any more fall than a cider mill...apples and hay bales and pumpkins? 

I have been wanting to go to the Louisburg Cider Mill for weeks now, and it finally worked out that Uriah didn't have an event yesterday and I didn't have to work (I love love love the first Saturday!).  As I was feeding Finn early Saturday morning, I broached the subject of maybe taking a family road trip.  Uriah procrastinated for a bit, I think he just wanted to stay home and relish in an entire weekend off...he actually used the fact that laundry needed to be done as an excuse to stay home.  But I was determined. I didn't care that there were storm windows to put up and leaves to rake, I wanted to go to the cider mill and I would not be delayed another weekend.  I demanded that everyone get ready to go and loaded them into the car. 

It was one of those glorious fall Saturday mornings.  It was a little bit crisp outside and there was a bit of a breeze, but the sun was shining bright in the blue sky.  We took off down 69 Highway farther into Kansas than I have been in the 4 years that I've lived here (yes, I realize that I work in Kansas, but that's just across the state line and doesn't really count.  I'm talking about going into Kansas).  It's prettier than I thought it would be.  In fact, I commented a couple of times to Uriah that I felt like we were driving to Uncle Mike's house in Minnesota and for a minute I was so homesick that I couldn't breathe.

It was just after 11 when we got to the cider mill and they were doing a bustling business.  People were coming and going with brown bakery bags in hand, the slight stained outline of cake doughnuts could be seen on the sides.  The smell of apple cider brewing hung heavy on the air and the sound of kids running around mixed with the crunch of leaves beneath our feet.  We looked around outside; I thought there was a corn maze, but apparently not this particular weekend.  We wandered through the General store, our mouths watering at the smell of the doughnuts.  Uriah bought a bag of doughnuts and some hot cider and we took our morning snack outside to enjoy the sunshine.  I'm ready to go back just for the doughnuts.  They were...amazing.  Light with a hint of cinnamon and the cider was hot, but not scalding; the perfect accompaniment for the doughnuts.  Before we took our self-guided tour of the cider mill, Uriah put some cinnamon sugar on Finn's lip and that baby's eyes got really big and his tongue licked at that sugar with the quickness of a lizard.  I think it's safe to say that he liked it...and that I passed my sweet tooth on.

We finally meandered our way back home where Saturday chores awaited us.  The house got semi-cleaned, the laundry got done, and Uriah raked some leaves.  Abby spent the afternoon playing with her friends and she came in smelling like fall.  I made ribs for dinner and we rented a movie for Abby (How to Train Your Dragon) and a movie for us (Robin Hood). 

It was the perfect Saturday...and on Sunday-Funday, in the midst of football and snacks and pumpkin bars...Finn learned to roll from his tummy to his back.

Friday with Finn

Here it is...Baby Boy's 3-month picture.  Long awaited...I know, but I confirmed that my Mama (and Pops, too, not to be left out!) received their copy via the United States Postal Service.  It's a little bit pixelized because I had to scan it in and then upload it.  Because I am cheap.

I decide one week and 5 days after Finn officially turned 3 months to call and make an appointment.  After careful consideration, I eschewed JC Pennys Portrait Studio and Wals-Mart in favor of a relatively popular quickie photo studio.  I called on a Tuesday morning and spoke with a seemingly nice girl who's pupils, upon hearing that I'd never been there before and that this was my first baby, immediately morphed into the shape of dollar signs.  She eagerly assured me that they had an opening for me that day and...wow....at the exact time I requested.  I fed the baby and put him down for a nap so that he would be a chipper chicken for his first official portrait.  After a longer than usual nap, I started to panic a little that we were going to be late.  I got the baby dressed, put on the biggest bib I could find so that he wouldn't drool or puke on the new outfit that I purchased specifically for this moment and headed out the door.

We arrived - EARLY (which is nearly unheard of and amazing given that I wasn't quite sure where I was going).  Was asked by photo girl if we wanted the Christmas backdrop.  I said no and she informed me that we'd have to wait for the other studio.  This was not a big deal as we had arrived early.  So we waited.

