Egads! Fiona Leigh is 1!

And quite frankly, she's pretty stoked about it. You would be too, if turning one meant a party and cake!
Here she's rocking some sweet shades on her way to the birthday festivities.


And then there was cake...


Which received a passing grade, and made it to the level of "so good I'll smear it into my hair"


Hey, it's my party--I'll wear cake if I want to. Back off!

Ahhh, Fiona Leigh.
At the age of one you are cheerful, inquisitive, and a little sassy. You have a goofy sense of humor--in this way you and your brother are very much alike. But there are so many ways in which you stand apart. You are so gentle with the cats and other babies, and if you really like someone (or something) you'll give it a kiss. At your birthday party you were so enamored of your snack of cracker and cheese that it received a kiss. You are not as interested in the water as your brother is, you much prefer to dig in the dirt or pull up the flowers. You love to sit and look at books, or bounce around to music.
I love that you don't take any crap from your brother--keep your ground! He needs to know that he can't push you around. I love that you love to eat. We've only found a few things that you aren't interested in consuming--and you'll put anything from the floor into your mouth. I have lost count of the number of googly eyes you've tried to consume.
Your vocabulary is growing every day, but you seem to reserve your talking for the family. I don't know if it's shyness or slyness, but you won't talk to just anyone.
You are a joy every day, and I love you.
Love,
Mama

Congratulate me!

Welcome to post 401!

I'd love to have lots of pithy things to say about posting 400 times in 4 years, but the long hard truth is: having babies makes you tired. Being tired makes you kind of dumb.

In other news, I took some classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and did a little blogging about it here. It made me think that I really would've kicked ass at Art School, if I hadn't been talked out of going. It also made me realize that I'm going to have to wait another 6 months to a year before I get back into a heavy art work schedule again.

Adrian is making me crazy--as only little boys can! This morning I had to tell him: don't eat your boogers, eat your breakfast.
Also, he has become exceedingly anxious about damn near everything and I find it really awful. Like for pete's sake kid, when I am in the bathroom I have no intention of climbing out the window to freedom. I don't need an escort. Does he heed these sage and sensible words? No. Instead I have had to explain to him what a period is and why boys don't get them. Although I am far more comfortable with that than I am with the opposite end of life. And don't think we've escaped the questions about death, either. OH NO. In fact he is quite fascinated by the whole thing and asks relentless questions about the expiration of life. Thank gods we haven't gotten to the metaphysics of death yet because that is a multi-cultural, multi-religious can of worms that I am not sure how to approach.
And in addition to his fascination with death, we have a fascination with superheroes! And bad guys! And how bad guys can be beat up by super heroes! And how quite possibly, the answer to all of life's disappointments is the beating up of the "bad guy" of the moment! Enter in threats of violence coupled with actual brute force. There's been manyMANYmany time outs for hitting, kicking, pushing, punching, and throwing directed at people. Frequently at Fiona Leigh, because in Adrian's rosy view of the world, life was better before she got here. I will give her credit though--she has no qualms about hitting him square in the face when he starts the melee.

As for my part, I remember being angry enough to hit my younger sibling, but I know it wasn't a daily, hourly occurrence. I also remember being really anxious about the monsters in my closet who were out to steal my opposable thumbs--but that was when I was 5. So maybe the whole furious/anxious Adrian is just genetic code, which means he should grow out of it. In the meantime, his butt will wear a groove into the time out spot and I will count the gray hairs as they arrive.
So far, we're up to 3.

Heeey!

This is Fiona's impression of the Fonz.
There's something about that facial expression that reminds me of my mom's sister Jan. I don't know exactly what it is, but for those of you who know her--do you see it too?

So here's a bit of a stunner: Fiona Leigh will be ONE YEAR OLD in FIVE WEEKS.
Where did 2007 go? What do you mean it's 2008?
Did anybody else loose 2003?

Techno crazed

Hullo!
As I type this I am simultaneously texting, uploading music to my portable music device, and knocking back a glass of wine. Who said that you can't do it all at once? (Let me add: it's easier to do it all at once after the kids are in bed)

This month's highlights:


Adrian got one of those hippity-hop bouncy balls. The basement is the perfect location for rainy day bouncing.

We visited Aaron's parents. It was a nightmare drive out there, with Adrian whining and screaming for nearly the entire drive.

