I Have Crooked Kids

Ryan was born with a super crooked nose.
It was slightly alarming.

When I first saw him I wondered how hard it would be to switch him with one of the other babies in the nursery with straight noses.

Then I remembered that was a felony.

Just kidding. I was super excited for this little crooked-nosed bundle of joy.

I adored him and even breastfed him! (Even though it hurt worse than a punch to the vadge.)
I worried about him. He had a bit of a hard time breathing, especially when smashed up against my humongous boobs.

I was glad everything else about him was healthy
I asked our doctors about surgery, nose braces, or anything else that would make him "normal" and help him breathe better. 

As a mom you just want your little poop-machine to be perfect.
Thankfully a crooked nose is not that big of a deal compared to other complications.

Ryan's little nose straightened out pretty quickly. After a week it was perfectly straight.

I was relieved.
Mostly because I didn't feel like I would suffocate him with my vein-y post-pregnancy tits.

I thought this would be the only crooked thing in my family.

Then little baby T-Bag came along.
He was crooked too.


But he was crooked in a much more amusing way.

T-Bag was born with a bent line down his bum.
It definitely did not straighten out, since the picture above is from today. 

But who am I to judge his split?
The top of his butt crack is a free spirit.

If his crack wants to bend towards the left I should support and accept it.
I will foster a loving environment for it and constantly reinforce my love and care for it.

At least this crookedness won't be suffocated by my boobs. 

Well played God. Well played.
Very clever.

However, if we are blessed with another child, I'm concerned/excited to find what will be crooked next.

Any guesses?

Fasionable Pictures of Myself From The 1990's

I don't know how wise it is to post these pictures.

Now they will be available for anyone to blackmail me with.
Plus, I'm probably going to attract a lot of stalkers because of how incredible I look.

Thankfully, I am not burdened with wisdom.


I re-found these photos last week and cannot believe how stylish and good looking I was a kid.

I wonder what my mom was thinking when she bought me this catastrophe of a dress. Was she mad at me that day? Was I being punished? We may never know.

Look at this fine young specimen of a 4th grader.

That bow on top of my head would have been cute if I was 6 months old.
I remember this day well. It was my first day of 4th grade at a new school.

I thought I looked so awesome, and I was right.

I had picked this outfit out myself and styled it with a chic black belt so my shorts would stay up as high as possible. I did my own hair and hair-sprayed my home-permed hair thoroughly because I wanted to look this good even after recess.



I bet you never thought I was such a cool kid.

My pose here says, "I may have stole this shirt from my brother but I know I'm looking hot, and by the way, I have an attitude."

These cool contemporary backdrop pictures were not included with the normal school pictures.

I begged my parents to buy them since I thought I looked so awesome/radical. They bought them for me because I think they felt bad about the red polka dot dress.

I cut up the photos into the little individual squares, wrote personalized notes on the back, and handed them out to literally everyone I knew.

I was pretty satisfied with myself and looking back, I can see why.


Then I pulled out this treasure:

DAAANNNNNNGGGGGGG.

This picture is majestic.

Notice, if you will:

1. Large bow in my crunchy permed hair.

2. My bangs combed to the side because I was too cool for bangs that day.

3. Necklace made from a rolled up bandana and painted wood pieces from Micheal's.

4. FANNY PACK.

5. Fashion-forward modeling pose to show how cultured I am.

I even wrote on the back of this picture  -  You in you moddiling stage!  -  like I knew my 32 year old self would find it one day and wonder what was going on and why I was such a good model.

I hate myself so bad right now.

Floor Disaster

After the December Hawaii trip we were ready to come home, sleep in our own bed, and lock the kids back in their cages.

Our flight back home departed at 9:30pm so we didn't get home to Utah until 7am. We were tired.

Poor me. I was feeling sorry for myself after a long night of travel even though I had just spent a week in paradise.
That's when the universe slapped me in the face with some reality. Being sad about a plane ride when you just spent a week in Hawaii is a stupid thing to be sad about.

You know what is a good reason to be sad?
When your dishwasher leaked the whole time you were out of town and now you have water damage everywhere.

