The Whiz

Ok, So

2012-02-02T21:41:00.007-06:00

It's been a minute. Got that. Sorry dudes. Not a lot to recap over here, really. Here's some pictorial narrative to ease your mind:

Cormac wants to sit up now! He can't, mind you, but the exersaucer provides him with some moments of greatness. Also note the drool. He's teething. Already. Teething + reflux = ?? I'll tell you what it equals: laundry. Let's all applaud Kyle's tireless efforts in that department. He's like the linen whisperer.

Iris has many babies. They all have names and they all must go to bed before she does. Usually she locates various individual locations throughout the house that would actually be somewhat appropriate places for real babies to sleep. They are always lovingly wrapped in blankets and propped up on pillows, in various (actual, live human, family members') beds, on boppies, etc. This photo documents the first occasion that a small segment of her babies slept on a pallet and had a slumber party. Meet Baby Alex, Baby Cormac, and Baby Iris (left-right). Yes, the long red-headed girl-doll is Baby Cormac. Discuss. This photograph by no means captures all of the babies in their beds, btw. There are probably another four babies (at least) not pictured.

I was afforded the opportunity to sit outside DURING DAYLIGHT HOURS recently. Because of this awesomely catastrophic global anti-winter situation we're in, I was very comfortable in the 50+ degree weather, and I got to watch the sun set. This is the view from my back porch. Please feel free to express your jealousy in the comments.

Since Logan and Iris are in the same classroom at CMS, I get to benefit from all of Rebecca's photography of various school adventures. Iris' class went on a field trip to one of those "paint some ceramics"-type places today. This candid shot, while beautiful, doesn't quite relay the joy I know Iris felt once she began painting her plate. She's turning out to be quite the artiste (!); once she got home, all she could talk about was how she painted her plate with pink and white, and also purple! And she decided not to make any shapes, she just wanted to see what the colors all looked like next to each other.

A little pink

2012-01-13T22:02:00.005-06:00

(Conversation had with Iris countless times over the past several months)

MOMMYDAD: Hey Iris, what color is Mom's hair?

THE WHIZ: It's kinda brown.

MD: What color is Dad's hair?

WHIZ: It's kinda brown too! And curly.

MD: Okay, so what color is your hair?

WHIZ: It's pink.

MD: Really? Your hair is pink? I thought it was brown!

WHIZ: Yeah, it's brown, but also it's a little pink.

Fig. 1: Just keeping her honest

Fig. 2: Relax, it's Manic Panic. Totally washes out.

Cheer!

2012-01-11T08:57:00.003-06:00

Resolute

2012-01-10T22:18:00.002-06:00

Pay attention to your life. Move some. Drink less. Eat more vegetables. Get better at correspondence. Write more. Write more. Take more pictures. Don't smoke. Love your husband. Listen to your children. Take the dog for a walk. Write more. Buck up. Organize. Move.

Love your children till it breaks your heart. Put it back together and break it again, then understand what it means to love them. Avoid violence in movies/fiction/news media because it hits too close to home. See it anyway and love them harder. Harder. No, harder.

Fail at everything. F*ck it up really badly, then come back and do better. Hurt your daughter's feelings and dismiss your husband. Let the baby cry too long. Miss deadlines at work, and lose sleep because you're too stubborn to lay down. There, you failed.

Now stop. Don't slow down; stop. Breathe. Try again.

I resolve to keep failing. I resolve to keep learning from my failures.

Outtakes

2011-12-16T20:33:00.004-06:00

There were far too many to choose just a few, but I think I was able to whittle down the best of the best. Please, enjoy.

What a load of

2011-12-15T16:53:00.002-06:00

HORSE$#!%.

I am never taking posed photos of these children again. Never. Again.

Semolina Pilchard

2011-12-14T00:14:00.002-06:00

Cormac has brief periods of false lucidity wherein he says things like, "Hey Mom." Sometimes it's just "Mommmmmm." I usually respond with "Hi! How's it going?" Then he barfs on himself.

He's been smiling and chattering with little babyvoice noises recently. I like to encourage him, so I do little dances and sing songs with him when he starts talking. Iris gets in on it and drops that little booty like it's hot. Iris is always down for a dance party, with or without music.

Anyway, today I sat with Cormac on the couch, just chilling out after work and trying to tame his cold/reflux issues, and I swear I'm not making this up, he said, "coo coo cachoo!" And then he barfed on himself.

The Happy Horker 2011

2011-12-03T13:43:00.002-06:00

Cormac had his eight week check up yesterday. After getting all the stats, the doctor left the room to grab a growth chart, then explained that his weight put him in the 13th percentile. I very slowly asked her if she meant that to mean that 87% of the rest of the children his age were larger than he is. She agreed. I then noticed that the chart in her hand indicated that he was in the second percentile at birth. As in, 98% of this nation's children are born at a weight that is greater than 9lbs 11oz. Really. While I let the weight of that extrapolation sink in for her, she started muttering something about the metric system and stupid computers and sort of wandered off again for another 20 - 30 minutes. We might be switching practices soon, just saying.

Anyway, at eight weeks, Cormac is 24.5 inches long, weighs 13lbs 9oz, and has a head circumference of 16.25 inches. His percentile bracket for those groups is 98%, 83%, and 97%, respectively. His weight has always been the lowest percentile.

We also got a prescription for zantac. Cormac doesn't just spit up, be pretty much vomits continuously all day. He has coughing fits and gets the hiccups nearly every time he eats. He arches his back, and is the noisiest, most restless sleeper. He has reflux. So far the meds haven't helped a whole bunch, but I'm not sure if the results are supposed to be immediate or cumulative. I do know that whatever syrup this stuff is suspended in is seriously not tasty. Cormac makes faces every time I try to give him a hit of it, and I can actually smell how terrible it is from where I'm sitting. Finally today I tried a little drop and it is really, truly awful. It's like menthol and dirt and everclear, all wrapped in an eensy little dropper. (O, my word so many inappropriate jokes could be made here. I shall resist...)

Moving along - it would be nice if we could get the horking situation under control. Obviously so that Cormac will be more comfortable and able to actually keep food in his body (not that he's starving or anything), but also because the poor kid lives in a permanent state of swampy dampness. I swear we change his clothes sometimes 10 times a day (not exaggerating at all). Kelly mentioned that it's Christmas Family Photo time (Kelly: Are you going to take dorky photos of the kids in their christmas outfits in front of your tree? Me: Well, honestly the thought hadn't crossed my mind, but I might, if the puking stays to a minimum, but you know, probably not. Kelly: I'll plan on coming over in a couple of weeks to help you pose them and make sure Iris doesn't destroy her outfit or run away or something. You do HAVE christmas outfits for them? Me: Right. Okay!), and it would be really wonderful if Cormac did not destroy his (or hell, EVERYONE ELSE'S) preshus christmas joy costume with the contents of his stomach.

This year will be our first Christmas in the new house, the first Christmas as a family of four (OMG), and now that Iris is old enough, our first chance to really start building some family Christmas traditions. We plan on never moving again, so we're pretty confident that stuff we begin doing now could actually be carried on for years to come. I prefer to let traditions develop organically, but some things are too awesome to be left to the fates, and I plan to guide our little family down the path of righteous bacon consumption as a general christmas morning theme. See me in a few months for tips on all things bacon (casseroles, cinnamon rolls, ice cream, beer, etcetera).

Not that we'd serve bacon beer for Christmas breakfast, mind you. Maybe brunch. But only once everyone at the table is at least old enough to open their own beer. Tradition!

Patrician Vomitorium

2011-11-26T22:34:00.003-06:00

Not a real update, but I just wanted everyone to know that while baby poop smells like buttermilk, and baby skin smells like honey and powder, and baby breath smells like cauliflower, or bread, or something really normal and homey, baby barf just smells like barf. Ask my shirts. Or the couch. Or any soft surface in our house. They know.

It's oh, so, quiet. Shh. Shhh.

2011-11-23T22:14:00.003-06:00

I try to imagine a life in which I do not nervously await the sound of something jarring, of someone needing - something. In my sleep, in the shower, in the car, walking from the living room to the kitchen, washing my hands, drifting through mundanity, I listen. I hear everything. If those children so much as breathe differently, I know.

This is not so much conducive to a functioning life of employment. Coworkers do not necessarily appreciate a twitchy, hyper-attentive, more than slightly quirky cohort. They in fact frown upon that sort of thing. Tends to detract from accomplishing actual work.

So I went back this week, and it's same, same. The work is the same, and the people are the same, even if our physical location is different (we needed a bigger office). I am making a real effort to pump this time around, and so I've been assigned my Closet of Dubious Usefulness in which to do so. It's actually kind of fun. For twenty minutes every day, I get to lock myself in a nicely carpeted storage room, post a sign that says "NO CLOSET TIME FOR YOU" (so not joking), and hunker down with some celebrity gossip on my phone.

I have actually been pretty successful at tuning out the rest of the world and getting some things done, but I really do hear phantom sounds of infant distress coming from the HP printer who lives around the corner from my cubicle. I was mildly tempted to walk over and pat his back and ask if he needed a drink of water. I mean, I thought about it anyway.

It's so hard to switch parts of your brain on and off at your convenience. I think that's a well-known fact, but it bears repeating. Kyle and I are executing this life of carefully timed comings and goings revolving around child care and work schedules. There are literally minutes between when I arrive home from work and when Kyle must appear for work. When we are home, we are caring for children, and when we aren't, we are working. That's just how it is right now.

I keep telling Kyle that everything will be magical in five years. In five years, both children will be completely in charge of their own bathroom adventures. They will sleep with some measure of predictability. They will not wear diapers or need to be fed manually. Then, THEN, when I'm good and 35, I'll be able to relax when it's quiet, not wonder what, exactly, is about to go wrong.

Waterloo: Wherein Strangely I Am The Pint-Sized Loser

2011-11-18T12:04:00.003-06:00

Okay, it's a pity party. Don your pointy tassled hats and join me, why don't you? I'm not looking for accolades here, I just really need to express how much of a bad person parenting a toddler makes me feel. What other situations exist in which you are constantly mocked, belittled, and defied by someone who lives in your house and claims to love you??? Two/three-year-olds must be the emotional-abuser-boyfriends of young families everywhere. I mean, the sheer manipulation that this child is capable of is indescribable. If anyone I knew was experiencing this kind of behavior from anyone in their life, I would tell them to cut all ties with the (colorful expletive here) and never speak to them again. That is, anyone except for their kids. Is there any other situation in which you actually cannot escape the madness? I fail to see it, if there is one.