Fast forward 20 minutes.  We are still waiting, but now we get to wait with a darling little Hispanic boy in a lion costume (so dang cute!) and his very pregnant mother (so dang huge!) who had an appointment after ours.  Little Lion was vacillating between throwing large Lego blocks around the waiting area and squatting down to look at Finn, who at this point was drooling like a broken water main.  And still we waited.  I watched the FOUR KIDS UNDER FOUR monopolize the other non-Christmas studio by running around and absolutely NOT paying a lick of attention to the harried mother who was trying to corral them.  The dad was there...except he wasn't doing anything the help get four kids to smile and look in the same direction at the same time.  In fact, he looked bored and as annoyed as I felt.  Oh, and did I mention that it was noon...lunch time, anyone?  I sure as hek wouldn't pay attention if I were 4 years old and starving and my sister was pulling my hair.  Even the mac-and-cheese bribe that the mom was tossing out wasn't making those kids pay attention.

We finally got into the non-Christmas studio.  Things were going well, Finn was smiling and holding his head up and pretty much working the camera like a pro.  In the middle of changing the backdrop, however, Little Lion decides that maybe he wants to be in the pictures with the cute baby AND COMES INTO THE STUDIO!  And the mother just smiled and chased him around the studio as best as she could.  I think she was just tired and couldn't move very fast because of her ginormous belly and her overly-energetic son.  I can relate, so I tried my best to help her snag her Lion.  We finally cornered him when he crawled under the kid-sized armchair and got stuck.  By that time, Finn was getting a little hungry and kind of fussy, so we finish one final pose and sit down to place the order. 

BALLS!  All pictures were cute.  I mean, really cute.  I mean, Gerber called and wanted to sign him as their new baby model cute.  I knew they were going to be good, but they were really good.  And obviously I am his mother, so I should think he's cute, but the sales girl totally knew it, too.  Even the mom of the 4 kids, who was still there with her hungry kids, knew it.  She told me.  The sales girl was counting her commission in her head.  Luckily, she informed me, I didn't have to make a decision becasue I can purchase ALL OF THEM for the low, low price of $500.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I told her I'd like to pay my bills this month and feed my kids and put some gas in my car and not have my husband become my ex-husband.  I watched the dollar signs fade a little from her pupils and the air around her chill just the slightest bit.  She tried to sell me on 4 poses, then 3 then 2... 

I wanted them all, really I did, but I finally had to strap on my cheap pants and choose just one.  I felt like a terrible mother for not buying all of the pictures of my darling boy to save for posterity (or for his future girlfriends to laugh at).  I understand that this is the feeling that they want you to have so that you can justify eating cereal for the next decade because your grocery budget is now hanging on the wall.  I fake texted Uriah so that he could be the stingy one, and then told the girl that I was so sorry, but "we" were going to go with just one pose, thank you very much.  I endured the disgusted look and the "If that's your final decision, I'm going to have to delete all of these pictures.  Are you sure that's what you want me to do?" final sales pitch.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reminding myself that this is just 3-months and that he'll have 6 month, 9 month and 1 year pictures.  I took my cheap-ass-one-pose package of pictures and my baby, waved to the Little Lion and his mama, and went home to hang my kid up on the wall and make something decidedly non-cereal like for dinner.

Here it is...Baby Boy's 3-month picture.  Long awaited...I know, but I confirmed that my Mama (and Pops, too, not to be left out!) received their copy via the United States Postal Service.  It's a little bit pixelized because I had to scan it in and then upload it.  Because I am cheap.

I decide one week and 5 days after Finn officially turned 3 months to call and make an appointment.  After careful consideration, I eschewed JC Pennys Portrait Studio and Wals-Mart in favor of a relatively popular quickie photo studio.  I called on a Tuesday morning and spoke with a seemingly nice girl who's pupils, upon hearing that I'd never been there before and that this was my first baby, immediately morphed into the shape of dollar signs.  She eagerly assured me that they had an opening for me that day and...wow....at the exact time I requested.  I fed the baby and put him down for a nap so that he would be a chipper chicken for his first official portrait.  After a longer than usual nap, I started to panic a little that we were going to be late.  I got the baby dressed, put on the biggest bib I could find so that he wouldn't drool or puke on the new outfit that I purchased specifically for this moment and headed out the door.

