Baby Pool!

One good thing about being on Team Green (not finding out the sex of the baby) other than driving you people crazy, is that the baby pool is WAY more fun!! Take a shot people, see how close you come!

Bubbles by Oliver Goss

Where do bubbles go when they fly?
Do they go up, into the sky?
Or down below into the earth
To fill earthworms with their mirth!

Where do bubbles go when they're gone?
Are they somewhat here, or else beyond?
Does it matter what they believe,
or when they go do they just leave?

Is there a bubble heaven, and a bubble hell?
And is there a bubble Nirvana for Eastern blown bubbles as well?
Does it depend on the breath with which they are blown -
Or on the air on which they are flown?

Like the bubbles are you and I.
We all want to know where we go when we die.
For when we "pop" I know one thing well
No bubble is around after they go to tell!

The Christmas Blahs

Bleh. You know that feeling when you just want to punch an elf? When you think if you hear Christmas in Sarajevo ONE. MORE. TIME. you are going to throw yourself from your car? When all the presents you were so excited about giving start to look like junk and you can't tell whether your White Elephant gift is funny, too nice or actually just some piece of junk you found in your garage? Yea, thats how you know you have it. The Christmas Blahs.

Your intentions to have a festive season starts off good enough. You get swept up in the excitement of shopping and caroling and decorating the house with lights and a tree, and baking all sorts of things you would never even think of attempting at any other time of the year. You may even get ambitious and decide to buck the Target system and handmake all of your gifts. Then, inevitably, you get tired. Cause these things don't just appear!! In order to decorate the house you have to make three trips to the attic, bug your husband to help you find the the right hammer and nails for light stringing, and become close personal friends with Gloria down at the Hobby Lobby searching for that perfect wreath or blow up Santa in Helicopter lawn ornament. Making a batch of cookies and start a family tradition with your toddler son, requires kicking your oven, 14 trips to HEB, cursing your oven, borrowing cookie cutters from better moms, and finally requesting that Santa bring you a new oven. Picking a tree becomes a real v. fake philosophy discourse. Santa becomes either a rebellion or a web of lies depending on how you were raised and scarred for life. Christmas isn't Christmas until someone has cried, someone has threatened divorce, and someone has gotten drunk (not necessarily in that order).

Also when did the tradition of whoever is youngest has to travel to see all the older family members start? I would like to give that person a stern talking to! If you don't have a child under the age of 18, you should be the one to get in YOUR car and visit all of your kids. Exceptions will be given to those who are bed ridden, infirm or recovering from major surgeries. It is unfair also that since parents decide to divorce, the kids are then shuffled from one house to another on Christmas. Default to the children. It is ONE night people, suck it up and have dinner together, you had babies together, you can stand to give this ONE DAY to your children. Same thing goes with inlaws. My perfect Christmas is one where only children get gifts, my ENTIRE family gathers in one place, and no one treats anyone's girlfriend, wife, friend or other acquaintance with anything but love and goodwill. I firmly believe there isn't an argument alive that can't be solved with some Scrabble.

Every year the week before Christmas I have a meltdown and threaten to boycott Christmas next year. And every year the day after Thanksgiving I get sucked back into the racket because of all these dang Christmas specials and that 24/7 carol station on the radio. Every year I say I won't be a consumer, and every year my knitting needle breaks around the same time I do and off to Target I go with the masses to buy shit no one will ever use, no one will ever remember I gave and will look at for 32 seconds (if I am lucky) before moving onto the present that they ACTUALLY wanted.

Bah Humbug.

The Evaluation

We had our speech and nutrition evaluation this afternoon and three hours later, we have some answers.

First, the nutrition portion of the evaluation. The nutritionist was VERY supportive of extended breastfeeding, and Oliver's decision to tandem nurse once the sibling arrives. She mentioned nothing about weaning, and thought it was fantastic! I asked her about the milk issues, and she said pretty much that yea, we could be right, the sugars in milk (cooked out of yogurt and cheese) can upset the tummy at night but during the day the child is so distracted they don't notice. So, no milk still for the Oliver. She does want him to eat more calcium rich foods, so he will probably go back on Soy milk for dinner, and yogurt for snacks. I am really excited because she confirmed that for kids this age, fruits=veggies for the most part. So if your kid is a fruit lover but not so much with the green stuff, its okay, just to make sure that they get enough vitamin A. We also got a chart of nutrient rich foods which would be AWESOME to put on the fridge, if things stuck to our fridge, but I am sure it will just get shoved in a drawer somewhere. Sigh. She also suggested that since his snacks and lunch schedule is somewhat non-existent, we might try a more strict preschool like schedule to help when the baby comes. She said a lot of the time, kids will ask for food for attention when new babies are introduced and to nip it in the bud with a set schedule they are used to. He is 26ish pounds and 33" tall which puts him at 50%ish. Oliver enjoyed sitting in her "boat" (scale) and laying very very still for her measuring tool. Thus ended the nutritionist evaluation.

When the nutritionist left, two more people came to evaluate Oliver's speech and social development. There are two types of language, receptive and expressive. Receptive language is following requests, comprehension of vocabulary, listening skills, etc. Expressive language is the ability to talk back. After many many questions and tests (stacking cups, choosing the eating tool out of three objects, giving two commands that are unrelated, etc.) it was found that he was at a 3 year old level in regards to receptive language (!!!!!), but at a 20 month level in regards to expressive language. The three month delay he has doesn't qualify him for their program as he would have to lag behind at least 6 months for that, but they gave us some tips on how we can work with him. For instance, being very animated when we talk to him about words, not forcing him to repeat, and giving him words for the signs. They said if he doesn't start to learn 2 words a week within the next two months or so, we need to have them come out again. I can't imagine him all of a sudden talking, it blows my leetle mind! Of course, while they were here he said "mine", "this not that" and other phrases, so the evaluation was a bit skewed as to what we deal with on a daily basis. I believe Oliver is trying to have me committed.