 Our wood floor was saturated and part of our carpet was soaked and black from mold.

We had to call in some disaster clean up crew to dry the floors out. Loud machines covered our floor for 4 days.

Ryan and Tyler thought all the machines were an obstacle course. They loved it until Ryan tripped and cut his upper lip.

Seig Heil Ryan.


It's not a total loss though. The floor looks fine, insurance paid for everything, and I get new carpet and a new floor.

So actually, thanks universe.

Primary Program Ruining

Mormon church Primary Programs.

Where all the kids 12 years old and younger go on the stage by the pulpit and serenade the adults for the entire Sacrament meeting.
It is MAGICAL.

For this year's program, all of the kids had speaking parts and since my Sunbeam (our Mormon name for this age group)  class of 3-4 year olds can't read, I was lucky enough to have to stand up there and help all 8 kids. It's also customary for Primary teachers to sit on the stand with their class throughout the program.

My class is the youngest. I got lucky again and had to sit in the very front row in a small kiddie chair. I'm a huge adult compared to all the scrawny children. I stuck out and everyone felt bad for me. I could see the pity in the congregations faces as I looked over the crowd.

Ryan has become a primary song enthusiast since he became a Sunbeam. We have singing time every Sunday and Ryan LOVES the chorister, Sister Bigler. (BTW Mormons call each other Brother and Sister it's weird, I know, but so is Sunbeams because those freaking kids are not beams from our Sun, they are beams from the darkest depth of hyperactivity.)

Ryan yells the songs every week hoping he will get called on to be Sis. Bigler's special helper. If he doesn't know the words he just yells louder to make up for it. It's very distracting which is why I let him do it. Church can be boring and I welcome distractions.

Back to the Primary Program. Ryan decided to sing super good (or super bad depending on how you look at it) in front of everyone in hopes Sis. Bigler would see how awesome he was and maybe she would give him a cookie.

Ryan randomly yelled songs the entire time. The little girl next to him kept covering her ears and looking at Ryan with disgust.
I had to be sneaky and record him while hiding my phone from the audience so I wouldn't get judged for ruining this spiritual moment.

The audience was laughing non-stop. I always loved the kids that misbehaved and ruined the program. I don't love it so much now because it's MY kid. Well played God. Well played.

Drug Caching

There is a huge unoccupied ravine across the street from my house.

We always see local teenagers sneaking up there for a little make out session, which is why Jared and I weren't too surprised when we saw a beat-down sedan pull up near our house.

Don't worry, I still stopped everything to spy on the mangy looking girl that was driving.

Life as a mostly stay at home mom doesn't get too exciting, so I take what I get.

She was alone and sat in her rusty car for almost 5 minutes messing with her phone and something in her purse.
She finally climbed out with the grace of drunkard.

The girl looked like she was in her early twenties, and wore shorts short enough that I could confirm she was, in fact, female.

She scuffled over to the fence and cautiously looked around to see if anyone was watching her.

I creepily hid by my kitchen window.

She pulled something out of one of the fence posts.
I totally thought she was making a drug drop. I was stoked.

After gross-girl left, I put my pants on and went across the street to check things out.

Inside the fence post was a little metal vial.

I excitedly opened it up:

 

A geo-cache.

 

BORING.

I was so bummed. I thought I would for sure get to solve a crime and call the cops.

Clearly, I need to create more excitement in my life that doesn't involve spying out my window without pants on.

Sea Cucumber

I feel like this lately:

Correction: I've felt like that for the last 8 1/2 months.

I feel disgusting.

I'm sick of carrying around Ziploc bags so I can randomly puke in them.
Plus, when you can't keep food down, you have no energy. Blah.

I feel guilty when everyone says:
"You're too skinny!"
"You need to eat something!"
"You look like you're only 5 months pregnant!"

Trust me, I'd rather gain some more weight and not be sick, but unfortunately, my body has other ideas.