We arrived - EARLY (which is nearly unheard of and amazing given that I wasn't quite sure where I was going).  Was asked by photo girl if we wanted the Christmas backdrop.  I said no and she informed me that we'd have to wait for the other studio.  This was not a big deal as we had arrived early.  So we waited.

Fast forward 20 minutes.  We are still waiting, but now we get to wait with a darling little Hispanic boy in a lion costume (so dang cute!) and his very pregnant mother (so dang huge!) who had an appointment after ours.  Little Lion was vacillating between throwing large Lego blocks around the waiting area and squatting down to look at Finn, who at this point was drooling like a broken water main.  And still we waited.  I watched the FOUR KIDS UNDER FOUR monopolize the other non-Christmas studio by running around and absolutely NOT paying a lick of attention to the harried mother who was trying to corral them.  The dad was there...except he wasn't doing anything the help get four kids to smile and look in the same direction at the same time.  In fact, he looked bored and as annoyed as I felt.  Oh, and did I mention that it was noon...lunch time, anyone?  I sure as hek wouldn't pay attention if I were 4 years old and starving and my sister was pulling my hair.  Even the mac-and-cheese bribe that the mom was tossing out wasn't making those kids pay attention.

We finally got into the non-Christmas studio.  Things were going well, Finn was smiling and holding his head up and pretty much working the camera like a pro.  In the middle of changing the backdrop, however, Little Lion decides that maybe he wants to be in the pictures with the cute baby AND COMES INTO THE STUDIO!  And the mother just smiled and chased him around the studio as best as she could.  I think she was just tired and couldn't move very fast because of her ginormous belly and her overly-energetic son.  I can relate, so I tried my best to help her snag her Lion.  We finally cornered him when he crawled under the kid-sized armchair and got stuck.  By that time, Finn was getting a little hungry and kind of fussy, so we finish one final pose and sit down to place the order. 

BALLS!  All pictures were cute.  I mean, really cute.  I mean, Gerber called and wanted to sign him as their new baby model cute.  I knew they were going to be good, but they were really good.  And obviously I am his mother, so I should think he's cute, but the sales girl totally knew it, too.  Even the mom of the 4 kids, who was still there with her hungry kids, knew it.  She told me.  The sales girl was counting her commission in her head.  Luckily, she informed me, I didn't have to make a decision becasue I can purchase ALL OF THEM for the low, low price of $500.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I told her I'd like to pay my bills this month and feed my kids and put some gas in my car and not have my husband become my ex-husband.  I watched the dollar signs fade a little from her pupils and the air around her chill just the slightest bit.  She tried to sell me on 4 poses, then 3 then 2... 

I wanted them all, really I did, but I finally had to strap on my cheap pants and choose just one.  I felt like a terrible mother for not buying all of the pictures of my darling boy to save for posterity (or for his future girlfriends to laugh at).  I understand that this is the feeling that they want you to have so that you can justify eating cereal for the next decade because your grocery budget is now hanging on the wall.  I fake texted Uriah so that he could be the stingy one, and then told the girl that I was so sorry, but "we" were going to go with just one pose, thank you very much.  I endured the disgusted look and the "If that's your final decision, I'm going to have to delete all of these pictures.  Are you sure that's what you want me to do?" final sales pitch.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reminding myself that this is just 3-months and that he'll have 6 month, 9 month and 1 year pictures.  I took my cheap-ass-one-pose package of pictures and my baby, waved to the Little Lion and his mama, and went home to hang my kid up on the wall and make something decidedly non-cereal like for dinner.

Last night...

...and the night before and the night before that and I'm pretty sure the night before that...Finn has decided that 3:00 am is the new witching hour.  What this means for the rest of the house (with the exception of Abby, who can sleep through a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant) is that we're awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!