I know I'm not experiencing anything that hasn't happened to millions of people before me. I just cannot get over that I'm so bent out of shape right now that I'm referring to my children as something that happened to me. Who does that?!?! Well, I guess I do. I am six weeks postpartum. I am tired and I'm covered in dubious milk-esque substances (both source and regurgitated). I am lumpy and haggard and I never have time to eat, so WHY DO I STILL HAVE ALL THIS EXTRA SKIN? I live with someone who actively seeks to piss off everyone near her, then when they seem like they're just about to snap, cackles in their face with maniacal glee.

I feel like I am so angry (so, so, so angry) all of the time. What is this doing to her? What kind of person is she going to become if all she knows is that it's fun to piss people off then laugh at them? What kind of person will she become as a result of living with two adults who are still so angry from her last horrible outburst that they can't even be happy with her when she is good?

I have asked several people whom I respect both as people and as loving parents to tell me what to do. The answer seems to be that we are to simply live through it. There is no solution. Party on.

Let Me Sum Up

2011-11-10T22:41:00.003-06:00

...Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen...

Sorry, I had to go there.

Anyway, Iris likes school. She cried when I left her the first two days (like, monkeyed herself to my neck and had to be pried off by a surprisingly strong teacher's aid), then on the third day, bemoaned school in general for the entire ride in, then let me go without even a sideways glance. Win.

A couple of nights ago, in an effort to kill time while Kyle was at work, I bathed both kids. Iris, then Cormac, got all clean and snuggy and good-smelling. I tucked them both into the couch with me and everything was just delicious. Then Iris got up to "clean up some crumbs" and swiped her hand through a hidden pile of errant ketchup from dinner. Then (says the ketchup-enhanced child), I picked up Kashmir because she was sad, and there's cat hair on my ketchup, oh hey, I have to pee. Oh, I peed on the floor... oh, and the rug... and also Mommy it got on my legs and my socks. Hey, can you help me?

About three hours prior to this event, Iris informed me that she was going to work, she'd see me after lunch, she loved me and, okay-bye-bye. When I disentangled myself from nursing a few minutes later to investigate the disturbing silence, I found Iris in the refrigerator. Let me explain. I mean that Iris was bodily and wholly INSIDE of the refrigerator. It was shut as much as she could get it shut while standing inside of the refrigerator.

I honestly do not know how to express my total horror and also inappropriate abject amusement at this turn of events. I mean, this level of terror, this is karma, right? I seem to recall a warm, tired voice telling me she couldn't wait till I had kids who were exactly like me. So, that happened. Neat. Can't wait for this show to really get interesting. Perhaps I'll go scrounge up my 13-year-old person's diary and review a bit.

Meanwhile, in New Kid Land, I was simultaneously pooped, peed and barfed upon the other day. Then a few hours later, Cormac lay astride the boppy, looked right at me with a precious little gummy grin, and flipped me right off. Almost got a picure of that one too. It was. so. awesome. Those two facts pretty much encapsulate all there is to know about Cormac these days. I'm going to get him a little bathrobe and start referring to him only as The Dude.

Both kids are napping right now. It is 74 degrees and sunny on this fine November 13th, and I am sitting on my deck, hanging out with the dog. I can hear "This Magic Moment" softly twinkling in my ears, and little birds just carried a garland of sparkly unicorn magic to me in their beaks. Win.

Montessori Narcolepsy

2011-11-07T21:51:00.002-06:00

When I first started working at the Columbia Montessori School, I was 22 years old and scared out of my mind. My friend Lois convinced me that I should work there with her, that it would be great, and I would love it. I was barely an adult, convinced I didn't actually like kids all that much, and very deeply worried about my ability to turn off my sailor potty mouth around said questionably likable runts.

Turns out I liked it so much that I fell in love with the bad kids and married this tall guy who worked in one of the other classrooms. I don't think any of the rugrats picked up any bad language from me, but if you meet an 11 year old from Columbia who accurately drops f-bombs with total flourish and joy, I'll go ahead and take that bullet.

One of the things I did not love so much was nap time (GIANT FREAKING NO DOY RIGHT HERE, PEOPLE). I remember telling Claire (friend Claire from the STL, not sister Claire from the STL) that the kiddos were so funny, because they'd all be so obviously destroyed with drunken sleepiness, yet still fight me to the end. I was struggling to find the words to explain myself, when I realized that my feelings could be accurately expressed with song: Ben Folds Five, Narcolepsy (off the album The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner - great album which you should totally listen to repeatedly if you haven't already). The winning line to the song: "I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I just sleep...."

Iris attends her first day of school tomorrow at Columbia Montessori School; Lois will be her teacher. Full circle weirdness is weird, my friends.

I don't know why, but I'm completely nervous for Iris. Blame postpartum hormones, lack of sleep, blah, blah... I don't know. I do know that I had to take Iris to get her final vaccinations before she could legally join the classroom, and while I have been present for every shot she's had prior to today, I never wept loudly while rocking her in my lap quite the way I did this morning. It was just awful. She had already recovered and set to choosing her post-shot present from the treasure chest that the doctor's office so helpfully provides, and I was still over by reception blowing my nose and pulling myself together.

My heart breaks at the thought that she might be confused at the new routine, or get her feelings hurt by one of the big kids in her class (it's a multi-age classroom for 3-5 year olds, and sometimes potty trained 2-year olds). She really likes to hold hands and crawl up into laps. She likes hugs and standing far too close to the adults in the room, and that is just... not how things work there. I know this! I worked there for years!

Of course I know she'll be fine. I am good friends with both of the teachers in her classroom, and I know that these people love her. She will be looked after and she will benefit from the organization that going to school provides so much more than she might ever suffer the learning curve. I know this, but it is still so hard to let it go. This seems redundant, but I feel the need to point out here that I never, ever, evereverever thought I would be this way. I am that mom, who cries when her baby cries and frets over letting her grow up, and might even threaten to cut anyone who tries to hurt my kid. Even if that threat comes in the form of a four year old punk with an agenda. Maybe. Just don't try me...

Fortunately, Iris will only be attending half-days, so nobody will be subjected to her particular brand of not being tired. Listen to Ben. He knows what's up.

Duermen, Ninos

2011-11-06T20:35:00.003-06:00

I swear, I should retitle this blog "The Sleep Chronicles," since it's all I seem to be able to talk about. The new kid stopped sleeping, btw...

Iris likes this Sesame Street DVD called "Favorite Kids Songs: TWO," or something, and there is a song on it called "Duermete, Mi Nina." It roughly means, "sleep, my little girl." She likes the song a whole lot for someone who hates sleep. I think Cormac has been studying her, because he went from being the kid who sleeps in these big beautiful four-hour chunks with no problem, to being a fussy, tired, sleepless baby.

It's not all bad. I mean, he does EVENTUALLY sleep, but the fact that we have to work so hard for it now is very reminiscent of the whiz, and not very awesome in the least. I know this is kind of rambly and uninformative, but I just realized tonight that only NOW (now that Cormac shuns sleep with the pros), do I have that stressed out/senses-heightened/mama-bear-will-KIIILLL YOUUUU-if-you-mess-with-my-babies...thing happening. This feeling must be a direct result of sleep deprivation in new parents. I was beginning to wonder if something wasn't wrong with me, simply because I'd been so relaxed about Cormac up till now.

I actually have emergency congingency plans all laid out to deal with various (completely unrealistic and barely probable) scenarios. I remember doing this when Iris was brand new. I had this plan that if someone came to the house to plunder/rape/pillage (because vikings are so prominent in columbia and everything), then I would sacrifice myself and destroy the baby monitor, all while silently dialing 911, in the hopes that even if I died, eventually some emergency responders would find Iris, safe and sound in her crib. Or something.

The point is that I was so proud of myself for not going to that crazy place this time around, and now look at me, all wondering if crazed hobos are living in the woods behind my house. I mean, at least I usually have the dog with me back there, and I'd totally throw her under ~~the methodone addled freaknut~~ the bus to buy us a few minutes....

I think it's important to note here that I don't actually believe that any of this could or would happen, but it's important to plan ahead.

Right?

I should maybe sleep some.

Iris at school

2011-11-03T22:00:00.004-05:00

Iris is going to start at a new school next week, and she was invited to participate in their halloween party this past Monday. Rebecca Allen, photog extraordinaire, fellow classroom parent, and good friend to boot, snapped these shots from the party.

Eating a super nutritious rice krispy treat

Hanging with Logan

LOVING Logan

This is a really precious shot, till you learn that she got plowed down by a very large five-year-old moments later. Ah, memories.

Freaky

2011-11-03T14:09:00.002-05:00

Well, I think the kiddos are about the same age in these photos. I must say, I always thought Iris was a pleasantly chubby baby, but she had nothing on the new kid. I have no idea how much Cormac weighs now, but it's certainly more than Iris' petite 8 week old, 11lb. self. I mean, he's four weeks old today (omg), and definitely already has that weight beat.

Anyway, not much to say today, more later. Probably. Go look at cute baby pics on Facebook. :)

Pretty Pretty Princess

2011-10-28T12:26:00.003-05:00

So, the baby only sleeps during the day. The two year old, remarkably, sleeps mostly at night. I sleep with my eyes open.

There will never be enough coffee

To wit: I'm Screwed

2011-10-26T13:42:00.002-05:00

I think, perhaps I may have been mistaken.

The new kid, you see, while dormant for a while

Seems to have quite abruptly awakened.

He offers an easy smile,

Shuns rest and stirs,

Leaves daylight for sleep, and 3AM shaken.

My Buddy and MEEEEEEE

2011-10-13T10:45:00.003-05:00

You guys remember that song? If not, save yourselves and DO NOT google it. If so, I hope you cherish that earworm for the rest of the century.

Aren't they just totally stinking cute though?

So anyway. I started this post many days ago - not sure how many, but I'm sure that when I post this little bloggerism the date will remind me. What I meant to say those many days ago, is that Iris loves her new brother. She wants to hold him all the time and literally grips him to her body when he starts to get fussy there on her lap and I need to take him away for a little snack or whatever.

What she hates is her newfound lack of attention, or at least her lack of immediate attention when she wants something rightnowmom pweees pweees pweeeeeees. It's really sad, because it always ends in massive big fake tears, which turn real pretty quickly. Not a lot can be done, even for the real ones, when you're stuck in a chair nursing an almost asleep newborn. She had her share of potty accidents (only three, then the reemergence of super-bribery-by-candy happened), she had her big fake fits over anything she could think of (I want toast! Is presented with toast. NOOOO I don't WANT DAT! WHYYYYYYYYY?), and she has of course entered the land of inappropriate laughter in the face of confusing challenges (baby is crying, poop spewed so far it hit the wall, nobody is directing attention Iris' direction: freak out). Okay, I might have injected some inappropriate laughter in that situation had I been in her shoes, so that can be forgiven...

