If you can't take the heat...

Well, this post really has nothing to do with heat, or kitchens, or anything of the like.

It has to do with crime, specifically crime in my neighborhood.

Huh?

In the wee hours of the night a bunch of hooligans decided to go on a crime spree. At last count, and with only 2/3 of the street surveyed, 13 cars had been broken into. Violently. Our hooligans didn't just jimmy a lock, they busted out windows. The local glass repair shop actually sent representatives to canvas the street in search of victims of smash and grab. (Makes one wonder, maybe the glass repair shop needed some business -I'm just kidding, but it made us think!) And if you are wondering, yes, we one of those unfortunate families who woke up to a broken car window and subsequent repair bill (thanks Hooligans, we really needed that extra excitement this morning, not to mention the loss of $150 or so just so you could steal $2 in change). Sigh... I'm venting here because, well, my friends and family with either say or think the following: "That's what you get for living where you live." In a way, they're right, it is an urban neighborhood. However, it's just sad that to live in a great, wonderful community like this we also end up living with this kind of stuff. I am so thankful I can vent in the land of anonymity, because I don't really feel like defending the Ol' Hood and listing all of its virtues today, thank you very much. Whew, I feel better already, thanks to a little blogging and a Starbucks iced coffee (thank you Starbucks for sending me a coupon for a free coffee!). Now off to the usual excitement for the day - cleaning this house and wiping noses - after this morning I'll take it!

Mission Organization (and while we're at it What Not To Wear) where are you? I need you!

There are certain things I expected with motherhood, like lots of cuddles and hugs, bedtime stories, tantrums, an extra 5 (make that 20) pounds, but the complete and utter disintegration of the organization of my home I did not expect.

I used to pride myself on my organization and cleanliness. Sometimes I think God is using motherhood as a tool, you know "pride cometh before the fall" and all. Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? Anyway... the past few years have been a blur of baby gear and toddler toys and little money or creative ideas on what to do with all these things. I try to keep up, but the kiddos and their stuff are beating the pants off me.

Yowser, this place is a mess.

One of those messes where even after you clean it's still somehow messy.

My mother-in-law came over unexpectedly the other day. Well, let me clarify, The Husband invited her over and forgot to tell me. Which really isn't a big deal, ya'll know how I love the mother-in-law. However, I had been way overscheduled this past week, and since I'm the only one [and I say this with a smile, ya'll ;)] who cleans this house, well, the house was messy. Not just messy, but dirty messy. So when I walk in the door and see Grandma (surprise!) I am truly embarrassed and mumble something like, "I'm so embarrassed, the house is a mess." To which she replies, "Oh, your house is not messy, it's just... cluttered."

Oh how I wanted to melt right into the floor and disappear.

Letting go is hard to do...

Baby Girl has been sleeping more and more in her crib these days. Typically she sleeps in a portable crib in our room, but winds up in our bed sometime during the night. She still nurses, and since she and Little Man share a room (and that room is all the way upstairs), it's just easier that way. Our thinking so far has been that we all get more sleep with her downstairs and we're not dealing with horrible sleep training. However, the other night when Little Man was spending the night at Grandma's, we put Baby Girl in her crib for the night - all night.

She did beautifully, slept soundly all night long. Mama slept too, all night, which was the best part. Since then we've been putting Baby Girl in her crib upstairs for naps, and we're hoping to begin using it overnight. It's been hard, because it's not worth it to me if putting Baby Girl upstairs wakes up Little Man. It's been coming along slowly, and honestly, I'm a little sad about the whole thing. I love, love, love snuggling with my baby girl in the middle of the night, but....I'm tired. I've been almost seven months with a baby sleeping by, or in, my bed and oh my has my sleep suffered. I've realized it's time to let go a little, and while watching my children grow is one of my greatest joys, it also hurts just a little.

Little Man is "Too Cute!"

A few of the things Little Man has said or done lately...



I like to cup Little Man's chin and rub or pat his cheek. One day I did that to him and he looks at me with all the love in his heart and says, "Mommy, I pet you, too," and he "pets" my arm. He then looks at me and says, "and I pet Foster, and I pet Miller." This boy sure loves his momma and his dogs!

Little Man has a love/fear relationship with car washes. We pass several during our daily commuting, and he always exclaims loudly, and as if he's surprised at seeing that same car wash again, "Look! There's a car wash!! It has nothels, and hothes, and brushes, and soap. Yep, car wash is noisy.It has nothels..." Says it every single time.

