... 'cause we already know Tristan is just like him! Except perhaps with a combination of my side's stubbornness thrown in for good measure...
So baby, this is dedicated to you... Mmm hmmm, you know I love you!
(Just replace "football" with "soccer", and it'll be right on target! :)
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WARNING: I didn't make this - there's one bad word to close your ears to. If this (or something like it) has ever happened to you, leave a comment with your funny story!
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Calling all church architects, restaurant owners and store managers:
You really have no excuse for failing to put changing tables into your women's bathrooms unless you want poopy diapers to be changed on your pews, booth seats and display tables.
For that matter, men's restrooms should have changing tables too. It's a new century. Men change diapers now. Except of course when they are somewhere that the only changing table is in the ladies room. (Then I'd hate to be a single father stuck in your place of business or worship!)
It's time to end this blatant inattentiveness to the needs of young families. Unless, of course, you're subtly implying that we are not welcome in your establishment. In which case we are happy to take our children elsewhere to experience their childhood memories and develop their earliest brand loyalties.
Which means that, without the interest of the next generation, your establishment is ultimately doomed to die a lonely death - whether you are a store, a restaurant or even a church.
We who have small children WILL find a place that welcomes us.
But hey, it's totally your choice whether that place is yours!
I think these are some of the best commercials out there this year (besides the totally creative Dorito's commercials!)... So I wanted to share a few of my favorites:
So I've continued noticing vast differences in how The Hubby and I react to baby situations. Sometimes they're so funny that I just have to share - so I've created a whole new label thread for "the difference between mommies and daddies". (Catch the first one right here.)
This morning we were eating our brown rice and apple sauce in quiet family contentment. Little Man was watching from his Boppy-bouncy-thingy on our long kitchen counter, fed and dry, cooing happily away. Until....
Pllssssphhhhhh. Phhht. Pssttttphhhhht!
Loud juicy squirts blew through the companionable silence.
I'm sitting closest to him. Waves of baby poo-smell waft over my bowl of rice and applesauce. "Oh my goodness, I can smell you already!" I said. Very mommy-style. You stink to high heaven and I'm going to change you right NOW!
"Way to GO, Little Man!" Daddy says from the other side of the table with a big thumbs-up. Very male bonding style. That was a 9.5, next time make it a little louder and juicier and we'll give you a TEN!
And THAT is the difference between mommies and daddies.
It's hard to be a woman.
One must think like a man,
Behave like a lady,
Look like a young girl,
And work like a HORSE!
... when you embark on the parenting journey are unmistakable.
As a friend and I laughed the other day: getting pregnant means that the wife goes crazy and the husband grows up!
... the Hubby was going through friends on Facebook the other day and noting how many boys have been born this year. Seems like we've got friends having a new baby every single week since last spring!
(And yes, despite the morbid predictions by Target Lady in yesterday's post - almost all of them are boys!)
A vast majority of these new parents all attended Southern Adventist University as well. Which means that in about 18 years, it's possible that a couple dozen of our friend's sons will be invading the SAU campus as college freshmen.
While most of us in this new-parent group are scattered around the continent, I really do hope that our Munchkin can have some of these boys as his childhood friends somehow. It'll make the 2027 freshman orientation at SAU just that much more fun.
Hmmm, come to think about it - all those pastor's kids invading the poor school at the same time? Yikes. The men's dorm might never be the same again!
Should somebody warn the school?
So we had the last doctor's appointment today, and as usual the nurse took me to get weighed and measured (makes me kinda sound like a side of beef, doesn't it?).
Then she asked me, like every time, to step around the corner into the bathroom and leave a full little cup in the shelf behind the tiny door in the wall.
At this clinic, they don't have proper specimen cups. Just regular white styrofoam ones, with a pen by the sink. You're supposed to write your name on the cup, fill it up, and then leave it for the nurse behind that little magic door. Not rocket science, right?