He did score pretty low (18 months) on certain "self helping" skills. Such as getting dressed, getting undressed on his own (never has done this), potty communication (related to language), etc. He could have been signed up for the program for that, but I think we will just work on it more on our own. They gave us some ideas about how we can encourage him to be more self sufficient such as, pulling his pants half way up or down and encouraging him to do the rest himself. I chalk this lag up to me being terrified of walking into his room and seeing that he did some finger painting with his poop. Of course, as soon as they left, he took off his shirt and pulled down his pants, no joke.

Other milestones he reached today was talking on the phone with his grandmommy!! Well, he said "hi" and really really tried to say "banana" since he couldn't use both hands to sign it because he was holding the phone.

Oliver Writes to Santa

Dear Santa,

I am sorry about my behavior Friday, I was unaware of our meeting and felt most awkward that I did not wear my most festive of outfits, nor did I prepare for such an occasion with a gift. Understandably, I cried in frustration at my parents who brought me to you and placed me unceremoniously on your lap, where I sat trying my hardest to think of what exactly WAS on my Christmas List. Two year olds have bad memories you see, I am nothing without my Google Docs, and I am not permitted to access daddy's iphone until I am 3. I could have kicked myself for saying "ball" when you asked what it was I wanted. UGH! I have balls! Don't send me any balls! It was just the first thing that popped into my head!

Thankfully, I found a loophole. After doing some research online, I read that there are TWO ways of contacting you. One being the traditional meet and greet at a central location, the second - and here is where I had my aha moment - a letter!! So it is with my humblest of apologies for the emotional outbursts yesterday, and my assurences that I have indeed been a good boy, that I give you my list.

Sincerely,
Oliver Goss

The List

• CD of the Laurie Berkner Band (this lady is a genius)
• Play food and kitchen, so I can teach my mom to cook the foods I like
• Musical instruments so I can be as popular as daddy was in school (band kids are the coolest)
• DVDs of newer Disney/Pixar movies, apparently tastes DO change in 80 years.
• Dinosaurs
• Art supplies (except playdough, I snuck a peek at the gifts I am getting from the 'rents)
• Rug for my new play room!
• Two words, choo. choo.
• Water/Sand table
  

A week without a daddy

Good lord single parenting is difficult. I have so much more respect for military wives, single moms, and wives to asses after this week. It is exhausting being the only care giver for a small child! Even when they are in the best of moods, you still have to sing 100 verses of the Zoo song, you have to build 43 block towers, you have to watch numerous hours of Sesame Street, and you have to toss a ball of the top of the roof until your arms fall off (again, thanks SO much for teaching him THAT one Pete Wilson!!). You have to read Corduroy Bear one whole time and Go Dog Go one half time before bed, in that order, or you will have a crying and confused baby on your hands. The bedtime water MUST be on the left side of him, within reaching distance and wedged so as to not fall over and soak the baby. In short (too late!!) it is exhausting!!

Meanwhile, your husband calls from San Francisco where I am sure he is doing a lot of hard work in between the open bars, the 4 different parties he had to go to in one night, the Black Crows concert, and the eating of food that remains safe from toddler fingers, to see how you are doing. Ooops, sorry hon, I can only talk for as long as it takes to walk to the restaurant. Huh? What's that you said about Oliver's speech evaluation? I can't hear you over this throbbing music. Sorry, gotta go, this trashed salesgirl is grinding my leg too hard for me to hold my phone. Apparently, there isn't an app for that...

Anyway, we survived, and it made me ever so greatful for the time when my husband IS home. The kitchen is clean, the baby is bathed and put away ever so quietly while I munch on bon bons downstairs, the dog is fed (sorry about that Dante!) and the yard is kept neat and tidy. People need partners for a reason, and while it is POSSIBLE to raise kids by yourself, I don't have a clue why anyone would want to. I am far far too lazy to do it all by myself. His absence did make my heart grow fonder, until I found stripper glitter all over his shirt that is...

Game Day

Football season is upon us, and as all you NFL widows know, this means no good TV watching on Sunday or Monday nights. Eff you John Madden and the Turducken you rode in on!! I am of course talking about American Football, this is not to be confused with European Football (soccer to stupid Americans) which as far as I can tell is just a bunch of hot foreign guys running around in tiny shorts. In my opinion, watching this would be FAR superior to watching five minutes of commercials, commentary, and cheerleader boobs for every ten seconds of actual play time that you get with American Football.

Anyway, CT is forcing the love of all things Cowboys onto our son. Every Sunday after church, he forces the poor PBS loving kid to watch a bunch of huge men in even bigger protective gear push each other around. This of course comes in the middle of trying to also teach him not to push or hit or kick people. Awesome! It is pretty cute to watch Oliver watch football though, I admit! When someone gets tackled he says OH NO! With his head in his hands. When someone has the ball, he encourages them to throw or kick the ball, demonstrating how this should best be done. Mostly though he just begs CT to change the channel to something interesting...oh wait, that's me.

Anyway, the picture above is Oliver enjoying a hot wing on game day. All he needs is a brewski and the picture would be complete.