The Husband usually gets up with Little Man in the mornings, and the two of them get to spend some quality father/son time together while momma sleeps in a bit. (not too much, mind you, like until the decadent hour of 7:30). Anyway, when I do get up and go into the den, Little Man usually points his finger at me and says rather loudly, "NO!! Go in the laundry room! You go in the laundry room!!!" He might also whine, stamp his foot, and flail his arms about at the same time. (Good morning to you, too, Little Man.) The laundry room is where we lock the dogs when we need them out of our way, that's the only reason I can think of that LM says this. Lumped in with the dogs, again.

"Hi Mom. You are Mom. Mom..... No, your name is Erin." Me, "I am Mommy." Little Man, "No, you are Mom." It went on like this for a few minutes before Little Man agreed I was "Mommy" again. Two and a half is too young for this!

"I got a skunk in my pants, gotta get that skunk out. Gotta get the stink off of me." (he says this sometimes when he has a dirty diaper)


Little Man has learned to open the fridge, and one day he saw two small bottles of pedialyte. He thought they looked quite yummy, so he asked if he could have one. I told him, "no, those are for when you are sick, and you aren't sick now." A day or two goes by, and one morning he comes up to me, snuggles with me, and is so sweet and loving. He's usually all about Daddy in the morning, so I jokingly asked him, "Are you sick or something?" He looks at me solemnly, goes to the fridge, and gets out the little bottle of pedialyte. He carries it over to me with the saddest look on his face, then says in the most pitiful voice he can muster, "Mommy, I sick, I so sick. Can I drink it?" How could I resist?

Happy Mother's Day, a little late...

Sometimes you get so caught up in the everyday sameness of being a stay at home mom. The feedings, diaper changes, temper tantrums, endless laundry and cleaning up messes - all those things that go along with kids. Almost every day, though, I'm reminded of why I absolutely LOVE being a mom, and why I feel so blessed to spend every day with my kids. Here's what reminded me today :)



The feeling of little arms wrapped around my neck for a sweet hug.


"Mommy, kiss it" requests.


My sweet baby girl laughing so hard she can hardly breathe.


Toddler grins that stretch from ear to ear.


Listening to Little Man talk as he figures out the world around him.


Snuggles on the couch.


Waking up to a warm and snugly baby in my bed.

The fact that toddlers don't walk, they run, skip, and jump.

The imagination of a two year old. Today Little Man rode one of his little cars around the house, saying, "I'm going to work now." Mommy replied, "Have a wonderful day, honey. " To which Little Man replied, "ok, I will!"

Anybody Want a Cat?

Oh where oh where do I start?

I have this cat, and have had him for almost nine years. He's pretty cute, but don't let that fool ya. You could say he's a feral kitty, his momma and daddy were feral, and even though he's been handled and taken care of by humans since the moment he was born, there's still a little feral in him. I got him when I was a senior in college, and wanting a dog but having neither the time nor space for one, got a kitty instead. I named him Harrison, or Harry, the Cat. All the good pictures of him were taken before my first digital camera, but here's a so-so picture of him, he's still pretty cute.

Well, Harry wasn't the dream cat I was expecting. He didn't cuddle up in my lap and purr or rub up against my legs. He liked to play "hunt" and "chase." He bit and scratched. He really didn't mean for it to hurt, but it sometimes did. I stuck with him, just the same. I thought he was just being a kitten and would soon outgrow it. (yeah, snort)

When my husband and I got married, he had a wonderful, sweet, and perfect dog - Foster. He was an almost two year old mini schnauzer, and how I loved him. Foster and Harry got along well enough, and after awhile actually enjoyed chasing each other about. Well, The Husband and I loved Foster so much that we decided to adopt another mini schnauzer. We found this wonderful rescue group SchnauzerLoveRescue and found our new puppy - Miller. (yes, they are named after beer, thanks to The Husband). Here's a picture of Foster, then Miller.

Well, the new dog was an alpha male, and while he and Foster got along great, the two of them against Harry Cat were no match. Harry soon began to live in one of our upstairs bedrooms. He never came out. EVER. A few months of this and no one else wanted to go into that room, including us. To make matters worse every once in a while (more like once a day) the dogs would go upstairs to play and Harry would get scared and spray - yes spray- all over the upstairs. This was really gross, ya'll.

With all this spraying going on, I knew something had to give, but what could we do with Harry?
Well, then I became pregnant with Little Man and, as his nursery was going to be upstairs, I knew I had a LOT of cleaning to do, as well as figuring out what to do with Harry. After months of trying to find a home for him and exhausting all my options, I had to have a frank conversation with my vet. I told him I was at my wit's end, what else could I possibly do? His answer was simple, he said I should just put Harry in the backyard. He said even if he only lasted a year or two in the yard (we have raccoons and real feral cats in our neighborhood) that it was a year or two of life and at least he was given a chance. Made sense to me. So that's how Harry the Cat began his journey of living outside for the past three and a half years.

Well, sort of. And here's where we get to the point of this post (finally).