Okay, obviously they can all be forgiven, since she's TWO and everything. Two year olds get an out for purposefully incendiary behavior, since they are only doing what they know how to do to get the kind of attention they need. She has peppered various encounters with questions like, "Mommy, you happy now? You not angry?" Oh, jeez. Just stab me a little more with your big sad guilt trip face. I teared up a bit and meant to ask Kyle about it in private, when, in front of friends, Kyle said: "We should compare notes on what she does to get out of bed time. She asked me for water, and to go potty, and told me her tummy hurt, then she asked me if I was going to yell at her." Oh. So THAT'S how it's gonna be? Captain Manipulation, thy name is Iris.

Still. Two year olds are babies who need lots of hugs and patience. Even the tall ones who look like four year olds and even talk like them too. Ack.

Things are much better today, and I expect will be better tomorrow too. We're getting there, and oh, by the way, did I mention that Cormac is the sweetest, most easy going baby ever? No? The easy ones always get ignored, man. More on him later (the neglect! It's already happening!), but right now I need to polish off this box of wine that Grandpa R. so thoughtfully got going for me last week (Franzia: It's a family afairrrrrr), and also address my weird love of parenthetical commentary today.

P.S. The Franzia: THANKS GRAMMY K!

FBK is a Big Mac

2011-10-08T08:21:00.007-05:00

Okay, does anybody who reads this thing NOT have Facebook? Just in case, here you go:

Cormac Michael Kelley

9lbs. 11oz. 22 inches long

Born Thursday, October 6th, 2011 at 8:06 am

His body was so big that doctors couldn't fit their hands inside the abdominal incision in order to extract him. The incision was made larger and vacuum extraction was used. I could feel my entire body being pulled towards the doctors as they tried to pull him out. I think my shoulders might have been lifted from the table at one point. I think there was an audible pop. Once he was finally out, the team of seasoned doctors could be heard exclaiming things like, "He is definitely a man!" and "He looks like a two month old!" I mean, so far the two outfits he's worn were sized 3mos and 6mos. Seriously.

We should have access to the hospital pictures soon, so I'll post that link as soon as I get it. I have seen previews of them, and dudes, my kid is astoundingly cute. In fact, all of them are. I should have several more, just so we don't deprive the world of all of this potential adorableness. I'm pretty sure that's an actual fact. I'm not biased or anything.

AHHH NO INNERNETZ BOO

2011-09-27T16:38:00.003-05:00

Hey Dudes! We have no internet at home till Thursday. I am trying to unpack the house, cram in 40hrs of work, and not go into labor till this weekend. So... I'm busy.

So is Kyle. He stopped being able to feel his legs a couple of days ago; it's pretty nuts actually.

Baby shower was fun and apparently you guys DID think I was being an assy lush (thanks?), as I got several boxes of wine. Yes. Several.

Been having cramps/backaches all day, and they hurt.

Also, um? Dudes - NINE FREAKING DAYS. NINE. LESS THAN TEN. SINGLE DIGITS.

That is all.

Info Aperitif

2011-09-16T12:15:00.002-05:00

Gosh I wish somebody was handing me an aperitif... am I too focused on alcohol these days? Someone let me know if I'm sounding like a jackassy lush over here. But just so you know, it is only 20 days till I can (probably) partake of a deliciously crisp and refreshing alcoholic beverage, and oh by the way, have I ever mentioned how much I love the efficiency and economy of a nice box of wine? Say, some Franzia? Just checking.

Some quick bits of info which I presume to be precursors to an actual, rambly-style post which I will write Some Day:

Not dilated nor effaced

Started having contractions the day after last cervical check (also: ouch).

FBK is for sure head down (or was on Wednesday).

OMG WE HAVE A CLOSING DATE OMG (Sept. 23rd).

Started full-time work from home today, which will last till baby comes.

I have decided not to have the baby till Grandma & Grandpa Reinhard get here.

This will work, because I said so.

If you have any cats you need harassed, I have just the toddler to do it. She accepts nachos as payment.

Scenes of Macho Times

2011-09-12T08:18:00.002-05:00

8:30pm, the living room, last night:

Mom! I'm eating dis fing wif Dad it's wike chips an' cheese an' sour keeeem an' it's DEWISHUS. Dad made it an' dere's cheese wike sprinkled on it. I eatin' it.

Yeah, I used the tortilla chips that were already opened, so I'm a little disappointed because they're stale, and these could have been so much better. I should have done the chip check before I put them in the microwave. *scoffs somewhat bitterly* I mean, they were still good, and I was really glad to have the opportunity to put sour cream on something...

7:37am, the living room, this morning:

I hungry. I need some fooooooOOd.

Okay, we have craisins and bagels and cereal and fruit...

I wike cheese and sour keeeem. I wike chips.

Iris are you asking for nachos for breakfast?

Yeah!

Well, can you at least attempt to eat something healthy first?

Okay, I eat some raisins?

Cool. Let's do this.

8:17am, in front of PBSkids, this morning

Hey Iris, how's your breakfast?

(whispers reverently) Dere's cheese an'.... wike sour keem...chewchewchew...dis a chip...chewchew...Mom, I wove machos.

CleverOff

2011-09-09T07:19:00.003-05:00

You know, I do try to be witty, sometimes. I actually take a few minutes to think of post titles that one might describe using words like, "sharp," or perhaps even "charming," if nothing else. This is not going to be happening for the foreseeable future. So, I'm sorry if I bore your pants off, but the big baby on the outside and the not-so-big baby on the inside conspired to melt my brains, and hey - at least you can say the party's never dull when the pants start coming off! Ahem - moving on.

This pregnancy has gone completely differently than the last. For starters, Iris' pregnancy dragged by because I had nothing else to think about or focus on in any way. It was pretty much 10 straight months (yes - pregnancy is 10 months long - look it up) of staring at my body, waiting for it to do something labor-ey. I was in pretty serious physical pain from the moment her little fetus self started to become big enough for folks to notice I was pregnant. Whatever cocktail of hormones her pregnancy created made me feel angsty and ragged around all the edges, all the time. I literally cried because I was hungry. Multiple times. My hips felt like they had bolts screwed into them way too tightly, and my back pretty much felt like someone took a hammer to it.

I had no idea what to expect, so I just figured that's what pregnancy feels like, and trudged on (Kelly's insistence that I see a chiropractor notwithstanding. I was stubborn. And feared the co-pay, I think). Anyway, Iris' pregnancy = anxiety, massive amounts of pain, and really wanting to stab anyone who paid attention to me. So, pretty much like the onset of puberty. Except when you're 14, everyone expects you to be a cranky insolent ass, but when you're pregnant, everyone expects you to be a joyful, glowing orb of Maternal Light. How anyone expects that when the experience is the equivalent of puberty with an extra layer of "run over by a truck," I'll never understand, but whatevs. That's what happened.

This time around, I actually had morning sickness. I must have been spared it last time because I was already being such a punk about how much things sucked and the universe decided to spare Kyle from the injustice of having an EVEN CRANKIER wife to deal with. So, I got the morning sickness this time, but it was totally bearable. It was essentially like the worst hangover, but without any of the fun before hand. Oh, and also I never puked, I just hung out on the bathroom floor "just-in-case" for a good three months. Good times. We had a really clean toilet during that time, that's for sure.

Once the fog of the sickness lifted, I started to notice odd things. Like, for starters, I didn't want to kill everyone at work yet. People would inquire about the pregnancy, and I didn't automatically shoot lasers from my eyes at their insolent question-asking. In fact, I don't remember even thinking that speaking to me made you an assh*le by default. This was not true last time.

Also I didn't feel the need to eat everything that was ever made of cheeseburger this time. Last time I would get all gaggy/barfy if I went more than a couple of hours without massive protein intake. Seriously. And I took in that protein in the form of bacon cheeseburgers. A whooooole lot of them. So this time around, I'm still a good 20-30 lbs lighter than I was last time. I also don't have stabby hip pain and my back doesn't feel broken. Coincidence? I don't know, but I'm not going to question it.

This time around, I've also been busy as hell. They actually give me something akin to responsibility at work these days, so that's taken up a lot of focus. We have been trying to sell our house and buy another one for nearly this entire pregnancy, which is unbelievably distracting. Once that whole situation is settled, I'll be sure to regale you all with the neverending story of how we settled the housing issue. For now, it's still ugly and I've turned completely superstitious, and I refuse to jinx anything by trying to talk about it online.

Then there's the whole issue of having a toddler around. Incredibly distracting creatures, these small people. They have far too fine motor skills to have such undeveloped brains. I read something, somewhere, one time (real specific-like, ya know?), which I am paraphrasing, which said, "bless the first-time mother, for she knows not how easy she has it, sitting there on the couch, NOT chasing any other children." Or something. The sentiment was the same. How could my first pregnancy have been SO much worse, when I had SO much less to do or worry about? I had nearly zero responsibilities and yet I wanted to cry myself to sleep every day. I don't know. It's not like this time around has been without pain, but it either wasn't as bad, or I didn't have enough time to focus on it. Hell, it's been so much better, I think we should go ahead and have two or three more of these suckers (right, Kyle? Ha, hahaha, Kyle?)!

In the next three weeks or so, we should be moving into our new house, having a baby sprinkle (like a small shower, get it?) at said new house, and then of course there's the small issue of having the actual baby. No big. We have time. I am so completely not being sarcastic when I say I'm not worried about it. I have some sort of weird internal gauge of "alrightness," which is usually pretty accurate, which is not anywhere near the red zone. I truly believe that everything will happen in the order that I want it to happen, in the time that I want it to happen, and I therefore have no need to devote any level of stress to it. Everything is okay because I said so! But really. Everything is okay because I said so.

P.S. I'm apparently not dilated at all, but I've been having all sorts of contractions! I don't think it means anything. Will try to post some pictures soon. OH, and we get an ultrasound in about a week and a half. Yay!