My mom came to visit! Whee! As in weee packed A LOT into 4 days.


And finally: Fiona has learned to read. Well, not really. But every day she pulls all the books off the shelf and carefully inspects each one.

She's either going to be a librarian or have a wicked case of OCD.

Happy April, all.

Look! It's Fiona!

Egads! She stands!
I realize that Fiona has been getting the short end of the blogging stick of late. That's not because she's low baby on the totem pole, so much as it is that she is so very good. She sleeps well, she eats well, and she's quite possibly the most cheerful person I know.
I figure I'd post some photos and let you all bask in the joy that is Fiona Wee.


She loves to eat--all the live long day.



She helps Dad sort the laundry.



And she's almost ALWAYS smiling. Deeeelightful, through and through.
Now, brace yourselves...Adrian has a new haircut.


He's in the middle of chewing, which is why the funny face. But the hair! He requested a "sweet mohawk" from his dad last week and dad complied.
Boys will be boys, no doubt about that.

Posts from the land of Zombies.

Hullo to all--

I am writing to you from a place I haven't been in many many years: sleep deprived. It's an awful place and I recommend that you don't visit. Ever. How did I come to be here, you ask? Ah. Sit back and relax while I regale you with the tale of the past three weeks....

Things you should know beforehand: Aaron's job has a crazy swinging schedule. He works 4 dasy for 13 hours a day and then has 4 off. For 2 months he works during the day--leaving the house at 5am and returning home at 7pm. Then they switch! And he works nights. Same deal, 13 hour days.
Now our tale of terror: When he's on days, Aaron gets home and we all sit down and have dinner together. Then he and Adrian play while I put Fiona to bed. When he's on nights I am outnumbered by 2 tiny people to whom the word 'patience' is merely a collection of sounds. Basically I'm being yelled at by either Adrian or Fiona. Fiona b/c she's tired or wants attention, and Adrian b/c I won't ignore Fiona and "leave her in her bed". Even if it were possible to train her to go to bed at 5pm, I wouldn't do simply because then she'd be up at 5am. Not that that would make a difference. Herein lies the problem: Adrian HATES it when Aaron works nights. It creates all kinds of anxiety that his 3 year old brain is unable to put into words. It gets translated into actions instead...he has nightmares and he wakes up every 2 hours and seeks me out. It started 3 weeks ago and is continuing to this day. He sleeps in his bed until midnight just fine, and then I see him at 12, 2, 4 and 6 when he finally starts his day. Of course somewhere in there Fiona wakes up for her nightly feeding, so I'm up for that too. I've taken to going to bed at 9:30 so I can get 3ish hours of uninterrupted sleep. I hate this. I hate being so exhausted that I have no patience. I hate feeling trapped to this horrendous cycle of no sleep. I hate that I can't fix it. He's too little to be medicated. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say to Adrian to convince him that I'm not going to disappear in the middle of the night.

It takes a 3 year old...

It takes a 3 year old to demonstrate enthusiasm for food in a way that no one else can match.

Hey all.
Sorry to leave you hanging after the last post of doom and gloom. But life is chugging along and I am trying to find time to sit down at the computer rather than do all of the other mundane tasks of momdom.
Things here are allright. Adrian is going to preschool 3 days a week for 6 hours which gives me a little time to breathe deeply and enjoy the quiet. Fiona is crawling and pulling up and following Adrian at every opportunity, which he is enjoying (this week). I am making grand plans for gardens and art (involving solder!), and finding my life full of all of the blah chores: laundry, cooking, dishes, keeping the floors free of debris for the crawling girl. I'd love to tackle a big chore like making a pile of things to donate to Goodwill, but the very thought of such a project wears me out.
And now I have to go for a hair cut, with someone other than my regular stylist b/c she called in sick--this is the second appointment that has been canceled. I'm starting to take it a little personally. All of that is to say that I may be sporting a terrible head of hair for the forseeable future. In which case: hooray for hats.

ME!

Hiya!

Amber keeps asking me to post about me, so if you are completely bored by self-indulgent mundane drivel now would be the time to walk away.