We have a dog door. For the dogs. After about two years of living outside Harry figured out how to use it (smart cat, I know). Now he's inside much of the time. I find him under the bed, snuggled in my closet, and yes, in his old room upstairs. The stinky part is, if he does manage to sneak upstairs, he stuck, because he's too scared to run past the dogs to get back downstairs. It's become a battle of wills around here. We humans don't really like him inside, and neither do the dogs. Harry, on the other hand, is determined to reassert his position as an inside cat. Today I was taking a shower, and noticed the bathroom door had been pushed open. This usually means one of the dogs has wandered in to see what I'm up to, but this time it was Harry. I saw him staring at me through the glass door of the shower. It was kind of cute. Once I got out of the shower one of the dogs did wander in, and Bam! chased Harry Cat back outside. Maybe one of these days we'll all learn to live in harmony, but I somehow doubt it.

So....anybody want a cat?

How I love my MIL

I have an almost perfect MIL, and let me tell you, I know what a blessing that is. Yesterday, she really came through for us, in a big way. It had been awhile, say 2 months or so, since The Husband and I had been out together - alone. Now I know full well it's our fault for letting so much time pass without any quality time together, but what can I say? The self-employed workaholic and stay at home mom of two kids just couldn't get it together. Until yesterday, that is. We had an impromptu date! How exciting is that? Not only a date, a real one, but a spur of the moment one at that?

It all started when Little Man spent the night at Grandma's house. I was planning on picking him up after his nap, then rushing home in time to cook dinner. Now MIL lives about 40 minutes or so away, so by the time I drive out there, visit for awhile, load up the kids, then drive home it's taken up all of a morning or afternoon. Well, The Husband called around lunch and offered to pick up Little Man for me. I told him thank you but not to worry about it since I was planning on running a few errands out that way. Well, turns out The Husband was having a horrible day at work, saw no way to progress on any of his projects, so he said he'd come home early and we'd drive out there together. Yeah! Not only that, but then he said, "let's leave the kids with grandma and go have a cup of coffee and see an early movie."

Who is this husband?!

Leaving the kids in capable and trustworthy hands to go have a date with my husband - heaven. So we solicited the MIL, who was thrilled at the idea of having both kids for few hours, and off we went!

How sweet is my husband, and how sweet is my MIL?

Hugh Jackman in Wolverine wasn't too shabby, either;)

Weekend Hangover (not that kind of hangover)

After a thoroughly enjoyable, yet exhausting, Mother's Day weekend (when did Mother's Day get so complicated?) The Husband and I decided to rename our children. They shall now be known as Ol' Stubborn and Miss Attitude. In case you were wondering, yes, it was "one of those weekends" with the kids.

At least there's always tomorrow :)

Blog Salad

Well, hot and muggy arrived today. The kind of hot and muggy where you break out in a sweat about 2.5 seconds after walking out the front door. It's only early May, and already it's oppressive. Eventhough, the kids and I took a nice walk this morning. Our city has a wonderful urban park; hundreds of acres, trails upon trails, and probably a dozen lakes. We go there a few times a week with the jogger and do a fast, almost two mile walk. This walk is important to me, because our summer vacation is coming up, and it involves wearing a swimsuit in public. The kids seems to like it, too. Little Man is in heaven there. There are mama and daddy ducks with their baby ducks waddling or swimming in between them, geese, and lots of birds. There are also usually a few tractors scattered along the trail. Little Man is obsessed with tractors, construction vehicles, trucks, anything that's big and has wheels. Which leads me to...

Mighty Machines. We watch it about 5 times a day. It's a great educational children's show about all kinds of machines, trucks, factories, etc. The theme song is permanently stuck in my head. I'm singing it right now. "Mighty machines, working all day doing mighty things..." I don't think it's on tv anymore, but thanks to Grandma, we have several dvds of the show.

And speaking of Grandma, our family's picture was in the paper a few days ago. We were in the paper because of a story about Grandpa. Grandpa passed away a little over a year ago, and his town (a small town about 40 minutes from where we live, but close enough to seem like a suburb) paid a sweet tribute to him. A wonderful tribute, my husband and Grandma loved it. Anyway, there was a write up in the big local paper, along with a photo. A horrible, horrible photo. I can honestly say it was a bad photo of all of us. However, the photo of me was especially cringe worthy. The first time in my life my picture is in the paper and how I wish is weren't! Grandma said something like, "oh, you look so nice." I've learned over the years that when Grandma goes out of her way to say something like that, it's because the opposite is true. Like when I was pregnant and she kept talking about how thin I was (I wasn't), or immediately after I gave birth she mentioned how rested and refreshed I looked. (I didn't, in fact I had just gone through natural childbirth and looked so white/sick/bad the doctor thought something was truly wrong). She just says these little white lies to try to make a person feel better. Anyway, this picture is probably the worst picture ever taken of me, or at least in the top three worst. The only positive spin I can put on this picture is this: that it's the good Lord's way of keeping my pride in check, and if it is, it sure worked.