30

2011-09-06T14:03:00.004-05:00

FBK drops in 30 days. The Ministry of Obvious has this to say for itself:

30. Days. 30 DAYS! WHAT?

With the Quickness

2011-08-31T20:25:00.007-05:00

Real quick like, since any position my body can get to that is pro-typing is also pro-"please can I have some more stabby everything pain," I give you a tiny pictorial:

The Yard Sale

We had a yard sale, I think we sold a bunch of stuff, and we also made $52. It was a tiny bit disappointing after investing $13 into an ad in the paper and prepping all that junk for days and sitting in the stupid hot driveway at 6:30a.m. Kyle is hosting "Driveway Sale Part Deux" this weekend sometime, and he was able to sell more stuff on craigslist after the fact, so there's something. Honestly, I'm not holding out a lot of hope for "Please Buy My Stuff 2.0" this weekend. Especially after last Sunday's tepid response to "Old Stuff We Don't Use, v. 1.5" (wherein Kyle sat out with the stuff another day, but didn't like, tell anyone he was going to do that, and just really hoped that the giant neon signs all over the neighborhood would draw folks in. They did not.) I'm just shocked all the baby stuff didn't sell. There were FOUR strollers and like, three tons of awesomely cute (and in some cases NEVER WORN) girl clothes.

Fig. 1: Approximately 1/8 of the baby clothes that were presented for sale last weekend

Fig 2: More clothes which sadly remained betagged during their tenure in the wardrobe

Pirates Have Feelings Too, Express Them Via Finger Paints on Sundays:

Iris caught me folding laundry the other day (don't tell Kyle I did that willingly - he'll try to make me do it all the time), and in it was an old bandanna. As soon as I picked it up I heard, "It's a pirate hat, Mommy! A PIRATE HAT, MOMMEEEEEEEE." So Iris wore the pirate hat and asked to paint a little bit. We put the old Dad shirt on and tied up the pirate hat just so, and when I asked Iris if she wanted me to get her a snack or anything to munch on while she expressed her big deep pirate feelings, she said, "ARR." I'm so not joking. Ask her sometime.

Fig 3: Iris, mid-pirate joke, "So I sez to the blue whale, CHEER UP!" Har.

Fig 4: Quoth the shirt, "My Sultry Sunday Shirt (Pants Optional)"

Things Best Avoided at Work

Belly shots, yo. Do not try to take belly shots at work. Even if you have no full-length mirrors at home, and heaps of messy crap everywhere that will show up in any photo you take anyway, do NOT try to take belly shots at work! Especially if you forget to turn off the flash, and it's anywhere near lunchtime, and crazy ol' HPD is roaming the halls. Especially not then.

Fig 5: Just learned today that I'm "about to pop," the baby has "dropped," I am "carrying low" and also "look WAY more pregnant" than I am. A-haaaaa-wesome.

A Month In The Life

2011-08-10T08:29:00.013-05:00

I know it's been a month and I'm total fail at blogging, but I'm not about to start getting better today. I have a quick break at work which I will use to post some stuff super quick like, but for a real update you'll have to wait till I screw my brain on a little tighter than it is now.

The Great Lone Range, or Why My Butt Loves The Couch Way More Than Me

So Iris and Kyle did go out of town, and lo, there was much lazing and repose. On my part, that is. Kyle and Iris did whatever they did, and it was all a mystery that I don't care to solve. I decided that I ~~was so excited for their departure~~ was going to miss them so much that I simply had to snap a photo right before they got on the road. Don't they look joyous? So precious in their stylishly coordinating travel costumes, those Kelleys....

Anyway, I actually did have to work the first two days they were gone, so it's a good thing Grammy took pity on me and babysat Iris for the weekend. I got all my work done and sat on the aforementioned sofa, and I do believe that was the last time FBK was small enough to avoid directly stimulating my sciatic nerve. If you're not familiar with your sciatic nerve and what it can do, do not bother trying to learn. That would be like researching what, exaaaactly jellyfish stings are like.

I was all set to blog about stuff that weekend, in fact, but then Babs' charger broke (Barbara Jean - the Apple laptop), and I had to rush order a new one. Then I was going to meet Grammy and Papa in Concordia to pick up Iris, and noticed the huge bolt/nut/washer combo sticking out of my driver's side tire. I did not drive to Concordia that day. G & P did bring Iris back home though, which is nice, since I kind of like my kid and everything. And - bonus - they fixed my tire too!

MOMMY, TakemypictureCHEEEEEEEZE!

Iris really likes having her picture taken now. She actually directs photo shoots starring her. It's... kinda weird in an endearing little way. I think it might be the "CHEESE" face that gets me the most. I mean, it reminds me of one of those poor, harried stage children whose mothers bleach their teeth and put them on toddler diets. I seriously have no idea where she learned that. I barely even wash my own hair, so I think I can safely opt out of that little blame cycle. Fortunately these shots look relatively natural. Here is a small sampling of a recent photo shoot:

Irisey With The Fringe On Top

The hair in the face was about to kill me. So, as much as I hate bangs, hated having them growing up and hate that they make children look creepily precocious, it had to be done. I stood her up on the toilet lid last night and chopped those suckers off. They are crooked and jaggedy, but at least she dosen't look like one of those Afghan dogs with the hair and the not-seeing and whatnot anymore.

Oooo, Let's Dance, Awight?
...quoth Iris when she first heard this song, and then of course again every time after. This is the time when I shamefully admit that my kid likes dance music. Like, that one might find in a dance club. For dancing. I um... will be sitting on my couch with my unwashed hair. Someone who likes glow sticks and sequins can be responsible for endoctrinating Iris into the land of technopop:

(Sorry - would have embedded the actual video but Yeasayer said "no," if you can believe it.)

Miscellany - Ask Me Later

We bought a house! We did not manage to sell one though.

The dog died and I didn't even cry. Only part of that statement is true.

I like yard sales and I especially love preparing to host one! That entire statement is false, which makes the likelihood of its occurrence no less probable.

Cats only barf where bare feet go, and children only pee on the floor when you're late for something - discuss.

I'm way pregnant. Whoa.

Wilco Copper Norge

2011-07-13T06:46:00.008-05:00

I just scammed a bunch of words off of the bulletin board in my cubicle to come up with today's post title. It's utterly meaningless, but sounds cool, no? If it didn't have the already super-recognizable "Wilco" part in there, I'd pretend it was a really awesome new band that only I had ever heard of. I'm so in-tune with the indie scene. Man. Anyway...

I was just reading someone else's blog (you don't know her; I don't even know her), and in it she explains that she recently had to cry into her mom's lap for a bit about how stressful children are, how much they suck when you can't take them outside of the house, how they're never going to stop being all needy and loud, recognized her own continued needy/loud-ness in regard to her mother, cried more, etc. Yes to all. Yes times a million. And this woman is a stay-at-home of three girls under the age of eight. I get to go to work three whole days of the week (hah - I GET TO WORK)! And for two of those home days, I'm not even primary care! And yet!

And yet, I am still embarrassed of the shallow lack of patience I currently sport. Iris is so wound up, all the time. The child just needs an energy outlet, and that is impossible when the heat index is 112 degrees. Poor, poor, awesome Kyle deserves an award for how well he cares for her and also refrains from tossing her out the window daily. She's just hysterical, and not in the funny awesome way, more in the losing-her-damn-mind kind of way.

She has been talking lately. Like, really talking. Talking like a big kid who has some level of reasoning skills and likes to ask questions. Her favorite question at the moment is "because why?"

(sounds of cat sadness coming from Iris' direction....)
Me: Iris, stop patting Kashmir's back please, you're hurting her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Patting her back too hard will hurt her.
Iris: Because why?
Me: It will hurt her because hitting hurts.
Iris: Mommy, I not hit Shashir's back, I PAT her back. She not crying.
Me: Kashmir doesn't know the difference between patting and hitting, Honey, she just knows she doesn't like it.
Iris: Because why?
Me: Because it hurts her.
Iris: I NOT HURT SHASHIR!
Me: Well, you're going to have to take that up with her because she thinks you are.
Iris: Shashir, I not mad at you, I pat your back! No crying!

That could seriously go on for hours. She is somewhat willing to be redirected, but it takes a high level of bribery and waaaaay more patience than I have right now. Massive high-pitched melt downs are very common around the Kelley abode. The cat convo was just a tiny example, but my brilliant solution to that problem is to ban cat interaction forever. This will soon be a problem if it becomes my solution to every problem, as I can't very well ban her from touching everything in the house, especially when the inside of the house is the only place she can go.

Iris also recently decided that the things we ask her to do are pretty much just suggestions that can (and should) be ignored. Not awesome. Yesterday the only way I was able to get her to listen to me and stop running/screeching/giggling maniacally was to stand in front of her and let her ricochet off of my legs. I certainly couldn't have caught her if I was actually running after her. Then of course there was the resulting fallout/tantrum of epic proportions. I ended up doing that awesome thing where I drag the pissed off child around by the upper arm while she does her best protester limp. That was all within the first few minutes of my arrival home from work.

Did you know that July 4th marks the beginning of child abuse season? Did you know that there was a SEASON? I think it's only something referenced by ER staff, but still, this is a THING. I learned that little tidbit in my random other people's blog perusal as well. Apparently it has something to do with school being out, children being insane dictators, and the heat index being such that taking them outside to run off steam is something akin to child abuse. I'm just saying, you know I'd never participate in such a season, but I SEE WHERE THEY'RE COMING FROM, YAKNOW?

In lieu of my own mother's lap upon which to cry, we are shipping Iris off to KC for two weekends in a row. I have next to zero guilt about this. Okay, maybe like 5% guilt. Possibly more, but I'm repressing it. Kyle is going out of town to visit friends in Texas that he's been trying to find time to visit for like six years or something. The decision to send Iris to KC this weekend was a last-minute deal, offered up by Grammy because she knows I'm nuts? I don't know, I'm not questioning it, because you know what? DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT? (I just don't even know how to make shouty-caps shoutier than this...)

I AM FINALLY GOING TO BE HOME ALONE FOR TWO WHOLE NIGHTS. THIS IS ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED.

The only thing that would make this more bursting with awesomeosity is if I could bring my friend Franzia along for the ride. Alas, FBK would not enjoy the resulting brain damage, so I guess this will just have to happen again next summer! Booya. Silver linings are shiny and pretty/I heart shiny things!

Tomorrow, next week, same deal

2011-07-05T21:42:00.004-05:00

So perhaps I was hasty in my assessment that I'd post pictures "tomorrow." I'm not terribly worried though, since I'm pretty sure only Kelly and I read this thing, and I showed her the pictures in person last weekend. I kid! I know for a fact that at least two other people look at this blog sometimes when an automatic e-mail shows up to tell them that I posted something. So, all three of my dear readers, enjoy yet another picture of FBK's feet, and three profile shots wherein he attempts to suck on the umbilical cord and lick his knee.

