We Do Not Beat Our Children, Schedules are Meant for Rearranging, and More Discoveries

We’re all about discoveries here in the Bitchypants household. Here are a few new ones.

We are finding the need to defend ourselves as parents. Not that anyone has accused me of anything. But still. Zach is into, well, EVERYFUCKINGTHING. He climbs up, crawls over and under, dives off of any surface he can find. And more and more, he is getting the little bumps and bruises of toddlerhood. And when you go out in public and your baby has a big bruise, you feel like you have to tell the story of how to everyone. He climbed up on a rolling toy…..he dove off of the arm of the sofa….he slipped and fell. This last one was a little harder to expalin. John was getting him out of bed in the morning and Zach was doing his usual game of “Catch me, Bitch” when John reached for him and Zachy head-butted John’s hand. Only John’s finger made contact with a little toddler eye. Yeah. Zachy go his first black eye. Insert big frowny face here. The evidence:

See! Even in the photo, he is climbing on a toy, reaching onto my desk. Seriously, kid!

Schedules are meant to be rearranged. Fo’ reals, yo! But here is the most awesome picture of the past week:

See that? No conditions there. Just my admission packet. For my MBA program. I am officially in. No ” You should be fine.” No “conditional admission”. Just……in. IN. IN!!!

So I made an appointment to schedule my classes for October and the shit got tricky. I only have three courses left to take of my first-year MBA program. What they call the foundation courses. And those are offered in intensive half-semesters. I finish the BSBA in September, so I could start the second half of the MBA session in October. Except none of my classes are offered then. They’re all offerred in August. They were going to make an exception and let me start while simultaneously finishing my last month of my BSBA, but ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???? I have a job. And kids. And I do not have a death wish. Especially considering that my first semester of the MBA will be full of financial accounting, macroecon, microecon, and one of the 700-level courses. No. So the solution? This summer, while John is off of his classes, I am going to triple my BSBA courses so I will finish August 15th and can start the MBA the following week. So I learned that where there is a will, there truly is a way.

Evan is a Con Artist. Seriously.

All of this time, we have been fighting him over homework. He made a confession to his therapist. Since he gets perfect test scores, he can pass without completing his homework, so in his mind, why should he do it? So on the nights when he fights and has meltdowns, we try and try before finally giving up and sending a note to his teacher. The next day, she keeps him in at recess to do what he didn’t do the night before. But it got to be too much. And so she changed it up. Now, he gets a zero like everybody else. And the result? He’s doing his homework. And scoring even higher on tests.

The proof is in his science test from this past week. My kid has been conning us all. Little booger.

Zachy started speech and is making strides every day. And he is getting it. Proof? Yesterday in the car, John missed his exit on the interstate, and responded with a “DAMN!!!” And from the backseat, crystal clear, we hear this baby voice say, “Damn!” The other day Zachy was playing outside and he was getting close to the infamous snake sighting of 2010. And I exclaimed, “Zachy, no, SNAKES!” To which he exclaimed, “SAKES!!!!” N left out intentionally. We say “Bus”, “WalMart”, “Evan” or “Bubby”, “Eat”, “SpongeBob”. He signs for “more”, “please”, “help”, “all done”, “eat”, and “drink”.  And e has the  cutest, throaty baby voice that melts my heart. I realized this is the first time I am really hearing it.

I was thinking about the next month or so when I realized that I never requested off for Zach’s second birthday. I was assuming it would fall on Saturday this year since it was  Friday last year. But it is Sunday. It’s Mother’s Day. His second birthday. The 13th. Mom’s birthday used to fall on Mother’s Day sometimes, too. And I hate Mother’s Day. And this year, we really can celebrate. Npw more than ever, I think Mom sent Zach to me. And P.S.–how in the hell is he already going to be turning TWO????

I think that about sums it up. For now. I’m sure there will be more as drama unfolds. We always have some of that.

Sprung

Somehow winter came and went. No real snow. We had a few flurries, but that’s it. And somehow, we have skipped over spring. I’m pissed because I just bought Zach a wardrobe of cute sweaters and thin long-sleeved shirts for when the weather is cool but not cold. But we skipped that stage. No, we went straight to summer. It is supposed to over 80 degrees for 4 of the seven days this week. Shit.

I hate summer. Sorry. I do. A) I’m a fatty. I hate wearing shorts. I like layers and roomy hoodies and sweaters. I have short legs, so capris look awful. I work best in a hoodie, jeans and gym shoes. B) I’m allergic to grass and trees, bees, wasps, and just about everything else that comes out with sunshine. C) Back to being a fatty. Animal fat melts in heat. Turns to mush, then oil. Humans are, essentially, animals, are we not? I swear my fat cells melt and try to come out of my pores in fucking summer. I swear it.