A Tale of Two Couches

So when I was single I bought this couch, a couch perfect for a single girl. And I loved it. It was beautiful, stylish, and best of all, comfy.

Did I mention that it is a solid color, khaki denim couch?

Or was a solid color, khaki denim couch.

I kept that couch immaculate, all while enjoying it, for two years. It didn't have a spot or stain on it, not one.

Enter The Husband, who a few years ago was just a serious boyfriend. Enter his love of eating meals while sitting on the couch, and eating chocolate ice cream while watching tv. He was careful for a while, but then he too, like the couch, got comfy.

Keeping that couch clean was a lost cause. After we were engaged, we built a new house together. It had a dog door, which is a great invention. The downside of a dog door, though, is what is also the upside of the dog door - that the dog can come and go as he pleases. Good 90% of the time. The rest of the time, not so good. Like when the dog finds some mud, or digs in the dirt, or there's an unexpected rain shower while me and The Husband are at work. So the couch gets a little dirty. One day while I was on a girls' trip, The Husband is sitting on the couch with his laptop doing a bit of work. He sits on a pen, one of those gel pens. The pressure of his little tushy pressing down on the tip of that pen was too much, and all the ink emptied out onto my beloved couch.

Did I also mention that this stylish, solid color khaki couch was dry clean only?

I know, I know, what was I thinking?

I was a very neat, very single girl when I bought it, remember?

Then enter our first baby. He had acid reflux. BAD. I'm talking projectile spit up, out of nowhere, no warning. Poor sweet baby. Poor couch.

Do you see where I'm going here?

We kept saying we were just going to buy another couch. But it always seemed like more important things came up. Like furniture for the nursery, a vacation, a home repair. It seemed like something always came up.

The couch is now eight years old, and has lived almost five years with The Husband and the dog door. It isn't as pretty, but it was holding it's own.

Until this week.

Little Man, who is almost three, was sitting on the couch with his chocky (chocolate) milk in a sippy cup, watching Noggin while his mom and dad were waiting for the coffee to kick in. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the unthinkable happens.

Little Man throws up. Chocolate milk. All. Over. The. Couch.

Gross.

Little Man is fine, it was just a fluke. We clean up the couch the best we can, and actually, you can't even see where the chocky milk throw up was.

You can, however, smell it.

Really gross.

I think the couch has finally met it's match. It's faced The Husband, the dogs, a toddler artist, and countless other things.

But it's no match for the chocky milk stuff. I have to accept it, my couch reeks.

Couch, your days are numbered. We'll have to start saving up for a new one.

Of course, we just paid a deposit on our vacation, and need to pay the balance soon.

Here we go again...

Hello World!

Well, I finally decided to jump on the blog bandwagon. As my mom would say, if my friends jumped off a bridge, I might just do it, too. I don't know about that, but I do have a few friends with blogs, and I greatly enjoy reading them, so….here goes my first attempt at this blogging thing. If you want to know a little bit about me, here it is… I’m a thirty something Southern gal married to a forty something guy. He can’t claim to be Southern, although he’s lived here for the past almost 30 years. We have our two sweet little munchkins, a son born in the summer of ‘06 and daughter born in the fall of ‘08. I’m going to call myself The Mama, my husband The Husband, and the kids Little Man and Baby Girl.

You can already tell how creative I am, right? Ha…

We live in the South, in a fairly big city on a pretty big river. I’ve lived here all my life, and my husband settled here when he was about 10 or so. Before kids, I worked in the allied health care field. I still do work a little, but I am blessed to mostly be able to stay home and enjoy my little ones. A friend once told me that for the first three years of life you just gotta marinate those kids with love, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. My husband is in the business/finance world, and he works an insane number of hours, but he’s a wonderful husband and father who works hard so his kids can have their momma at home.

If you’re wondering about the name of the blog..well, I mentioned that we live in a city. Now, when I say that, I mean the city. No surburia for this family. We live in a hip, funky, recently revitalized city neighborhood - and we love it. Sure, it has its drawbacks…some blight, some riffraff, but it also has its advantages. We walk to some of the best restaurants in the city, as well as some favorite coffee shops and stores. There’s always something fun going on -it’s a great neighborhood and a community, pure and simple. We do get teased a bit by friends and relatives, for living on “the wrong side of the tracks,” and we do live right near a trainyard.

We’re on the right side of the tracks, but barely. Hence the name Our Side of the Tracks.

Hope you enjoy!