A couple of nights he's done a pretty good job of talking himself back to sleep, so we don't go into his room unless he get's really angry.  Last night, while he wasn't really angry, he did go to bed with a stuffy nose and I am a sucker for a sick kid.  Unless there's vomit involved.  Then I invoke the Puke/Poop Agreement of 2008*.  So, at 3 this morning, I found myself awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!  Bright-eyed and busy-tailed and trying to deposit baby nose drops in a wiggly, stuffy boy who sounds just like the pugs next door.  Then, after a sufficient amount of time had passed (approximately 13 1/2 seconds), I attempted to suck out the loosened crap from up his nose.  And then, just to make up for the torture I feel I subjected him to in the wee small hours, I soothed him with a late-night snickety-snack.  And waited for him to fall blessedly back to sleep.

My mother is the reason for my snotty nose.  

 

As I laid my little head back down on my pillow sometime after 4, the only thing that I could think of was:

1. I should not have taken him outside this afternoon to rake the leaves.
2. My alarm clock is going to go off in 2.5 hours.  That is not enough time to get the exact amount of beauty sleep that I need.

My alarm did not need to go off because Finn started shifting in his bed and trying to breath through his stuffy nose holes around 6 and Uriah was giving off enough body heat to melt the entire state of Alaska.  So, once again I was awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!  Finn snoozed off and on for about an hour or so.  I had enough time to take a shower and do my hair and even put on make-up (in a lame attempt to downplay the puffiness of the morning.  I was unsuccessful.).

Abby decided this morning that she was going to eat breakfast at school, which is fine, she can eat breakfast at school 2 mornings a week.  However, she decided that she should get up at 6:50.  In the morning.  I'm not really sure why...she doesn't have to go out to the bus until 7:50, so she usually gets up at about 7:00 and if she's not eating breakfast at home, she's just saved herself another 15 minutes.  Which means that this morning she had almost a half an hour to kill before she had to leave for the bus.  So, I had her pick up some clothes that she had dumped on her floor and she read for a little bit.

And then I noticed the tights.

They were the black sparkly tights that she got for her Halloweener costume.  Now, this is a school of uniforms and I'm pretty certain that black sparkly tights are NOT on the approved attire list.  Let's all take a collective moment to remember that my sleep was stunted, at best, last night, so I have limited patience already.  Top that off with the fact that I am absolutely the farthest thing from a morning person there is.  Suffice it to say that Abby had to change, she used her sassy mouth with me, and she will be cleaning her entire room, including organizing her drawers and closet when she gets home from school.  And I'm pretty sure she took her sparkly tights to school with her and changed in the bathroom.

Based on the look I got, if I get a call that she's smoking in the girl's room, I won't be surprised.  Friday's trip to Barnes and Noble will include a stop in the parenting section.  And the travel section...Mama needs a vacation.


 *Puke/Poop Agreement of 2008 was enacted the first time Abby got sick at our house and vomited on the carpet and was further amended and approved in 2009 when she got sick while still in her lofted bed (The splatter...oh, God, I can still hear it!  It haunts me).  It states that I will change the majority of the poopy diapers of any children that Uriah and I should have together as long as he cleans up all of the puke.  That includes, but is not limited to: cleaning carpets immediately, washing bedding, cleaning the bathroom, sitting up with said puking child, emptying any puke receptacles that may be necessary during the course of the illness, and spraying copious amounts of Febreeze to mask the puke odor.  Because I hate vomit that much.

...and the night before and the night before that and I'm pretty sure the night before that...Finn has decided that 3:00 am is the new witching hour.  What this means for the rest of the house (with the exception of Abby, who can sleep through a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant) is that we're awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!

A couple of nights he's done a pretty good job of talking himself back to sleep, so we don't go into his room unless he get's really angry.  Last night, while he wasn't really angry, he did go to bed with a stuffy nose and I am a sucker for a sick kid.  Unless there's vomit involved.  Then I invoke the Puke/Poop Agreement of 2008*.  So, at 3 this morning, I found myself awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!  Bright-eyed and busy-tailed and trying to deposit baby nose drops in a wiggly, stuffy boy who sounds just like the pugs next door.  Then, after a sufficient amount of time had passed (approximately 13 1/2 seconds), I attempted to suck out the loosened crap from up his nose.  And then, just to make up for the torture I feel I subjected him to in the wee small hours, I soothed him with a late-night snickety-snack.  And waited for him to fall blessedly back to sleep.