{Toes Again!}

{Knee-to-face action}

{Umbilical cord as binky}

{More umbilical fun times}

100 Days

2011-06-28T21:26:00.002-05:00

Well would you look at that! One hundred days of pregnancy to go. That's crazy! I think it was right around this point in my last pregnancy when I decided that I was really very over this whole preggo ride and would like to get off now please and thankyouverymuch. It's not so bad this time, but I can tell you that all of the crap that hurts when you're pregnant now hurts, so I'm not like, savoring every second either. I'm probably just better equipped to handle it all since I know what's coming and I clearly lived through it once before.

We had our last ultrasound today, which was really just a follow-up because FBK wouldn't move to accommodate pictures of his heart last time. He is definitely for sure still a boy, and today's ultrasound tech couldn't stop gushing over the beauty and perfection of his heart. He weighs 2lbs6oz, which is apparently on the high end of the normal range for size at this gestational age. This is me not worrying. Totally not worrying. Still within normal ranges. Anyway I have the standard gestational diabetes test next month so we'll find out if he's on his way to being abnormally large. I'm not worried about it, but I guess we'll see.

There were pictures, but I don't have them ready yet. I can tell you that FBK and The Whiz have the same nose and of course they share the hobbit feet of doom. Sorry kids. I'll try to get those pics up tomorrow!

Iris Music Thursday: Tighten Up

2011-06-16T15:08:00.002-05:00

Iris really likes the Black Keys. We discovered this fact on a trip out to the country(ish) to check out a supposedly awesome foreclosure last week. It was awesome but moldy, so I guess it was not very awesome, but it wanted to be. The house, that is; the house was moldsome. Iris' love of the Black Keys was FOR SURE awesome. She did a lot of dancing and demanding that the dancing return in-between every song.

We tried to show her some of their videos online the other day, which is when we discovered that the visual accompaniment to the music is usually kind of violent or sexually inappropriate or just kind of obscure and funny (but only to adults, probably).

So anyway, here: watch the kind of violent, mildly funny video. Know that Iris busts out her hippiest windmill arm dance every time it's played.

It's better this way

2011-06-08T11:02:00.003-05:00

There are things that annoy me. Irrational things. Things that annoy me so much that my annoyance annoys other people. What's worse, is that many times the activity that annoys me is perpetrated by someone who thinks they are being really extra polite. So I have many encounters wherein the person with whom I'm interacting expects a reaction from me that is somewhere on the spectrum of ambivalent to grateful, and I come back with a badly-concealed eye roll. Okay, maybe not that bad. Eye rolls are incredibly dismissive and mean, but sometimes the best I can do is an emotionless dead stare, and I'm not sure that's better.

This is all a very long-winded way of announcing that I am now going to list all of the things I can think of that drive me batty. You don't have to read it, because they really don't make sense for the most part, and I'm sure that my feelings about this list are greatly exacerbated by the insane hormones currently raging inside my body. Nonetheless, I have to put them here or I'll say them out loud. To the people who actually annoy me. Nobody wants that. It's not their fault that they sneeze wrong.

Mouth noises - If I can hear you chew, gulp, smack your lips or breathe through your mouth, I'm probably feeling violent. That's disgusting and uncalled for.

People who insist on saying "bless you" following every sneeze they hear. If I sneeze 17 times in a row (it's happened), and you feel that you MUST bless me, say it ONCE, okay? ONCE. I don't even really need you to say it at all, certainly not 17 times.

Cars who stop to let me cross the street. Okay, I know this one is weird, but think about it. If there are only one or two cars on the road, and you are patiently waiting on the sidewalk to cross the street, you will actually get to the other side faster if the cars just go ahead and pass, rather than take the time to slow down and come to a safe stop in order for you to walk across. Plus, I'd really rather not have an audience while I cross the street. It makes me feel like I need to rush and that I'm holding up traffic and that I'm in the way.

On the other side of the sneezing issue: People who vocalize while they sneeze. I know, I know, that it is impossible not to do so when you have been doing so nearly all of your life. But I also theorize that it is not necessary nor is it natural. Babies don't hoot in the middle of sneezing; they don't say the actual word achoo while sneezing. They just breathe in deeply, and then breathe out really quickly through their noses. No voice.

Patronizing use of the word "we." This annoys everybody, doesn't it? WE are not eating this meal, I am. WE did not say how far along we are in this pregnancy, as last I checked, WE do not share a uterus. I almost feel like this bullet point is so obvious I shouldn't have even listed it, but you know, spirit of sharing and all that...

Open doors, but not the ones that lead to houses. Okay, again, super dumb and weirdly irrational. I do not understand why someone would open a cabinet door to retrieve something, then just leave it open. Why would you open the mailbox, get the mail, then leave the mailbox open? WHY? Really! I need to know!

People who say "Git Er Dun!" What is that? What does that even mean? Are you trying to sound like an assh*le? Because you do. You sound like an uneducated hick.

The too-long door-holder. Dude, if I am right behind you, cool - hold the door for me. That's a very nice thing to do. If I am any other distance from you than within the 2-foot door-holding range, just let it go, it's not worth it, and you're probably making mouth noises that I really don't want to hear anyway.

See? Now I feel better and I'm not even going to punch my very good buddies who gulp water at me and bless every sound that even slightly approximates a sneeze. Good times.

Limpid Bagel

2011-06-07T07:02:00.004-05:00

Wouldn't that be weird, and probably a little gross? Like Crystal Pepsi? Ew. Anyway, disregard the title, I just thought it sounded cool.

So I don't have any major (or minor, really) updates, and obviously you didn't get a song last week. I mean, I'm perfectly comfortable posting The Farmer in The Dell (AGAIN), but as Aunt PittyPat noted, you guys aren't really here for the cartoons, no?

Potty training is going much better; thanks for the suggestions. Turns out bribery does work, we were just doing it wrong. I mean, stickers are nice and all, but she was holding out for chocolate. We've actually noticed that Iris might be saving up trips to the bathroom to ensure more trips to the Potty Candy Stash. Smart kid.

I continue to get huge and FBK continues to kick about. I'm not really sure what's going on in there, but his feet are definitely still firmly planted on my bladder. It's neat.

That's about it for now. Again, name suggestions? Anybody? You know you are just dying to tell me what to do (right? people love telling other people what to do, don't they? that just me, then?).

Take a Gander...

2011-05-26T18:33:00.004-05:00

...And throw him down the stairs. That jerk totally deserves it after what he did to that old guy. We don't have a new song this week since Iris is still firmly in love with the Farmer in the Dell, but she did expand her horizons to include Goosey Goosey Gander sometimes. I'm not saying I approve of this behavior (*cough*kylestopshowingherthestupidvideo*cough*), but it is what it is, so here you go. I guess we do have a new song, just try not to watch it around children.

Okay, why is he in his lady's chamber? Why would a goose who is seemingly intent on checking out some lady's bed care one way or the other if some old guy was praying or not? Are we really teaching the youth of India (and elsewhere, I suppose) that violence is okay if you don't follow the rules? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy threatening to cut my co-workers if they chew too loudly or play with their clicky pens too frequently or like, breathe really loudly, but that's FUNNY because I would never ACT on it. Probably. But that goose is seriously just rude. Don't you think that old guy was kind of frail? Has he no concern for osteoperosis? Why is this a children's song?

TELL ME WHAT TO DO

Iris is fully potty trained at school. She initiates her own visits to the bathroom and almost never has accidents. She naps without a diaper and has for weeks. I think her last accident happened like two months ago, seriously. At home, her response to "do you have to pee" is always "NO." If you force her to sit on the potty, she will sit for hours and hours and insist the entire time that there is no pee. Then she'll stand up, pull up her pants, and pee on the couch/floor/your lap. She will wake up in the morning with a dry diaper and hold her pee for hours after waking. I have seen her go over 14 hours without peeing. Help me.

Meet Aloyshious Fitzpatrick Kelley

2011-05-23T17:19:00.004-05:00

Don't freak out, I made that up. We still have no idea what to name this kid. All I'm saying, is that if "Guy" is a real name, then "Dude" totally is too.

{Fig 1: (Skeletor) Face}

{Fig 2: (Hobbit) Feet}

{Fig 3: (I know it doesn't look like it but it's definitely a) Penis}

Iris Music Thursday: Somebody Hug The Cheese!

2011-05-19T09:08:00.007-05:00

I'm really very sorry to be doing this to you. I really, really am. As someone who has lived the reality of this song on repeat for days, I can tell you with pristine sincerity that I am completely remorseful to impose this earworm on you. In the spirit of honesty though, I'm required to share.

I don't know how to explain Iris' love of this song. She wants to sing it or hear it all the time. She likes the predictability of the lyrics, for sure. She bops her little butt around to the tune, while nodding her head in time with the beat in a very serious, musical connoisseur-type fashion. She's cool with the farmer, the wife and the child. She's fairly ambivalent about the nurse, but by the time we get to the dog part, she knows that the cat part comes right after, which directly precedes the mouse, and she is not pleased with the mouse. The mouse takes the cheese, you understand, and the cheese stands alone!

Iris: Mommy, da cheese crying!
Me: Yeah, the cheese is alone, isn't he?
Iris: Yeah, he sad. He crying.
Me: Well yeah, there were a couple of tears, but look, they dried up! I think he feels better. I, for one, don't really mind being alone. It's kind of nice sometimes, really. Refreshing, you know?

Iris: ...

Me: What?
Iris: Mommy. Da cheese sad. He need a hug. Why he sad? MOMMY! Da cheese SO SAD!
Me: Hey, why don't we go watch something a little more uplifting like Elmo, or Gabba Gabba, or like shark week or really anything else...

Iris: NOOOOOOOOOO MOMMY, FARMER DELL! FARMER DELL!

ad infinitum...

I'd also like to note as a point of extreme awesomeosity, that when this video finishes and that little list of YouTube inspired suggestions pops up, the same production team who brought you this fine specimen offers another nursery rhyme called "Goosey Goosey Gander." We watched it after the very first viewing of this video because hey - it's a nursery rhyme! Says so right here! I don't really know nursery rhymes, American or otherwise. I'm sure there was a part of my life that was absolutely full them, but that was like 25+ years ago, so you know... I don't know any nursery rhymes.
Anyway, "Goosey Goosey Gander" is an Indian nursery rhyme about an old man and a goose. The old man decides not to say his prayers, so the goose grabs his leg and throws him down the stairs. Twice. The end. That was just a freaking excellent way to bounce back from the sad cheese incident.