I hate going to a high risk ob/gyn to make sure the baby is gaining weight. (I went a few days ago and baby #2's weight is in the 70th percentile - so at least one of us is getting the necessary nutrition).
I'm so over peeing my pants every time I throw up.
I hate having to wear tons of makeup so I don't look like a sick dog.

I hate knowing that I will hopefully be able to do it again in a couple years because babies are the best thing ever.

Poor me.
I'm such a wuss.

Ok. I'm done whining.... for the next 10 minutes.


P.S. Only 3 weeks till my due date!!!!! I had Ryan 1 week early so everyone send good thoughts my way so this one comes early too!

Dirty Sanchez Returns

If you are not aware of my upper lip problem, you should read this post first.

Being pregnant has made my Dirty Sánchez especially aggressive, and it's always lurking around.

If I spend 30 seconds in the sun, I look like I have a full blown mustache.

It's especially awesome when I break out on my chin. I look like a dirty hipster with a 'stache and a zit goatee. I bet people assume I have liberal political beliefs.... ugh.

To combat my facial hair illusion, I have prayed a lot and taken the following steps:

I put on a mustache of sunscreen every time I go outside. I use one of those sticks of sunscreen so I can apply it perfectly to my Sánchez. I keep hoping that the rest of my face will get tan and magically blend into the darker Sánchez area.


Then I got an even greater idea - self tanner.


I have some of Lindsey Lohan's self tanner that Sephora used to sell. BTW, It's the best self tanner I've ever used. I bought a bunch because I knew Lindsey would screw it up eventually and I wanted an emergency stock pile.



I have been putting self tanner all over my face every couple of nights.

Step 1:

But the genius idea is that I take a Q-tip and wipe the tanner off my Sánchez area.

Step 2:

When I wake up, you can barely tell that I was an old Mexican man in my past life!


On especially bad days, I will also admit to generous usage of concealer and bronzer.


I really believed I was over creepy bodily changes once I finished puberty.....
Damn you pregnancy hormones.

Smell-A-Thon

I am getting old. I accept it.

5 years ago I had to get glasses.
2 years ago I started to go deaf.

But, what I don't understand is the older I get, the more acute my sense of smell is.

Smell is the worst of the 5 senses. THE WORST.
When I'm pregnant, my nose becomes a precision radar.

I can smell Ryan's dirty diapers BEFORE he actually drops a deuce.
I know what my neighbors are having for dinner.
And, I can tell when a dog is within 50 yards of me.

BUT, I cannot drive without glasses/contacts or hear Jared when he talks to me from another room, and I say "What????" 129 times a day.

It's a painful existence.


Trading useful senses (vision and hearing) for super smelling power, is the worst tradeoff ever.
I should at least be compensated with a growth spurt in my boobal region.

Birth Mark

I have a poop stain on my upper left arm.
At least that's what my brother always told me as a kid.

He also told me if I cry too much my eyes would dry up like raisins. I was too young to question his credibility.

My grandma, Deenie-wienie-chili-beanie, has the same one.

I have had a long-standing grudge against my birth mark. It's shaped like a sad potato. How would you like to grow up with buck teeth and a potato stamp on your arm?

As a pre-teen, or tween if you will, I was so pissed at my potato that I tried to burn it off with a curling iron........ twice.

Each time it reappeared. I was so ashamed.

Since then I have finally made peace with my birth mark. As an adult, I embrace my numerous flaws (small boobs, long fingers, annoying laugh, etc.) and wear them proudly.

I am thinking about giving my birthmark a private photo shoot. I could totally frame it then hang it on the wall.

Fancy!

Poking Dead Things

I was doing my yearly hour of yard work yesterday. I have been working on the computer way too much and I can't stand sitting there forever. Usually I just take Baby Ryan to a park or the Boys and Girls Club to get out of the house, but my yard needed some TLC.

I don't love yardwork, but I do love making things look clean and pretty.

I was out enjoying the sun and fresh air. Cryin Ryan was stoked to roll around in the dirt. I was pulling weeds when I saw this:

Naturally, I had to poke the dead bird with a stick. Ryan joined in with his own twig.