But regardless, it’s here. Shit. So I am doing my best to put on a smiley face and be a good, fun mom. We have taken the boys out whenever possible. Zach is really fun this year, since he is old enough to run and play on his own. He really enjoys the park now, though pulling him away when it is time to go home is more of a challenge. So here are some photos from one of our first really nice days.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles–Wait, No Planes

Well, mainly because I hate to fly. I’m not once of these crazy-scared ones. I’ll get on a plane. I just don’t like it and fear for a fiery death in the back of my mind the entire time. Maybe it’s the whole laws-of-gravity thing, as in I’m fat and we shouldn’t tempt fate by keeping me up in the air like that. But anyway…

A couple  of new developments. Katie, the photographer from Heaven, had an opening for a session with the boys and I couldn’t pass it up. This time was a lot simpler and exhausting at the same time. The boys were dressed very casually as we met at a local train museum. Well, really it’s like a train graveyard, full of old cars–cabooses, engines, passenger cars. There were even some switches and lights for he boys to play with, and I literally put Zach down and told both boys to just go, all while Katie did her snap-snap-snap  thing. Today, she posted a few on her Facebook page as a sneak peak, and I love them. Once again, she captured them so well that it is as if my babies live in these photos.

This last one is proof, at least to me, that even when he’s hurting, Evan eats the camera. Maybe it is just me, but I can see the pain underneath in this photo, despite the fact that he had sent over an hour running and playing, and just being a kid.

Remember when John said he wasn; going to call his family until they called him, all after their reaction to our telling them of Evan’s issues? Well, John is John. And Friday was his mother’s birthday, so he couldn’t not call her to wish her a happy birthday. It’s just who he is. But the end resul is that after his mom sounded “sad” on the phone, according to him, we are making a trip down there for Thanksgiving, albeit a short one because I have to work Thanksgiving night. This ccould be very interesting. I’ll keep you posted.

My Favorite That I Just Found and I Have to Share (All Night Blog-a-Thon #4)

Sorry, I know the last thing you want to see is another photo of my kids.

But I found this on the Facebook page of the ICU nurse who took the boys’ photos. And I love it. I wish Zach were smiling. But this photo is all about Evan. He eats the camera. That rotten, mischeivous smirk is so….Evan. And I love it. I don’t want stiff, posed photography. I want images that show my kids as they are. And that is what this one does for me. My favorite.

PS–Evan totally picked out those hats. He truly is an old soul.

How a Photo Made Me Cry

I may have posted a while back about plans to meet with the same photographer who did the boys’ photos this past spring. We wanted new fall photos, and somehow it never worked out. One of the girls at work–and ICU nurse–mentioned that she is trying to learn phoography and so she takes amateur photos. She only charged like $50, which included the session and  the disk. This is a far cry from the price I paid for the professional session this past spring, so I figured I had nothing to lose. It was the same day Obama was in Cincinnati and hell unleashed.

My boys were behaving horribly for the photos. Evan wouldn’t pay attention. And now that Zachy is running everywhere, when we would finally get Zach in place, Evan wouldn’t be ready. It was a nightmare. I was sure there would be nothing usable from the session, and even so, it was no big loss considering the tiny price I paid. I was surprised today to discover that what resulted from that horrible day turned out to be some of my favorite–if not my absolute favorite–photos of my boys altogether. And they are growing up so fast.

Here are just a few.

 

 

 

Fall is in the Air

This? This is my absolute favorite season by far. Spring brings allergies, winter brings icy roads, and summer brings oppressive heat that makes me feel as if my fat cells are melting. But fall? Is there anything bad about fall? The perfect temperature for my favorite attire: a good ol’ hoodie and jeans. Leaves crunching underfoot. The smell of firewood burning from a neighboring chimney. College football rivalries and perfect cool nights for a good cup of coffee. Halloween and the fun of picking out costumes for the kiddos. You can walk around the block without dripping with sweat. I. Love. Fall.

Today, John is in class and Evan is at school. Since I am feeling a little bit better, Zach and I headed outside for some fresh air. It would seem Zachy loves fall as much as I do. He had a ball exploring and I giggled as I watched all of his cuteness toddling around, amazed at things we all take for granted: a bright orange leaf that had fluttered to the ground, the crisp green of shrubs, the chirping of nearby birds. Of course it only took about 45 minutes before he discovered that the sidewalk seemed to go on forever and he could run, run, run! And then he discovered the street, so after about 15 gazillion times of stopping him from running out in front of a moving vehicle, Mommy was worn out and we ended our excursion.

But not before I got some cute photos.

PS: I totally did not realize that I dressed him like the Lennox Air Conditioning man until I viewed these photos!

Happy Fall, Everyone!