Aaaah. Let's see. The weighty question I've been asked to answer is how I'm doing. The glib answer to that would be fair to medium. The long answer, if you've got the time is as follows:

I'm doing better.
Winter is the worst time of the year for me. I hate the cold. I hate being trapped indoors. I hate getting up before the sun. I hate that I can't go outside and plunk a plant in the ground until the end of April due to the ground being an iceberg with some dirt mixed in. I'm frustrated by my 3 year-old. Not because he's doing anything particularly awful or out of character but because I have been so black I can't see the humor in raising a high-spirited smarty pants. My patience has been non-existent these past 2 months and I feel like I've been yelling over stupid shit and basically putting everyone around me on edge. I see it, I know it's happening and I can't stop myself. It's really awful to know that you're the party crasher. That being said, this past week I feel like I've turned a corner. Maybe it's because the sun is getting up before me, maybe it's because February is almost over, maybe it's because I have gotten back into exercising--or maybe it's because Adrian's back to preschool and I feel like I can get 10 minutes of quiet before the sun goes down. I think it has more to do with daylight than preschool--but I'm not ruling anything out.
With this renewed energy I'm also sneaking moments here and there to get some art done, and that gives me a sense of purpose (outside of being the mom). I am still trying to figure out how to parlez that art-thing into a money maker. It could be difficult, considering my last 5 graphic design jobs were done for free. To be fair, I do get portfolio filler and references should I ever decide to pursue the graphic design route. I just dunno. It would be great to have people pay me to "art it up". Any of you out there want to pass me some cash in exchange for some art just say the word, yo.
On that note I'm gonna take my chilly buns upstairs and get working on my newest piece.
Peace.

Photos for you!

Welcome to February--my worst month of the year. I get a full on case of the blahs and do a lot of avoidance of any extraneous activities. Hence, blogging gets a back seat. As does laundry and dishes 2 days out of 5. But that's ok. I am kept plenty busy managing a 3 year old and an 8 month old who crawls. And here they are:

This is Fiona's usual expression and a general comment on her overall personality and demeanor.


Here is Adrian with his personal hero, Nick. (Aaron's cousin)


Here is Adrian and Aunt Elaine--the famous Aunt Elaine who helped me to so many prenatal appointments.



Adrian with Aunt Erica--his favorite girl in the whole wide world. This may be because she lets him do things that are verboten at home, or just because she's fun.


And here is Adrian with Uncle Austin, who's home on leave for a month. Austin's nickname is Spud. Adrian calls him Uncle Fud.

arr, matey.

Now that Adrian is 3 there are some concepts that we're supposed to be teaching him; compliance with the social contract, manners, and a sense of boundaries.
So we were hanging on the couch after he had bathed and a teachable moment presented itself. I casually mention the parts of his body that are considered private and that the only people who should be touching that part of him are his parents, his doctor and himself. I also mention that he shouldn't be touching anyone else's privates. He nods thoughtfully and I think: I am so awesome at this! I should totally open a school for parent-child communication!
And then he says: but I want to touch pirates.
Sigh.
Let's start over, shall we?
PRivates, not PIrates.

The never-ending christmas!

December 22: Christmas I. Gifts from Grandparents Flecker, Aunt Toots and Great-grandma Flecker.

December 24: Christmas I 1/2. Presents from Nessa & Sandy, and Great Grandparents Schablow.

December 25: Christmas II. Presents from Grandparents DeCarlo, Aunt Carmela & Uncle Steve.


December 28: Christmas III. AKA the Puetz family Christmas.

This year was, in a word, ridiculous. I can only hope that we aren't setting his expectations too high.
I remember the story my high school English teacher used to tell about her childhood Christmases: they got an orange. and one present. and some pocket money.

I feel...strangely guilty that we're able to do this much celebrating. I know that we're really lucky to live when and where we do, and to have so many lovely people who care for us the way they do. I feel like there's not quite enough words to tell you all how much I appreciate all that y'all do, how much I appreciate the way you make Adrian's face light up, how loved I know he feels when he's around you all.

It was a bad day

Yesterday may possibly have to go down in the annals as a day not to be repeated.

Everything was fine up until 5:45pm.
Then the shit hit the fan.

Adrian and I are sitting at the dinner table and he's got ants in his pants and can't sit still. And to add to his antsy-pantsy dance, he decides to use his fork as a drum stick and the plates & table as his drum kit. Not acceptable. This is a standing house rule. I give him 3 warnings then take away the fork. Woe unto those who shall deprive him of his cutlery! 20 minutes of sobbing and hysteria over a stupid fork. We replaced the "big boy fork" with a baby fork and hustled his tushie to bed.