My mother is the reason for my snotty nose.  

 

As I laid my little head back down on my pillow sometime after 4, the only thing that I could think of was:

1. I should not have taken him outside this afternoon to rake the leaves.
2. My alarm clock is going to go off in 2.5 hours.  That is not enough time to get the exact amount of beauty sleep that I need.

My alarm did not need to go off because Finn started shifting in his bed and trying to breath through his stuffy nose holes around 6 and Uriah was giving off enough body heat to melt the entire state of Alaska.  So, once again I was awake.  Awake.  AWAKE!  Finn snoozed off and on for about an hour or so.  I had enough time to take a shower and do my hair and even put on make-up (in a lame attempt to downplay the puffiness of the morning.  I was unsuccessful.).

Abby decided this morning that she was going to eat breakfast at school, which is fine, she can eat breakfast at school 2 mornings a week.  However, she decided that she should get up at 6:50.  In the morning.  I'm not really sure why...she doesn't have to go out to the bus until 7:50, so she usually gets up at about 7:00 and if she's not eating breakfast at home, she's just saved herself another 15 minutes.  Which means that this morning she had almost a half an hour to kill before she had to leave for the bus.  So, I had her pick up some clothes that she had dumped on her floor and she read for a little bit.

And then I noticed the tights.

They were the black sparkly tights that she got for her Halloweener costume.  Now, this is a school of uniforms and I'm pretty certain that black sparkly tights are NOT on the approved attire list.  Let's all take a collective moment to remember that my sleep was stunted, at best, last night, so I have limited patience already.  Top that off with the fact that I am absolutely the farthest thing from a morning person there is.  Suffice it to say that Abby had to change, she used her sassy mouth with me, and she will be cleaning her entire room, including organizing her drawers and closet when she gets home from school.  And I'm pretty sure she took her sparkly tights to school with her and changed in the bathroom.

Based on the look I got, if I get a call that she's smoking in the girl's room, I won't be surprised.  Friday's trip to Barnes and Noble will include a stop in the parenting section.  And the travel section...Mama needs a vacation.


 *Puke/Poop Agreement of 2008 was enacted the first time Abby got sick at our house and vomited on the carpet and was further amended and approved in 2009 when she got sick while still in her lofted bed (The splatter...oh, God, I can still hear it!  It haunts me).  It states that I will change the majority of the poopy diapers of any children that Uriah and I should have together as long as he cleans up all of the puke.  That includes, but is not limited to: cleaning carpets immediately, washing bedding, cleaning the bathroom, sitting up with said puking child, emptying any puke receptacles that may be necessary during the course of the illness, and spraying copious amounts of Febreeze to mask the puke odor.  Because I hate vomit that much.

Yes. We put our baby on the stove.

Finneaus celebrated his first Halloweener yesterday and Abby mourned her last Halloweener getting candy.

Next year Abby will have the dubious honor of passing out candy (she can still wear a costume, so don't get your panties in a knot).  There comes a point when the dentist calls and says, "By the way, you should have started saving for this kid's mouth six years ago," and you think to yourself..."Well, shit, who needs to retire?"  Actually, the reasoning is two-fold (why I feel that I have to justify this decision is beyond me, but I feel as though I do, so bear with me):

1.  She's going to need braces next year.  Her dentist really did tell me at her appointment in June that I should start saving for orthodontic work and it will start next summer.  And, while her oral hygiene has taken a complete 180 in the two years that she's been living with us, we're still cleaning up a little bit of a mouth mess.  So if I'm a little over-protective of her mouth, it's for good (financial) reasons.
2. Halloween really is for younger kids.  If you can grow a beard you should not be trick-or-treating.   If you can drive yourself to other neighborhoods to collect the KitKats and Butterfingers you should not be trick-or-treating.  So, next year Abby is going to have fun scaring the little kids and passing out candy.   She doesn't know it yet, but it will be much more fun to put on a mini-Halloweener production on the front porch than to be running around on a crazy sugar high for 3 hours only to throw up in an attempt to purge the body of excess sugar.  (This did not happen to us, but it could, so I like to avoid all possible scenarios where vomit could be involved).