Avoiding Capture

Zach is getting fast. Fast at growing, fast at learning, fast at ruining the perfect photo op. Today, John and Evan headed off to class. My corporate finance class is finished. (Hallelujah, how did I get an A in that class?????) As is my op management (another A). No work for 4 days. And so it was just Zachy and I. I got out the camera in the hope that I could capture some very Zachy moments. And I found out that, though I sucked before, I really suck now, because you cannot catch the kid. Instead, I end up with a blur or a little hand grasping the lens of the camera. There was even one where the shot was empty because Zach bolted before the picture took. In his place was a picture of the corner of the coffee table. And my fave, the closed-eye-from-the-bright-flash look. But regardless of my lack of photography prowess, I want to remember these days. So this is what I got:

Just before bed: footed pj's, fresh from his bath, Johnson&Johnson-scented. My baby.

Tongue out. But that face. Cherub.

Mommy's glasses. Ripped off of her face. By rambunctious toddler.

 

Ahhhhh, the beloved Cozy Coupe. Is there an American kid who hasn't had one at some point?

Apparently, grabbing Mommy's camera is great fun!

Playing with him on the floor. Looking up at my son. My Little Big Guy.

Daddy's Recliner

Evan’s Day

Today we celebrated Evan’s tenth birthday. He got to choose what he wanted to do, where he wanted to eat. As long as it wasn’t an adult establishment, we could go there. Anywhere in Cincinnati. He chose City BBQ, followed by Miniature Golf. Overall, this was the end to a very eventful day for him: cupcakes at school, a meeting with his teachers, presents…

It was funny to see him tell everyone that it was his birthday. In addition to the cupcakes at school, as a result of his blurting this out all over Cincinnati, he was given sweets like you would not believe. It started at City BBQ, where the server gave him a free and gigantic slab of their fresh-baked homemade triple chocolate cake (of which he kept trying to sneak bites of in the middle of dinner), and it ended with a trip through a Starbucks drive-thru on the way home with free cake pops from the barrista who made our coffees. And then, as we were turning into the driveway, he said the word “ass” and I about died. When I corrected him, telling him of the word’s ugliness and that he shouldn’t say it, his response was, “Well, I am a Ten-Year-Old now!!! As if this implied that he is a grown man and can say what he pleases. Pffft. But I will admit, I found it hard not to laugh.

He got some pretty cool presents this year: a netbook, a bag/ case for said netbook, a couple of those huge Lego sets he loves, clothes, pajamas, and more. That was just from us. Grandma and Grandpa gave him toys.

So what follows is a barrage of photos from our day. His day. I was going to discuss more, but I do not feel like getting into the emotions of this tonight. That my child’s age is now reflected in double digits and he is more than halfway to 18 years. God, it goes so damned fast. But I am not getting into it. Tuesday is his coveted appointment at Children’s, and I am a ball of too much emotion right now. So look at some pictures, and know that we had a great day. A great decade. I love him so much.

On our way. Part of one of his new Lego sets in hand for the ride.

City BBQ has really good chicken tenders. Apparently good enough to make certain little boys forget their table manners.

The contraband triple chocolate cake---notice the missing bite and the damned for sticking out, yet he insisted he wasn't eating it.

John got pissed that I took a shot of him eating.

Zach, aka Mac-'n'-cheese Face, gets in on the celebration...AND my camera.

Mini Golf at this awesome little out-of-the-way course we found.

I really suck at this, and after no sleep all night AND day, all you get to see is the toes of my Asics. Sorry, Dudes. Isn't my pink ball cute, though?

The Birthday Boy, into the swing of things.

John-John in on the Putt-Putt action. Channeling Tiger. Or Happy Gilmore...

Waiting patiently for us to finish the 9th Hole.

Too much water for Zach to roam, but he enjoyed the sunshine safely from his stroller.

Not-So-Wordless Wednesday: A Self-Portrait at 3 AM

Sexy Bitch. Yeah.

One of the problems of working night shift is that, after years of being awake and taking care of the critically ill while the rest of the normal world sleeps, you get used to the muffed-up schedule. And can’t sleep.

One of the benefits of online classes is that one can attend in their friggin’ pajamas and no one will know.

Unless one takes a photo with their webcam. At 3 AM. In their pj’s. With a big-ass cup of coffee that in proportion resembles a cereal bowl with a handle. (Hey, thanks, Pampered Chef, for making the biggest coffee mugs in the free world. No, wait. I think the book called them “soup mugs” because only idiots like me would consume such high quantities of caffeine.)Take note that those blurry lines trailing from my ears are actually hot pink earbuds. It’s just dark, so they only look like vertical creases of fat rolls. Really, I was listening to an archived recording of the most boring lecture on the planet. Of special consideration? The ultra-nerdy reading glasses because I am getting old as dirt.