Unless you're me. For the second time in the last three months, I walked in, shut and locked the door. Grabbed a cup and the pen, sat down while dutifully writing my name on the cup as legibly as possible. And then realized there was nothing left to go in the cup.
Nice.
Reach over and turn the faucet to a noisy trickle.
Think watery thoughts.
Berate myself for not being able to manufacture more pee when it's actually needed. Because, honestly, I could fill more than this stupid little cup at any given moment of the rest of the day. Just not right now.
Ignore the next pregnant lady knocking on the door cause I've taken so long.
Finally settle for placing the cup behind the door with approximately 7 drops of "specimen". Reach over and shut off the pointlessly trickling faucet. Take five more minutes to get the maternity jeans, long tank top, maternity shirt and everything else tucked back into place.
Wash hands.
Find the funny in it all. Cackle loudly to myself all the way out the door, down the hall, and into the exam room.
Stop cackling long enough to ask the nurse, "Uhh, ma'am, if you need more..."
"Don't worry," she cuts me off as though she knows EXACTLY what I'm going to say. "Just a couple drops'll do. The doctor will be right with you."
Get cackling under control before doctor arrives. Not aiming for the lunatic diagnosis. At least not today...
Who knows, maybe next time?
... there are just a WHOLE LOT of baby boys being born this year? Nearly every couple we know has had or is having a son.
As you may already know, by 9.5 months everybody you meet thinks it's their business to inquire about the baby. Strangers ask you when you're planning to "pop". Last week some random (and very talkative) lady in Target also wanted to know the gender.
"It's a boy", I replied, slightly scattered between trying to find some elusive jumbo waterproof changing pads, and still managing to be polite.
"A BOY!" She crowed. "All the babies this year are boys! You know, my gramma always said that when everyone has boy babies, there's gonna be a war. She said it was God's way of preparing armies for when they're needed."
Nice, lady. I really want to hear that God is giving me my son so that he can go die in a war in 20 years. Do you realize you're implying that I'm having a son for the sole purpose of being either bullet fodder or a killing machine?
Way to go.
This is the last in a series of five humorous sketches on pregnancy, by my friend Adel Torres. Adel and her pastor-husband brought home their first child, a baby boy, just last week. She sketched these during her time in the hospital, and gave me permission to post them here.
You can read about Adel's art, mission trips, and pregnancy journey on her blog: This Journey, My Home.
This is the fourth in a series of five humorous sketches on pregnancy, by my friend Adel Torres. Adel and her pastor-husband brought home their first child, a baby boy, just last week. She sketched these during her time in the hospital, and gave me permission to post them here.
You can read about Adel's art, mission trips, and pregnancy journey on her blog: This Journey, My Home.
This is the third in a series of five humorous sketches on pregnancy, by my friend Adel Torres. Adel and her pastor-husband brought home their first child, a baby boy, just last week. She sketched these during her time in the hospital, and gave me permission to post them here.
You can read about Adel's art, mission trips, and pregnancy journey on her blog: This Journey, My Home.
This is the second in a series of five humorous sketches on pregnancy, by my friend Adel Torres. Adel and her pastor-husband brought home their first child, a baby boy, just last week. She sketched these during her time in the hospital, and gave me permission to post them here.
You can read about Adel's art, mission trips, and pregnancy journey on her blog: This Journey, My Home.
This is the first in a series of five humorous sketches on pregnancy, by my friend Adel Torres. Adel and her pastor-husband brought home their first child, a baby boy, just last week. She sketched these during her time in the hospital, and gave me permission to post them here.
You can read about Adel's art, mission trips, and pregnancy journey on her blog: This Journey, My Home.