Then a few hours later, Jack decides that it is time to supplement his meals with a mouse. He brought said deceased rodent into my house and tried to eat it off the dining room floor. Mama don't play that.
For those of you who don't know Jack there are two important things to note: firstly, he is a cat. secondly, he never catches his own rodents. He finds ones that have been pre-caught. And in Jack's mind, rodents are without expiration date. There have been rodents that are so far past living that...lets just say that the circle of life can be really gross and wriggly.

Then (it gets better!) at 12:54 am the smoke alarm goes off! I groggily haul my butt out of bed and yank it down off the wall b/c it is not the regular beep-beep-beep of the smoke detectors of old, but more of a beep. beepity-beep. beep. And ours is a new fangled smoke/carbon monoxide doohickey. I'm trying to read the instructions on the back and it's happily chirruping away, and I read the line: if the red light is flashing, get out of the house & call the fire department. I flip the mamajamma over and sure enough the red light couldn't be happier about being a red light: look how i blink! So first I call the fire department, then I wake the weensy ones and haul them out to the car to wait for assistance. Poor Adrian is so confused and cold, i stick him in the car w/ the heat running & a blanket--Fiona is all snuggly in her bunting and could care less. The paramedics arrive, check the house for CO and declare it safe to reenter. Turns out I should probably just change the batteries. And if I hadn't been woken from a dead slumber I probably would've figured that out on my own.
So now I feel like a giant ass for having called the firefighters, and woken the babies, and I was hoping for one of those undo-buttons to miraculously appear in front of me, but no such luck.

And where was Aaron for all of this?
At work.
He misses all the fun.

Because...I said so.

How-dee.
It's been almost a month since I said hi-do. And that means that very few of you know of the failure of project: family dog. Huge flaming failure. Which is a pity, because what a sweet dog! The main problems with the doggie arrangement were as follows:
1. Dog was an unexpected gift. (kind of like an unexpected pregnancy, but with more legs. And a tail.)
2. Adrian could not, would not follow the doggy rules. He really enjoyed getting the pup all riled up and then complained when the pup did puppy things, like pulling on clothing.
3. Aaron was quite ready to make my life more complicated than necessary by acting like an overgrown toddler in response to having a dog thrust upon us.

So what did we do? We returned the dog to the gifters and said find him a new home. Which they did in less than 8 hours. And now sweet puppy is pampered in a toddler-free home. I still miss his buggy eyes and sweet temper, but it's also nice not to have to repeat the rules OVER AND OVER AND OVER again to a 3 year old who doesn't want to hear or obey.

What else is new? Adrian has developed some kind of anxiety, which he copes with by chewing the back of his hands. If I knew what was making him anxious I could fix it, but I've only got suspicions, not concrete conclusions.
Fiona rolls! And sits! And shrieks--mostly at Adrian. She'll be 6 months on the 14th...and she's still a joyful bundle of baby. She's an excellent sleeper, never grumpy--even when she was producing more mucus than should be allowed by law. When that girl gets a cold she really over does it with the congestion.
And now we are awaiting giftmas. It'll be a veritable Bacchanal of toys for tiny people. I'm not sure how I feel about the tide of stuff...but I am grateful that so many people want to make this a wonderful time of year for the tiny ones.

a brand new addition!

Introducing: Tucker the Trucker!


Featuring: a boy and his dog.


Needless to say, I've been a bit busier than usual these past few days. Oh! And to ice the cake, Adrian developed an ear infection yesterday.

to see a film

in a theatre is a real treat...treat as in the last time I saw a film in a theatre Adrian was 10 months old.
This past weekend, thanks to the presence of my favorite mother-in-law, Aaron & I went to see Dan in Real Life with some friends. It was a good movie, entertaining and all that, yes I'd recommend it, but...
It's been 5 nights and I'm still completely puzzled by Dane Cook's so very very white teeth.
How did they get to be so white?
Did it hurt?
Do you think he now has really sensitive teeth and can only consume room-temperature food and breathe through his nose?

To sum up: I need to get out more often.

Photos of our busyness

Warning! What you are about to witness is pure hideousness!