Toploftical

2011-05-18T19:52:00.003-05:00

Aside from being cranky, large, constipated, cranky, tired, and cranky I'd also like to announce that I am smug. Okay, not really, but this clip is too funny not to share (you've probably already seen it before, but watch it again anyway). Also I happen to know what tomorrow's musical offering is and trust me, you're going to want something awesome really nearby to cleanse your brain of the numbing repetitiveness that is the um, agronomist in the ravine.
I told Grandma K. the other day that when I find out the sex of the baby on Monday, I will tell everyone except HPD (who has been asking me if I know the sex of the baby yet every day since she saw the calendar which clearly states the date of the appointment as MONDAY MAY 23RD). Blah. Anyway, I plan to tell HPD that we know the sex of the baby, but we're not telling anyone. I giggle every time I say that.

FBK is officially a kicker or a dancer or like, a future color guard champion or something. Don't think I don't feel you tossing that little fake wooden rifle around in there, kid! I am not afraid to ground a fetus! There is historical precedent here! Anyway, s/he is very active, traditionally after meals and through the entire night. Yayyyy. This is the destined dream-sleeper child, so I'm glad s/he's getting all that activity out now. Gotta be prepared for all that sleep that's going to happen. Allll that sleep. Yeah....

Jovian Heavy

2011-05-17T13:36:00.010-05:00

I'd like to think that I am particularly in-line with Thursdays in general. I am drawn to them. I am of them. I have always loved them. Thursday is my day.

FBK is due on a Thursday. My half birthday and Thanksgiving fall on the same Thursday this year. Iris was born on Thursday, February 26th, and I have been convinced all day that today is definitely Thursday. This pregnancy hits 20 weeks this Thursday, and conveniently enough, Iris Music Thursday! usually happens on Thursdays, mostly because it happened to be Thursday when I came up with the idea.

The contemporary name Thursday comes from the Old English Þunresdæg, "Thunor's Day." Somewhere along the line the "n" was dropped and we got "Thor's Day" out of that mess. A lot of other changes happened over the ages, but mostly we need to know that Thor is the god of Thunder, and his name from the Romans is Jupiter (Latin: Iuppiter, Iūpiter) (also called Jove). In Vedic Astrology, Hindu astrologers named the planet Jupiter after Brihaspati, the religious teacher of the gods, and often called it "Guru", which literally means the "Heavy One."*

Jupiter is a gas giant with a mass slightly less than one-thousandth of the Sun but is two and a half times the mass of all the other planets in our Solar System combined. Jupiter is primarily composed of hydrogen with a quarter of its mass being helium; it may also have a rocky core of heavier elements. Its shape is that of an oblate spheroid (it possesses a slight but noticeable bulge around the equator).*

Being that I am so full of Thursday-esque properties, it is extremely accurate to state that I am a massively heavy oblate spheroid, a thunderous gas giant if you will, with a rocky core. Watch out.

And now, here is a random picture of Katie Pants for No Reason At All (tm)!!

{Pants has the funny in her brain.}

* I ripped off all sorts of information from Wikipedia. In the words of the great Mike and Em: "Look it up."

Somebody buy me this book

2011-05-13T15:26:00.003-05:00

I will say that I shamelessly ripped off this information from a co-worker (thanks, J-Bo!), but it was too beautifully fitting to pass up. I mean seriously. SER-I-OUS-LAAAAAY. I need this book. See fantastic CNN article here. Obviously I'm never going to actually read it to the children, but I figure that Kyle and I can take turns holding one another, rocking gently and reciting lines from this book, the hold-ee of course depending on who was in charge of bed time that night (ahem: me).

FRICK.

2011-05-11T07:14:00.005-05:00

Hey, remember that awful woman I work with? She's the one with the problem of accidentally asking her co-workers to physically harm her with her non-verbal cues? Let's be real subtle and give her the pseudonym Histrionic Personality Disorder, just for confidentiality's sake. Well, old HPD recently revived her attentions towards me, and I fear I have only myself to blame.

{Anna Nicole and HPD share similar value systems and fashion-senses}

Two days a week, I work at 6:30 in the morning, as does HPD. Yesterday I managed to forget my office keys, so I had to actually summons HPD from her desk to let me into the office. This of course, opened the gates for conversation (con-ver-sa-tion, n: 1. oral exchange of HPD's sentiments, observations, opinions or ideas 2. instance of such exchange wherein only HPD may speak). I had actually experienced a lovely HPD-free streak of good fortune for going on about six months there, but yesterday's dumbass keyless situation just threw that era right out the window. An obnoxious, but surprisingly short by HPD standards conversation ensued, and then we went to our separate corners to work.

So OF COURSE, this morning when I attempted to get to my seat and begin my work day unmolested, I was unsuccessful. HPD was at my desk in under five minutes. I hadn't even logged on to my computer yet. She had some fake reason for needing to stop by, like asking my opinion of something without actually attempting to solve the problem on her own before contacting me. I answered her question quickly - which of course annoyed her - and that's when she began making up reasons to stick around.

She told me about her car and her horses and her boyfriend's dad's pituitary gland tumor, and some other stuff I probably don't care about, but I wasn't really paying attention. This is the part that amazes me about HPD; I can literally turn my body away from her and start working on my computer, and she just... keeps talking.

Anyway, it is at this point that my dumbassery really comes to bite me in the ass. HPD spies the calendar that hangs behind my head, the calendar upon which I write personal appointments (i.e. non-work-related appointments, not like personal, personal appointments), and she sees the "20 week ultrasound" note scheduled for May 23rd. Please let me note at this point that I am one day away from being 19 weeks pregnant. I OBVIOUSLY look pregnant, and I have for a few weeks now. I'm not trying to hide anything here, and though I never made a grand announcement of pregnancy to the office, it's clear to everyone that I am pregnant and the knowledge is widely accepted.

Well, ol' HPD takes one look at that note and starts squealing. Like, peel the paint from the walls, jumpy-clappy dance, squealing. She begins this weird loop of questions in an attempt to get me to engage with her: "Are you EXCITED?!?! How far along are you? I bet you want a boy! I bet KYLE wants a boy! ARE YOU EXCITED????" Ahem: Yes. 'Bout halfway. Don't care. He doesn't care either. Yes.

Let's just say that HPD is... interested in pregnancy. She wants to be pregnant. I'm not sure if she actually wants a baby so much as she wants the attention that you get when you have a baby, you know? She is obsessed with all things pregnancy and to a certain extent, baby-related.

A co-worker of ours (lovely woman, too nice for her own good, very sweet lady) had a baby about a year ago. HPD got this woman's phone number from the internet (wtf?? can you do that???) and texted/called her while she was in labor 20+ times before lovely co-worker woman shattered her phone on the hospital wall as a result of all of the HPD attempts at contact. After a day or so of labor, lovely co-worker was rushed to emergency c-section. Two hours post-op, HPD shows up in her hospital room. Lovely co-worker and HPD are not friends. Lovely co-worker did not tell anyone in the office a) the name of the hospital at which she planned to deliver, and she certainly did not share b) her actual room number (or PHONE NUMBER, OMG). She did not invite visitors, and HPD was clearly unwelcome.

As hospital staff were escorting HPD out of the hospital room, she attempted to goad Lovely co-worker in to allowing her to visit them at home, once discharged, so that they could visit uninterrupted. Um, she said no.

I'm afraid this does not bode well for my future. Actually, I'm just afraid. Human Resources is aware of the situation, and I am to notify them immediately if anything even remotely close to the level of stalking that Lovely co-worker endured happens to me. I consider that level of attention to be normal for someone who does not know the difference between right and wrong. This is someone who might not necessarily understand what is wrong with trying to walk out of the hospital with someone else's baby.

Looks like the game is afoot. You want to mess with my hormones right now? You want to mess with MY CHILDREN? REALLY?? Bring it, nut-job.

Future blackmail fodder

2011-05-03T10:11:00.007-05:00

I'm afraid things aren't going to be too updatey around here for awhile. I am heading off to the great District of Columbia (not to be confused with the fine shops located in The District IN Columbia; entirely different locations, I assure you). I'll be gone from Wednesday evening till Sunday afternoon. I will likely miss Iris Music Thursday! this week, and frankly have no intention of thinking of anything even remotely associated with adult responsibilities while traveling. So you're not likely to hear from me till after my return. Fortunately for my lovely readers, 87% of you are the people I'm going to visit, so not too many people will be vastly disappointed with my bloggy absence, as you will be reveling in the awesomosity that is spending time with dear ol' me in the flesh. You're welcome.

I have compiled this delicious selection of photo/video offerings for your viewing pleasure, and to hopefully tide you over till regularly scheduled programming recommences.

Iris' current favorite outfit. We had to hide the shoes - it was just getting out of hand and they are so small they cut her feet now. Also? The no pants thing: better learn to love it because it's her preferred state now.

ROCK from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

Iris and I happened to be playing in the yard the last time band practice happened. I'm serious, she stood next to the garage and rocked out this way for like 20 minutes. It. Was. Awesome.

Future Colin Burgess from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

And this is what we've done many Saturday mornings in a row now, till we had to prepare the house for sale and the snare drum *mysteriously* found itself relocated to the garage one night while Iris was asleep.

P.S. Do you like the new blog design? Books are neat, right? The new layout makes me absurdly happy, so if you don't love it, for God's sake, lie to me.

Iris Music Thursday: PB&J

2011-04-28T13:10:00.007-05:00

Peter Bjorn & John, of course. Iris really has a lot of things to say about this song. "Dey dancin' Mom? Dey singin songs. Da Mommy an da Daddy say 'WHOOOO WHOOO WHOOO' an dey whistle. Da Daddy pay uh-tar." Yep. They do that, kiddo. All adult men and women are Moms and Dads in Iris' opinion, and this video does nothing but reinforce that all Daddys play guitar (uh-tar).

Someday I'll get a video of her listening to these songs. She actually has slightly different dances for each one. The dance for this song is a subtle bob of the head with some general bouncing all over thrown in. It's a rather serious "hipster at a show" move if I do say so.

P.S. I was a little unclear in that last post. No idea what flavor FBK is. Child would not wake up and so the only thing we could see was the face/elbow. All sorts of crotch-shots will happen next month, I'm sure.

Shelby Pat Kelley cannot be moved

2011-04-25T20:48:00.007-05:00

Today was the 'big' morphology/ID sex of baby ultrasound. I asked my doctor to schedule it sometime before the weekend of May 5th if he could, mostly so that I could participate in gender-specific shopping on my trip to DC with the fam. It's admittedly a silly reason to bump up the scan, but the doctor seemed fine with the idea and scheduled it for this week. We (I) thought I was 17 weeks pregnant, and that this ultrasound was just slightly too early (usually morphology scans aren't scheduled for any earlier than 18 weeks). Turns out I am not. My due date was moved four days later about ten weeks ago, and nobody told me. So my actual due date is October 6th, 2011. You would think that this information would have influenced Dr. G's scheduling here just a little bit.