It's amazing what weeks of sleep-deprivation will do to you. Like last Friday afternoon, when I went into Wal-Mart to get groceries. I walked through the front door, nodded at the little old greeter lady sitting by the door. She grinned and waved, and I was suddenly reminded of a joke someone sent me recently:
A little old geezer got a job at Wal-Mart. On his first day he was instructed to greet all the shoppers that came through the door. After a few hours, a big ugly woman came thundering through the door cussing up a blue streak at her two young children.As the little lady greeted us at the door, I couldn't help laughing to myself. By the time I got to the produce section I was giggling uncontrollably. The guy stocking the bin of onions chuckled along with me. But I wasn't able to stop.
"Hello ma'am, welcome to Wal-Mart! Those are beautiful kids you have there - are they twins?"
"What the blankety bleep bleep makes you think they're twins? This one's 9 and that one's 5! Do they bleeping LOOK LIKE TWINS TO YOU?"
"Oh no ma'am, not really. I just couldn't imagine anyone sleeping with you twice, that's all. Enjoy shopping at Wal-Mart!"
His manager said he wasn't really cut out for this line of work...
Last night I had a brief mental picture of the future. You have to understand - my husband is one of the most stylish and best-dressed men that I know. But when he comes into the privacy of his home, he and even the most comfortable of his clothes are swiftly parted.
Yesterday evening we went to pick up my new eyeglasses. Then we ate some supper. Then we came home. I stopped in the kitchen to put something away, and by the time I made it into the bedroom he had already shucked down to the essentials.
I stood there for a moment, adoring this man who has held my heart for more than eight years. And suddenly I had this mental image of our son about 3 years from now. I can imagine that every time I think I've got him dressed for the day, he'll manage to remove all his clothes by the time I turn back around.
Or maybe he'll keep them on until just before the doorbell rings, and then strip down while I'm not looking, just in time to beat me to the front door and stun the unfortunate guest with a huge impish grin and an eyeful of little boy.
Oh yes, I can just see him now. Little white teeth and big brown eyes flashing as he looks up at them with all the charm he can muster.
"Hi!!!! You wanna come in?" Then he swivels his little head and calls out, "Mommy!!! Somebody from church is at the door!"
Yup, life in this pastor's house is about to get fun!
1. In the shower, you keep turning off the tap because the water sounds like screaming.
2. You lose the ability to conjugate (e.g. “Good job! You eated a whole bunch!”)
3. You no longer recognize your own given name, speak for other humans as if they are ventriloquist's dummies, and say “thank you!” when other people are complemented on their looks.
4. The sleeves on every shirt in your house are either folded over or sewn shut.
5. You think it's perfectly normal for a person to need to be wrapped tightly in a blanket with their limbs restrained in order to sleep.
6. You've been recently hospitalized and you were happy about it.
7. You have recently either willingly: let someone near you with a scalpel, let someone videotape you while naked in a bathtub, or let someone hold a mirror up to your privates in public.
8. Whether or not there are tears running down your cheeks is not a reliable indication of your actual current emotional state.
9. You regularly stare at feces to try to figure out what it is trying to tell you and see nothing wrong with in-depth analysis of such as a cornerstone of every dinner conversation.
10. You think others are only capable of breathing if you stare at them while they sleep.
Credit to: MomtrolFreak.com
... the breast pump, that is.
My sister works as a nursetech. And oh the tales she can tell at a family dinner...
Like the one about the 30-something career woman that gave birth to twins, and decided she needed to pump, so she could get right back to work.
So the nurses brought her a double breast pump and showed her how to use it, then left the room -- 'cause she could "do it herself". They'd given all the normal instructions of course - how to put it on, how it should feel, not to exceed 15 minutes of pumping, and so on.
A half hour later, they popped back in to check her progress.
Pumps glued in place. Empty bottles. Pump timer reading 21:00 minutes.
"I just don't know what's wrong with me," she wails. "I must not have any milk!"
The lactation consultant and my sister pry off the pumps. Which weren't even in the right place. Instead, there were massive hickies where normal skin should be - raised up from 21 straight minutes of unforgiving mechanical suction. The nurses could hardly keep a straight face.
"Umm, darlin', it might help if you actually put the pumps where the milk comes out."
Ya think?
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