Why is it so instinctual to poke dead animals with sticks? Why can humans just leave them alone?

It was a little gross but I continued on with my work.
45 minutes later I found this little guy:

Dead lizards aren't nearly as cute as live ones.

Yes, we poked him with our sticks.

What is the Universe trying to tell me???

Little Baby Poop-Hands

I have spent the last few days coming to terms with the fact that Ryan is no longer the precious little pee-baby I once knew.

Four days ago:

He emptied  around 30 sweaters from my closet and rolled around in them. Little pieces of banana and cheerios where embedded in every "hand-wash only" piece of clothing.

Three days ago:

He saw that I had started a bath. I left the room for 4.79 seconds and when I came back, he had jumped in..... completely dressed.

I was about to shower anyway, so I stripped down and joined him. I was sitting in the tub, peeling his clothes off when I smelt pee. 

Oops! I must have forgotten that he loves to pee and probably had at least 1/2 - 1 full cup of urine in his diaper..... Since the diaper was fully submerged in the water all the baby piss was seeping through his diaper into the bath water I was playing in. 

Luckily for me, I remembered reading somewhere that swimming in baby urine is good for the skin.


Two days ago:

Pee-baby showcased his physical dexterity by skillfully climbing out of his crib and waking me up with an evil/proud giggle and a 2-handed slap in the face. Instead of waking up and caring for my child, I put a pillow over my head and let him run wild through the house for an hour. 

When I did drag my listless body out of bed, I was pleased to discover that Pee-Toddler had only eaten 3 entire tubes of chapstick. 

Only after I video taped him crawling out did I realize my mistake in encouraging his anti-authority behavior.

Now I have to figure out a new method of caging him up at night.


And finally, yesterday:

I was in the office pretending to work hard when Pee-Toddler came in and tried to crawl on my lap. 
I pushed him off asap because I smelt something foul. 
Ryan was covered in poop.

He had taken off all of his clothes and pinched a huge loaf in his diaper. 


After completing his #2, he stuck his right hand down the back of his diaper, grabbed some soft serve and wiped it onto his belly. With a continuous motion he drug his hand up over his face and onto his hair. 
(Though I was not an actual eye-witness to the poop incident, I am pretty sure this is exactly what happened given the evidence presented.)

 I HATE poop, so no, I didn't take a picture. I was too busy hating my life.

Immediately after I threw Ryan in the bath (yep, the same bath he made pee-soup in a couple day before) I had to go on a hunt for any fece(s) he may have distributed around the house. I didn't find any smears besides the ones on Ryan's body, but for the rest of the day I was suspicious.


I felt betrayed by my own flesh and blood. 

This was just another situation where I was so offended that I am not going to go to church for at least two weeks.

Only someone who loves poop a lot would wipe it in their own hair.
From here on out, I reserve the right to refer to Cryin' Ryan as "Poop-hands" where I see fit.

 seriously you guys, amen.

My Dirty Sanchez

Pregnancy messes up your body.
Besides the fact that I pee a little every time I go to the trampoline park, I have another embarrassing problem.

Have you heard of "pregnancy mask" or Melasma?

Melasma is a dark skin discoloration that appears on sun-exposed areas of the face.

It is basically the cherry on the top of the sundae that is pregnancy. 

Luckily my misfortune is not as extreme as these cases.

Towards the end of my captivity, I had a healthy helping of freckles all over my mug.  Everywhere the sun hit may face was noticeably darker than everywhere else.

Over 1 and 1/2 years later most of the discoloration faded away but I was left with a mustache of darker skin above my lips.
I can kind of cover it up with makeup but in my heart, I know I still have a dirty sanchez.

You can totally see it in this picture:

I don't want to talk about this anymore. amen.

Mullet Skirt

In my early 20's, I like to think I dressed pretty cute.
All my friends always looked amazingly hot, so I just copied them.

We would shop at Express, The Limited, American Eagle, Fossil, Lucky Jeans and other "too cool" chain stores.

I specifically remember making a vow to my 22 year old self:

Whatever you do, don't dress like a mom.