So...Abby was a Punk Pixie this year and her costume got really good use.  She wore it to a Fall Party at the beginning of October and again for the Halloweener party that her Girl Scout troop had a couple of weekends ago and then again last night to Trick-or-Treat.  She spent Saturday night with Aunt Megs and they carved a pumpkin and watched scary ghost movies (Earnest Scared Stupid and Ghostbusters).  She did her own make-up for trick-or-treating and got a bunch of loot.  I, of course, found staples and poison in all of her Almond Joys and Milk-Duds and therefore had to confiscate them immediately.  Luckily I took a poison antidote in the morning so I personally "dispose of them."

Finneaus went as a lobster.  And yes, we put him in a pot on the stove.  I know...we are those parents.  Uriah put on his chef uniform and posed for pictures for me.  Yes, I am that wife.  Finn also got some Frankenstein socks from his Yankee Grandpa and Grandma and I got some pumpkin socks, so we had to pose for a picture together.  And, yes, I also put him in an I Love My Mummy onesie.  I am that mother.

All in all, I think we had a spooktacular day yesterday.  The weather was absolutely gorgeous (although cool and windy for the actual trick-or-treating part; Uriah is convinced that Finn is sick already).  This week has started off on a decidedly sugary note...it's amazing the powers those poisoned Almond Joy's can have on an otherwise long and tedious Monday. 

Finneaus celebrated his first Halloweener yesterday and Abby mourned her last Halloweener getting candy.

Next year Abby will have the dubious honor of passing out candy (she can still wear a costume, so don't get your panties in a knot).  There comes a point when the dentist calls and says, "By the way, you should have started saving for this kid's mouth six years ago," and you think to yourself..."Well, shit, who needs to retire?"  Actually, the reasoning is two-fold (why I feel that I have to justify this decision is beyond me, but I feel as though I do, so bear with me):

1.  She's going to need braces next year.  Her dentist really did tell me at her appointment in June that I should start saving for orthodontic work and it will start next summer.  And, while her oral hygiene has taken a complete 180 in the two years that she's been living with us, we're still cleaning up a little bit of a mouth mess.  So if I'm a little over-protective of her mouth, it's for good (financial) reasons.
2. Halloween really is for younger kids.  If you can grow a beard you should not be trick-or-treating.   If you can drive yourself to other neighborhoods to collect the KitKats and Butterfingers you should not be trick-or-treating.  So, next year Abby is going to have fun scaring the little kids and passing out candy.   She doesn't know it yet, but it will be much more fun to put on a mini-Halloweener production on the front porch than to be running around on a crazy sugar high for 3 hours only to throw up in an attempt to purge the body of excess sugar.  (This did not happen to us, but it could, so I like to avoid all possible scenarios where vomit could be involved).

So...Abby was a Punk Pixie this year and her costume got really good use.  She wore it to a Fall Party at the beginning of October and again for the Halloweener party that her Girl Scout troop had a couple of weekends ago and then again last night to Trick-or-Treat.  She spent Saturday night with Aunt Megs and they carved a pumpkin and watched scary ghost movies (Earnest Scared Stupid and Ghostbusters).  She did her own make-up for trick-or-treating and got a bunch of loot.  I, of course, found staples and poison in all of her Almond Joys and Milk-Duds and therefore had to confiscate them immediately.  Luckily I took a poison antidote in the morning so I personally "dispose of them."

Finneaus went as a lobster.  And yes, we put him in a pot on the stove.  I know...we are those parents.  Uriah put on his chef uniform and posed for pictures for me.  Yes, I am that wife.  Finn also got some Frankenstein socks from his Yankee Grandpa and Grandma and I got some pumpkin socks, so we had to pose for a picture together.  And, yes, I also put him in an I Love My Mummy onesie.  I am that mother.

All in all, I think we had a spooktacular day yesterday.  The weather was absolutely gorgeous (although cool and windy for the actual trick-or-treating part; Uriah is convinced that Finn is sick already).  This week has started off on a decidedly sugary note...it's amazing the powers those poisoned Almond Joy's can have on an otherwise long and tedious Monday.