While it is wonderful that I have four more days to cook this kid before all the c-section harpies come at me with scalpels, it is not so wonderful in the land of insurance-covered ultrasounds. There were two sonographers in the room: a super nice and presumably experienced one, and a second, mildly snippy student-sonographer who was really extra annoyed that I wasn't far enough along to get all the proper readings. I kept telling her that I think ultrasounds are really super fun (I do!) and that I'll gladly come back, but she wouldn't be cheered. What is it with us and cranky sonographers? I mean, the one today was not nearly as gruff or curt as the last one, but still - cranky mofos.

Anyway, we got some shots of the baby's face and elbow. Apparently the placenta is a lovely place to nap, and FBK could not be inspired to do more than flap an annoyed hand in our direction when we attempted to wake him (her?). I can't help but wonder if we would have had more success had the cheerful, experienced lady attempted the same maneuver. We will know in four weeks, when the next attempt is scheduled. May 23rd, 1pm central time. It's totally going to work this time.

Blue Cheese

2011-04-24T13:26:00.004-05:00

Easter 2011 - This picture was taken five minutes after we noticed Iris' 101.2 temperature, so her cheeriness her is extra impressive. Cute, no? Motrin is my friend.

Iris Music Thursday: The Beginning

2011-04-21T16:49:00.006-05:00

Also Known As: Hey! Hey! Hey!

Are you sensing a pattern here? Iris likes repetitive sounds. I think it might be a baby thing, or perhaps a human thing, because I don't know a lot of folks who are opposed to repetitive sounds in the form of a good beat (except for myself when we're talking about minute eleven of some awful jam band's solo). Ahem. Let us recall the relative flexibility of the term "good."

Anyway, this song is Iris' first musical love. This song is the first song she ever sang along to, and this is the song which inspired her very first word ever: "Hey!" This is the song that we used to calm Iris down in moments of parental terror (so she's been crying for 40 minutes/is about to lose her sh*t in public/looks like she's about to cut someone - PLAY THE SONG). It was a lifesaver.

Please to enjoy Vampire Weekend's "A-Punk."

Smells Like Irrational Crying In Here

2011-04-18T15:45:00.003-05:00

How about a State of the State address, if "state" (the latter) is like, the life of the Columbia Kelleys or something similarly vague? I knew you'd be down with that! Thanks for being so supportive of my generalities, oh bloggy buddies of mine.

Iris is on the potty train. She has shining moments of totally GETTING it, then slips back into rejecting the notion altogether, just hours later. I think in those moments she throws such a fit because the idea was likely recommended by one of her totally square and lame-oozing parents. We apparently do not ever have good ideas, and the appropriate response to any suggestion of ours is to throw an enormous fit. Like, enormous. Big old ugly tears and lying prostrate with woe, eventually winding down to a little wimpering and the declaration, "I crying, Daddy. I so sad." Juuuust in case you missed that giant floor show, let me tell ya, I'm sad.

Kyle is gleefully counting down the days remaining till summer break begins (24 with actual kids present - no idea how many total, but the kidless ones don't really count). Over the last four years he's mastered the Grimace and Ignore It face, so it will be nice to see him unclench a bit and just enjoy life. He's always so happy in the summertime. This will come in handy for him this particular summer as I get bigger and less pleasant to be around.

Speaking of being unpleasant (yay)! I have been gloating these last months about how much better I'm handling pregnancy this time around, how the hormones don't seem to be affecting me as much, and how generally awesome I feel. (obvious foreshadowing is obvious!)

Then last Friday someone at work was kind of a jerk to me, and then Saturday one of my "friends" was a mega huge cruel a-hole, then a gaggle of electric guitars woke up my kid from nap, then I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open for longer than 30 minutes at a time. Was this narcolepsy a result of the string of dumb encounters, or was it its very own entity, sent to push me over the edge? Don't know, don't really care I guess, but I did end up in the bathroom for about a half hour "pooping" (where pooping = crying into the hand towel), and I did briefly consider finding Iris to tell her that I had been crying, and that I was so sad. Okay, no I didn't. It probably would have scared her senseless and made her cry too, and that's just not nice.

FBK is the size of an avocado and as far as I know, is not crying. I mean he (he?) could be, but I'd like to think it's rather warm and comfy in there. He's busy growing toenails and contemplaing his cool squishy jumprope. He's likely also not very irrational. I'd like to think he lives a very frank and sensical existence.

So, two-thirds of the non-fetal members of the Columbia, MO faction of the Kelley family are currently prone to irrational crying jags. Do not be alarmed. I'm pretty sure that both are in phases which, while likely to get worse before anything else really happens, are temporary nonetheless.

Iris Music Thursday: LA! LA! LA! LA!

2011-04-14T08:06:00.006-05:00

Welcome to the first episode of (insert you know, like, booming voice of importance here) "Iris Music Thursdays!"

There are quite a few songs that will make Iris stop everything and drop her booty. This is the most recent, but in the next few weeks I plan to go through all of them, then of course update with the newest as they become available. Your Thursdays will never be dull or awesome-less again!

For today's inaugural Iris Music Thursday Experience, we bring you The Aquabats! with "Pool Party." Please picture Iris bouncing around and shouting along very loudly to the refrain, "LA! LA! LA! LA!"

It's too late to change your mind

2011-04-05T21:40:00.002-05:00

You don't get to arrive all round and heartburney at 40 weeks and go, "know what guys? I maybe was just kidding. I think that adoption is an excellent route for our family, and here let me just... wiggle this thing here, and toggle this doo-dad, and er....yep! Just magicked THAT reality into existence."

You don't sell your house, buy a new one, then settle in the new place and say, "I think I liked the old neighborhood better, let's just go ahead and move back now."

You don't name a brand new human, then try it on for size and decide a few months later that Bob-Ellen is really a much more appropriate name. I mean, hopefully nobody thinks that's ever an appropriate name, but that's not the point.

I am certainly not saying that I don't want to be pregnant right now. We want another child now and I love this baby. And so far (even with the 3-month hangover minus the fun drunky times the day before) this pregnancy has been much easier to deal with than the last. I guess I'm just feeling rather fatalistic these days. I just sort of got on this train and now I don't really know who is in charge, but it is most definitely not me. That's fine. It's a little scary, but perhaps it's best to identify the situation then just let it go. I'm going with the flow. I'm zen. I suck at zen, btw.

And we are thinking about selling/buying house these days. And we are struggling to come up with a name for this kid. And somehow I can't lay on my stomach anymore because there is a beefsteak tomato sized person in there, and he really doesn't like it when you lay on him.

I feel like suddenly one day I'll be in a new house that I don't think is very cute, next to crazy zealot right-wing neighbors, while Iris again completely ignores my warnings about loving small creatures too hard and squashes baby Englebert in a breath-stealing crunch. That is, she will do so after she decorates him with butt cream and explains the pitfalls of eating markers and peeing on the couch.

I can't have a baby named Englebert, people!

Things That Go Bump in The Ute

2011-03-29T11:22:00.006-05:00

Well, that one thing that goes bump in the ute. That kid is down with the dancey dance time. If you watch the video in that lovely link up there, you will see the exact dance Lil' Ralphie was doing yesterday. Oh, by the way, I decided to start calling FBK Lil' Ralphie, what with all the attempts at making me barf s/he made. It was either that or Chuckie, and Kyle seemed to shudder with disgust a little more when that name came out. I enjoy this so very much.

Anyway, let's just say that Lil' Ralphie is going to have the jazziest of jazz hands. S/he was so flippy and wiggly that it took forever just to get a heart rate. I mean, we did get one - 162, I think - so all healthy and all that. Speaking of pronoun issues (I was - in my head), the crankiest ultrasonographer in the world told us yesterday that if she had to guess, she'd say Lil' Ralphie is a boy. I am only 13 weeks along at this point though, and it really is too soon to tell. From my vast and thorough google education, I have learned that the butt-shot technique of identifying the baby's sex is only accurate after 17 weeks or thereabouts. So when Capt. Crankypants did the butt-shot (for approximately four seconds) and then determined the sex to be male, she was in all probability completely making things up.

Apparently the sex of the baby can sort of be determined as early as 13 weeks (with 80% accuracy!) but only if you look at a side-shot and find the angle of the nub thingy. It's not nearly as precise, but it is definitely done by looking at a side-shot, NOT at butt-shot. I want a recount, Capt. Crankypants. I mean, we will get a recount, just not very soon. I have the morphology scan scheduled for Monday, April 25th. Approximately four weeks from now we will know, almost for sure, what flavor we're getting here.

These are the two photos our Fair Captain left us with. They are a little fuzzy and weirdly similar, but you know, don't poke an angry bear and all that. She had some extremely negative mojo going on, so I think Kyle and I telepathically agreed to just get the bare info and scoot as quickly as possible.

So, assuming we are having a boy, somebody tell me what to name this kid. We have about 20 possible girl names and like, two boy names that we're both kind of "meh" about. Help!

Facepalm, Headdesk, and other fun ways to admit defeat

2011-03-16T09:35:00.003-05:00

Bedtime (Approx. 8pm - 9:30pm) (by which I mean the journey begins at 8pm, but you never really know how long it's going to take)

IRIS: "Pants, pants, pants! Iris pants have hearts. HEARTS! Yellow heart! Mommy, dis blue heart here. SHHHH baby! Baby babybayyyyybeeee babybabybabybabyba-beeeee! Iris sleep her bed, Mommy sleep HER bed! NOOOOOoooOoO! MOMMY! HELP PEEEEESE! Blanket. NO WANT BLANKET! Mommy. Iris need blanket. NO BLANKET MOMMY. Want blanket! No blanket! WHERE COVERS? No, pillow! Out, pillow! MOM! WHERE IRIS PILLOW?!?!??! I want my Daddeeeeeeeeeeeee."

See also: Headdesk, Facepalm

Then other nights she climbs in bed, closes her eyes, and pops off to sleep in seconds. You just never know what kind of day it's going to be. Yay. Since I'm breeding the next soul sucker at the moment, I'm pretty tired most days. I would really love it if I could go to sleep at 8pm like the elder demon child should be doing. I would also really love it if being overly tired didn't trigger barfy feelings. Totally would love it if threatening to barf on the child actually did anything. Not that I would of course, I just really like throwing out gutless threats under pressure.