Wait, is it……Could it be that…..Yep, it is. I’ve done it. I’ve lost my damned mind.

I’m giving this Portrait of Sexiness/ Insanity/ Mild Retardation a title.

We’re going to call it “Crazy Bitch Dances with Corporate Fucking Finance in the Middle of the Night”. You’re Welcome!

Fourth Grade

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Evan started his first day of fourth grade today. 4th. Really. I can precisely remember starting fourth grade, and I can say that my parents weren’t nearly as young and cool as Evan’s. Or maybe they were. They didn’t embarrass me by helping me carry in the bags of crap the teachers made us all buy like we did to Evan this morning. Then again, the teachers didn’t make us buy all of the crap back them. Evan’s school supply list was like we were stocking them up for a nuclear disaster. Headphones and a jump drive. A paint shirt and gym uniform. 5 single subject notebooks of different colors, an accordian file with 8 pockets–not 7 or 9–8. Crayons, colored pencils, and markers. Erasers. 5 composition books and 5 differently colored folders with both pockets and prongs. 3 binders. Scissors and 3 different kinds of glue…The list goes on and on, and that is all of the appropriate stuff. But we also had to provide 3 containers of sanitizing wipes, 6 rolls of paper towels, ziploc bags in 3 different sizes, tissues, a bottle of all-purpose cleaner (?!?)…The end result is that little Ev walked into the building with a backpack that appeared to be loaded down with bricks from the actual notebooks and stuff, while his father and I followed behind with literally grocery bags full of stuff. Dude, I remember getting a new Trapper Keeper every year complete with a new folder for each subject, a few notebooks, pencils, pens, and maybe a couple of boxes of tissues. That’s it.

But anyway…

Evan started 4th grade. I can so remember fourth grade. I seemed so much older than Evan at that age. I remember that was the year we chose to send me to the intermediate school for the district instead of the local elementary school. It was the year I felt so grown because we actually had schedules and switched classes throughout the day as the subjects changed. I had a locker for the first time. That year in gym class was the the first time we were told to shower afterwards, and I remember the dread of having to get undressed in front of my classmates. It’s the year they divided the boys and girls and taught us what would be happening to our bodies, and sent us girls home with a little box complete with samples of feminine hygeine products. That was also the year that I looked like a hunchback in all of my photos: I didn’t want to need to wear a bra, but I did. And for some reason, I thought that wearing really baggy clothes and rolling my shoulders unnaturally forward would hide the fact that I was about a B-cup. Mom would try to buy them for me as we would shop and I would snatch them out of the cart when she wasn’t looking. At some point, I realized it was okay, and I started to wear them. I remember the little white one with the pink rose sewn in the center of the cups. Shortly after I resigned to the fact that I had boobs, Mother Nature visited me for the first time. I didn’t need to have “the talk” because the school had already told me about what to expect. Mom kept me out of school that day as I had cramps for the first time, and we spent the day shopping and going out to lunch. This was also the year I was bumped into the gifted and talented program after the fall round of standardized testing, the year that Mom laughed her head off at the mid-year conferences when they told her that I scored at the post-high-school level on those tests. I still remember her remarks: “Well, hell, then let’s just ship her off to college. Isn’t that what you’re telling me?” That was the year I became “The Smart One” amongst her seven children. Not the Good One like my oldest sister, or the Crazy One like one of my brothers. “That’s Andi”, she would say. “She’s The Baby, the Smart One.” That label followed me until she died. (Incidentally, there is a country song by Blake Shelton called “The Baby”–I would link to it or something but I cannot listen to it without the world crushing in on me. I swear the first time I heard it, I had to research the songwriter because it was as if one of my brothers wrote it about our family, our mom. They even reference Cincinnati in it.)

Fourth Grade.

My feelings of excitement for Evan and his presence on the cusp of so many exciting events mingle with my own sadness. I look at the photos of him and still see the baby he is. The one who fit into the crook of my arm so well, was too stubborn to nurse, kept me awake with his colic for months and months. I still see first steps and smiles, first teeth and first words. Just yesterday, I cried as I watched him timidly walk into the school gym in clothes from Baby Gap, dwarfed by the vastness of the room, as he made his way to his first day of kindergarten. Back when he still thought my warbling, out-of-tune singing voice was the best ever and wouldn’t go to sleep without me singing him at least a couple of songs of his choosing. I haven’t sung a lullabye to him in years, yet it was just yesterday. Now, when I sing along to the radio in the car, he rolls those chocolate brown eyes at my horrendous singing voice as he masks the offending sound with earbuds from his own iPod, complete with his own music to which I cannot stand to listen.

Fourth Grade. Wow. I feel so…old. But just yesterday, we were so young. And Evan was still so new.