A vile trashcan invading possum! I don't understand how anyone could find these animals to be cute--look at it! Gaah! The horror! (To reward you for your bravery, there are pictures of Adrian and Fiona to follow)



Nothin' says "good morning" like a face full of chocolate donut.




Fiona in the exersaucer! She seems to be growing exponentially...click here to compare with Adrian in the same device.


Whoops! Haha... I just realized that this is sideways. Oh well. Here is Adrian's dino costume courtesy of The Dude (Jim King)...although AD puts it on and declares "I'm an inguana!"

So there you have it--photos from the land of busy. Now I have to go and work on a graphic design project for some dudes. Whee!

oi! what a week!

Well! Friends and neighbors, I apologize for being away so long, but we have been BUSY.
Fiona Leigh has been battling the goopy eye--not quite conjunctivitis, but still ick. She's also being trying to roll over.

Adrian Christopher had his very first day of preschool this week! And I got pictures, but not digital ones. He had fun, and was ready to go back on Friday. So we got all dressed and back pack on and went to school and whoops! No school on Friday. Poor Adrian was so excited to go, and so bummed that there was no school. (Bad Mom!)

And what else? We had a hideous awful pair of LIVE possums in our trash can. And what did we learn from this? Our city has no animal control. What is that?! So we let the buggers loose and the very next day our neighbor won the possum roulette. Evil nasty vile beasties.

AD turns 3 in 9 days. Does that seem unreal for anyone else?

Barb & Dave, this one's for you!

As Adrian approaches his 3rd birthday (as the asteroid hurtles towards the Earth), one of the most startling changes he is undergoing would be the development of his imagination. This has resulted in numerous hours spent pretending to be someone else. Most notably Nick (his cousin) or Shana (another cousin).When Adrian is pretending to be Nick he is doing big boy things: playing ball, helping in the kitchen, or watching TV on the couch. Shana, on the other hand, has become a scapegoat for all activities forbidden or dangerous. Example?

Me: Adrian, don't climb the back of the couch.
Adrian: Shana doos that. I'm Shana!

or
Adrian: I'm Shana. Watch me jump on the stairs!
Me: I don't think so, buddy.
Adrian: Shana does do that.

All little boys should be delivered with notices that read:
Upon the approach of my third birthday I will be seized with the need to run, jump, and climb at every available opportunity. It is your responsibility to prevent my untimely end in these matters. Best of luck to you!

Call me...

Call me a bad mother. Not as in bad-mamma-jamma, but bad as in: for shame!

I am having difficulty dealing with Adrian's new spate of little-person behaviors. Maybe it's because I'm used to him being such a compliant happy chap, maybe it's because we're both stubborn, but there are days when I think: I wish I could sign you up for school because you are getting on my nerves.
And it's not that he's mean or bad or even mischievous, it's that he has so much energy and can't seem to put a lid on it when the lid needs to be put on. And the emphatic refusal of any suggestions that might help him to productively spend the energy is quite trying. Example? How about jumping rather than hitting things with toys? How about putting on some music and dancing rather than using baby toys as nunchucks in the vicinity of the cats? How about we go outside and kick the ball around rather than jumping off the couch?

Which brings us to grievance time: some obnoxious neighborhood kids have walked off with Adrian's soccer ball(in addition to his two kickballs). These are probably the same kids that come up into our driveway when we're not here to play in his sand table. Just a tip, kids: if you're going to play with other people's stuff when they're not around you might want to put it back the way you found it. I have a feeling they'd probably make off with the table if they could shift it. It's a pity that I haven't caught them, but I am thinking of posting a large sign in the front yard that says:
NO HALLOWEEN CANDY UNLESS ALL OF ADRIAN'S TOYS ARE RETURNED.

I am prematurely a cranky old lady.

photo-heavy post

Fiona Leigh as of last week. I just can't get enough of those chubby, kissable cheeks! I'm still waiting for her to roll over...and she is showing no inclination to do so. Ah well. All in good time, I guess.


Adrian's new race car apron, made by yours truly. He wears it when he helps me in the kitchen. He is an excellent stirrer, measurer, and dumper of canned things into pots. And to answer the question "who does Adrian look like?" Take at look at this:



Me, circa 1984. (Photo courtesy of Aunt Carmela)