I'm pretty serious about this. So When I found myself looking through Express and American Eagle the other day I was surprised to find that all their clothes looked pretty trendy. Not the good trendy, but the tacky kind of trendy. 

 I had this exact Jacket in the 1st grade.

A poncho?

I am not nearly cool enough to wear a mullet skirt.

Have I really grown out of my teenage stores I loved? 

I ended up buying a few things Gap, J. Crew and Ann Taylor Loft. 
That's right. ANN. TAYLOR. LOFT.

What am I? 45? Clearly, I am well on my way to breaking my vow of never dressing like a mom. I might as well start shopping at Coldwater Creek.

My only solace is that I am still obsessed with Fossil.  I live 10 minutes away from their factory outlet store. 

Thank you Fossil for your reasonably priced leather goods.

I am going to go cry in  my corner and mourn my youth.

Stink-fruit

We have a guava tree. And it smells like shit.

There is no way around it. 

Jared thinks he's a connoisseur of fine fruit trees and picked this charmer up a couple of years ago. 

While beautiful, this tree spawns fruit with a smell that makes you want to repent. 

I cannot express my hatred of it enough. It smells like dead lizards rotting inside a human digestive tract mixed with the flesh of a 3 week old hippopotamus carcass. For realsies.

It is awful.

Every so often Jared skips into our house with a handful of stink-fruit and leaves them on the kitchen counter for me. 

Earlier today, I had just cleaned the kitchen. I left for a minute to take a duece and when I returned and a wall of foulness hit me. 5 guavas sat smugly on my counter.

I was offended. 

I was so offended that I'm not even going to go to church for a few weeks.

amen.

Guilty-Kid

I was in the office minding my own business, when a staff member came in and told me we had "a situation".

He was laughing so hard I could barely understand him.

Then one of the kids waddled in with a guilty look on his face.
He looked like he was smuggling a burrito in the back of his pants.
Instantly the office smelled like a racoons had died and rotted in the corner. There was a huge dump in his little kid pants.

I eyed the kid suspiciously.
I asked "Do I need to call your mom?"
He nodded yes.



The following conversation took place:

Me: Hi, It's Emily  from the Boys and Girls Club. Is this guilty-kid's mom?

Kid's Mom: yes.

Me: Um... guilty-kid needs to be picked up.

Kid's Mom: I get off work in 1 1/2 hours...

Me: Nope. He needs to picked up now.

Kid's Mom: Why?

Me: He had an ummmmmm.... accident.

Kid's Mom: What accident?

Me: In his pants....

Kid's Mom: Oh! He peed his pants.

Me: Nope. He number two'ed his pants. 

Kid's Mom: I'll be right there.

AWKWARD. 
The whole time I was thinking: MUST. NOT. LAUGH.

I asked guilty-kid if he wanted to go to the bathroom and clean up.
He nodded yes. But then he just stood there. waiting. for me to come help him.

"This is something you're going to have to do by yourself.... I'm not allowed in the boy's bathroom."

He still did not move.

"Go." I pointed to the bathroom.

Then he waddled bow-legged out of the office leaving a fowl stink in his wake. I sprayed fabreze.

I am thinking about ordering a box of these hats to keep in the BGC office. Is that crossing the line?

Poo-on-the-Go

Pee baby normally has pretty good control over his butthole.

I can count on two hands the times he's had explosive poo and crapped out of his diaper.

This leads me to believe he plans it out.

In his quest to make my life more difficult he has had angry/vengeful poops in the following places:

• At the airport
• At San Diego's Wild Animal Park
• At a church activity
• At my Grandpa's funeral
• At the Boys and Girls Club
• At the airport again

He has only exploded out of his diaper once while at home.

His tendency to sputter feces in public is a little suspicious. This pattern is too coincidental to be just a random accident. He does it on purpose.

I bet he likes it. Look at his devious grin.

 Nasty little punk

 He likes to make my life harder

Since I am not a fan of turd parades, I propose that Huggies make an explosion-proof diaper:

 Bam. Problem solved. 
amen.