My best gifts

She's too pretty to be mine. She had a lovely Christmas. The high chair is her new favorite place, because not only can she reach her toys, she also gets to be part of the family meal without the constant "no, no, no grabbing/swatting/thwacking." She's enthralled by her new beads and remote control and stayed awake the whole time, unlike the first Christmas for this kid:



Is this really his eighth Christmas? That really can't be possible. I hope I made this, probably his last Santa Christmas, very memorable. Roaster played a huge part in the magic with a beautiful Lionel train. I figured that'd be the hit of Christmas, until a little while ago, as I drove Max to his Dad's.

"Mama, I think my best present is my new solar system."
Oh yeah?
"Yeah, Mama. Thank you."
Actually, baby, Hubs picked it for you.
"Hubs did?"
Yep.
"And he thought I'd love it?"
Yep.
"And you told him he could buy it for me?"
Yep.
"Well, it's my favorite thing of Christmas."

Someone, somewhere must have known I needed that opening. Stupid Boy's Dad, who has no qualms not seeing this beautiful boy for six months at a time, has decided he's going to try to be consistent, at least for now. It's hard to let him go once every six months, nevermind once every three weeks. The battles between Boy and Hubs since this started have gotten pretty fierce. One of the downfalls to raising a smart butt.

So I got to give credit today to Hubs, the man who has loved him and raised him and been there for him always for the past five years when his stupid Dad didn't give two hoots. I got to give him credit for the best part of Christmas. So I hope that when Boy looks back and remembers this Christmas, he'll remember how Hubs thought "Hey, Boy's gonna like this." And maybe that'll help him as he tries his best to figure it all out.

It was a good day.

Merry Christmas to you all!

'Twas the night before Christmas

It's weird without my brother here, our first Christmas apart since Mom died. I'm forcing Roaster to spend the night. Like I told him, I haven't had a Christmas morning without him in 29 years. If I'm going to start now, I require some pretty serious advance warning. I threatened to withhold his towels and jacket and M*A*S*H DVDs if he bolted.

The ILs came, they were suprisingly unabrasive. We had a pretty nice dinner that Pap and Hubs whipped up, and we've been enjoying some pretty tasty treats I baked up this morning.

And the kitchen is clean. I don't know how we pulled that one off, but there is a single plate in the sink, and everything else is sparkling. So it's Christmas movies for the rest of the evening and then sleeping lightly so the pitter-patter of not-so-little feet don't go unheard in the morning.

To you and your family, a very Merry Christmas. May your day tomorrow be a happy one, and may the coming year bring you only good things.

Merry Christmas, LA

Maybe I'll post more, better pictures now that I have this:



Because who really needs a new dishwasher?

Random LB love...

She's decided lately I'm the only one for her. She's generally perfectly happy to flit between Hubs and me. But since Sunday, it's all about The Mama. It's cute. Exhausting, but cute. If she's on his lap fussing, and she spots me, she'll stop fussing and gasp, and then giggle. And of course then I have to get her. Really, what choice do I have?

We lay in bed and talk for a few minutes before we drift off. Lately, she likes me to sing L-O-V-E, from that Chanel commercial. She likes it when I get to the "even more than anyone that you adore" part. Then she talks to the magic bink for a few minutes before giving in to the sleepies.

She waves her hands when she's eating squash or peas. Everything else, she can't be bothered to focus. But squash and peas, I've got her undivided attention. The hands go straight out to the sides, and she flexes her fingers in and out, in and out while she yums it up.

But if she doesn't stop growling, she's always going to sound like Estelle, and that's not a good thing. I blame Hubs. When she starts barking, we'll know for sure it's his fault.

Time, still flying...

Happy five months to my sweet little ladybug!



The boy's ultrasound went okay, I guess. We won't know anything until the doc reads it, but at least they didn't shoot needles into his stuff like he feared they might!

Delete, delete, delete...

I deleted a blog post. If you are one of the few people who subscribe to me, you may have seen it.

Not doing damage control, just felt differently about it this morning. So delete, delete, delete.

Last night I was having a pity party. Today I celebrate the people willing to fight for me. I've never had that, really, and it's kind of freakin' awesome.

Scared for nothing?

We'll see.

The specialist was really nice. It was really hard to watch the Boy lay there and wince as he was poked and prodded on. The issue the pediatrician suspected may not be the real issue, though. He was right, to a degree, but there may be more to it than that.

So, an ultrasound at Women's and Children's on Monday. Then we'll take it from there.

The good news is, it may be more of a wait-and-see situation than a "gotta fix this NOW" kind of thing like I was originally told. So that's a bit of a relief, but it's still Mama's job to worry.

A funny aside:

Boy: "Mama, who were you calling?"
LA: "Roaster, to tell him about your appointment."
Boy: "Hey, I needed to talk to Roaster!"
LA: "About what?"
Boy: "That's not your bidness."

Yes, he said "bidness." Should I laugh at my 7 year old telling me to MYOB? I think I should when he says "bidness."

Dumpy, dumpy, dumpy...

Miss Molly sums it up when she says Not ____ Enough. There's a reason we're soul mates.

I've been feeling really, really lousy. Lots of stress. I feel completely inadequate the vast majority of the time. Not enough money, not enough time, not enough love, not enough anything. I'm not funny enough, smart enough, nice enough, pretty enough, caring enough, something enough every minute of the day it seems.

I feel like the butt of the joke these days. Ain't it grand.

The Boy has a serious case of the gimmes, too, which really makes it hard. I want him to believe in the magic of Christmas, I want it to be a great time for him, but he's gotten greedy. Which makes me mean. And I don't like that.

His first appointment with the specialist is Thursday. Is it okay for me to be absolutely terrified? They're going to put my Boy, my baby, baby Boy to sleep. They're going to cut into him. And yeah, he'll be fine. I know that in my gut. But it's my BOY.

Anyhow, I'm looking into a new job tomorrow. A recruiter emailed me the job description today, and quite frankly it'd be perfect. Hubs could keep his job, we could move and make it work. It'd be a great change, more money, probably a happier life for all of us. Which means I won't even get an interview.

Yeah, I'm a bucket of laughs these days.

A major award!

Thanks to Steph for this award, inspired by the single greatest movie of the season.

I'll bestow this one on Donut Boy, who shared a childhood love of the leg lamp with me, and Jessicoco.

Worry

I switched the kids' pediatrician for several reasons. The new doctor is pretty cool, a little hyper, but a nice guy.

He noticed something on the Boy that the previous ped had never mentioned. It requires immediate attention in the surgical sense and may have some pretty serious long term repurcussions. I'm pissed off and terrified for him, but I gotta be brave so he'll be brave, right?