I just find this whole nighttime sleep situation so odd. At naptime, that kid is out, no questions asked. She might need a little coaxing but there is never this full tilt war waged. Worst case scenario at naptime is extended back-patting till she drifts off. At night she won't even flip onto her stomach so that you can rub her back, all the while cursing and threatening plagues because you won't rub her back. Suggestions to turn over so that compliance might be had are met with resolute shrieks of disapproval. And then! She screams for so long that she loses her voice! Sort of. It just gets scratchy and kind of old-mannish.

Anyway, the point is that it's just a crazy situation that I do not know how to control. It's not even like we leave her in there alone, you know? I'm either right next to her crib, trying to figure out how to get her to CALM. THE. EFF. DOWN. or I'm just like 10 feet away in my own room, hoping that the constant chattering will eventually lead to sleep. Usually it leads to all of her bedding landing in a pile beside her bed and subsequent and immediate demands for its safe return. Repeat. Ultimately, she has to wear herself out with the stream of consciousness monologue, then the screaming section of the evening, culminating in me forcing her to lay her head on her pillow and sort of burrito wrapping her in the blanket (on her STOMACH. So I can pat her damn BACK.) at which point she usually passes out.

THEN, I go to my bed, all wound up and suddenly thinking about everything I've ever done wrong, everything everyone has ever done wrong to ME, and how much I am a total failure at everything, I am probably short and fat and less cute than and not as smart as I thought, etc. I stay so incredibly wound up that I end up sitting awake reading till like 10:30, only attempting sleep when Kyle finally turns off the light. Then I fidget and roll around and just generally prevent Kyle from being able to sleep, and my back hurts and my nose is stuffy and I still usually kind of want to barf.

I really don't hate myself, and I don't really think those things. But I swear that child could solve global peace issues if she'd just sleep, you know?

10 weeks

2011-03-09T10:38:00.004-06:00

I had a regular check-up yesterday which was largely uneventful. I believe no news is good news in this situation. So far I haven't gotten the splotchy swollen ankles of doom, I have had morning sickness, but I haven't turned insanely hormonal yet. The hormonal thing happened really early last time around, so this is a particularly nice bonus.

I've had that cold that everyone else in the country has for the last two weeks now. Iris' version of it finally morphed to ear infections (surprise.) so she and her amoxicillin are sitting pretty. I have been home from work for two days now, vengefully side-eyeing the NyQuil like it personally made me this way. I originally thought I was just developing pregnancy rhinitis again, but I think that my current congestion is still a result of the cold. I will most definitely have a big ugly hormonal moment if I'm wrong. Because I'm sure crying about it will help the stuffy nose... oh well. At least I'm prepared or something.

I'm kind of showing, kind of not. Mom says it's my weak abdominal muscles not supporting my uterus as well as they did last time since they've already been stretched out by Iris. So it's not showing, it's just lazy muscles. To this I say, is this not the definition of "showing?" My uterus is poking out from behind my muscles! SHOWING! I think my excellent debate skills won this round, thank you and booya.

Iris has been sort of potty training lately. She'll go if you ask her to, and she'll tell you right after she poops in her diaper, but I don't think our various and constant reminders have really sunk in that she should alert us before the event occurs. So close, yet so, so far away.

I wear my sunglasses at night so I can pee on the potty - A modern fairy tale

The Evolution of Snickerdoodle

2011-02-25T21:53:00.003-06:00

M: Iris, are you two years old?

I: Yeah Mommy, I two (holds up seven or so fingers). I cookie!

M: Iris, how old are you?

I: Mommy, does Elmocize? Eat pepper? Elmocize? I cute.

M: Iris, how old are you?

I: How old are you?

M: I'm 29. How old is Iris?

I: Mommy nine. Iris cookie.

M: How old is Iris?

I: Iris cookie.

M: Iris, is your birthday so soon? How old will you be on your birthday?

I: I cookie.

M: You're cute, ya little weirdo.

M: Iris, how old are you?

I: Iris cookie, Mommy. Mommy! Iris cookie!

M: Iris, are you two?

I: Yeah Mommy, I two.

M: Iris, are you a cookie?

I: Noooooooooo. Silly Mommy.

M: Iris, how old are you?

I: Iris two.

FBK!

2011-02-12T09:36:00.002-06:00

Francis Bacon Kelley

Fezziwig Bartholomew Kelley

Ferris Bueller Kelley

Fable Birch Kelley

Flotsam Backseat Kelley

Fairywings Blitzkrieg Kelley

Feta Bluebeard Kelley

Future Baby Kelley. Do not doubt my ability to maintain these initials after the baby is born.

Morning Glory

2011-02-04T12:44:00.004-06:00

Well, I have morning something, but I doubt you'd be inclined to call it glory, unless you consider hugging the toilet to be a glorious endeavor. It's a nice image on which to focus (the flower, not the throne hugging) however, when one is attempting to hold onto their cookies in line at the grocery store.

Flowers are pretttyyyyyy

It actually happens at night. Typically I get the first wave around 6pm, and it hums in and out of focus till I go to sleep. There are also the errant sneak attacks that seem to happen for no reason. This morning around 9:30 was particularly bad, but I was also really stressed out, and kind of hungry. What's extra neat about this whole thing (I'm not even sure if I'm being sarcastic here), is that I have yet to actually vomit. I sure would like to. It seems like I might feel better if I could, but no. Just bone tired, achy joints and muscles, and the severe urge to lose my lunch. Don't you worry though, I will be SURE to update everyone the moment I cross that bridge!

I was supposed to have my first ultrasound today. The doctor I see does an early ultrasound, then the regular one at 20 weeks. It had to be rescheduled because the nurse who originally figured out my dates figured them incorrectly. My due date is correct (according to her chart, 10/03/11), but she told me last week that I was almost 6 weeks pregnant. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't hear it, so she scheduled the ultrasound for today. I was pleased with that result, since it got me look at the kiddo sooner than I thought I should get one. Turns out that today would have been too early to see anything. Like, ANYthing. A different nurse (I like to think of her as the one with the brain) called me to explain today that, while I was perfectly within my rights to keep my appointment today, it was unlikely that I'd see anything at all; certainly not a heartbeat, and perhaps not even a mushy sac-shaped thing.

So my first ultrasound will, really for real this time, take place on Friday, February 11th at 9:30AM. I'll pop in here afterward to share the first photos of the kiddo. Perhaps by then we can decide on a fun in-utero name. The Whiz is just such a difficult act to follow! Kyle and I had been referring to the baby as FBK (Future Baby Kelley) before it was conceived, and of course there's Iris' idea (Dido/Lola). I guess I've been calling it the kiddo, but that's a little generic, don't you think? I suppose if all of this awesome yakking-esque fun time continues, I might start calling it Captain Gut Muncher or something equally savory.

It's Stuffing

2011-02-01T10:37:00.006-06:00

I had this teacher... let's call her Mrs. S. She was my sixth grade math teacher. Awful woman. She was like 4'3", ex-nun, used guilt and humiliation as her main guidance tools, and had an Irish brogue so thick you were sure to misunderstand her, thus garnering her ire at all points throughout the day. She had one saving grace though, and that is that all of these points of data added up to be one seriously funny individual, as long as her attention was not pointed at you.

Mrs. S hated the snow. I seriously don't know if I have the vocabulary to adequately explain her complete disgust with all things snow and snow related. Perhaps because she was such a tiny pocket pal of a lady she was just that much closer to the ground, and on much more intimate terms with the snow. I imagine intimate terms with snow would be right uncomfortable. I don't really know. This extreme contempt was so thorough that she refused to even speak the word snow. Mrs. S called it stuff. "It's stuffing outside," Mrs. S would scornfully announce. Of course, one might only discern that those were her words after having been in her presence for at least a year. That accent was seriously challenging to decipher. And of course, when she's the sixth grade math teacher, that indicates she's only likely to be one's teacher for a grand total of one year. It was a blessing and a curse, knowing she'd only be around for that one year, but also that her language was not likely to be translated by her wards until that year was nearly up. She was a tiny, scary, hateful woman, and she still cracks me up to this day. Crazy lady.

Anyway, on to the point: It's stuffing outside.

Fig. 1: The road in front of my house

Fig. 2: My driveway

We are about six inches into what promises to be at least two feet of snow, interspersed with layers of ice and such, just for funsies. We will not be leaving our house for at least three days and while we thought we were fully prepared for the onslaught, we failed mightily in one very important area. We just ran out of coffee. Pray for us.

The rest of the weekend

2011-01-30T20:30:00.005-06:00

The temperature actually warmed up to something close to 40 degrees on Saturday, so we bundled the kids up and ran them around downtown till they started whining about it. Good times.

We went to lunch at a little cafe on 9th street. Iris chose to spend most of the meal with my sunglasses on, Olly mostly gnawed on...everything, and Lola pondered nervously about what exactly was all over! Iris' toast (Lola, it was butter).

Today we had painting time, mostly because I didn't have the energy to explain again why picking up the cats by their throats and carrying them around is not nice, they don't like it, and they will in fact retaliate eventually.

I'll have you know there was much keening and woe when the paint-ey snoopy shirt had to be taken off once artiste time was over. We ended up putting another, less paint-oozy, giant Kyle t-shirt on her to stanch the tears. The Artist Formerly Known As Iris (TafKAI!) is very emotional.

It's Secret Agent Stuff; You Wouldn't Understand.

2011-01-29T10:33:00.003-06:00

They would tell you why their work is so important, but then they'd have to kill you. Do not question the necessity of a Kelley at work. It might look like sleeping to you puny civilians, and of course you'd be wrong. This one of the many reasons why they are the Secret Agents and we are not.

Indeed!

2011-01-27T21:16:00.003-06:00

Just a quick update: I am indeed pregnant! I've been to the doctor and had a blood test done, and I am apparently such a professional at being pregnant that my HcG levels are extra high. Not like, excessively extra high, but perhaps on the high end of normal. Point is, I'm pregnant. Fo Sho.

We told Iris about the pregnancy the day of the squinting at the second line game, and she's taken to talking to my abdomen. Mostly she says "HIIIII BAYBEEEEE." It's really cute. Like, really, really, capital-C: Cute. We asked if she thought she was getting a baby brother or a baby sister and she immediately responded with baby sister. Or "baby shishtuh." Something like that. Then we asked her what we should name her baby sister, and she said something like Dido, but now I realize that she might have been saying Lola, since she always replaces the "L's" in Lola's name with "D's." And she does completely idolize Lola, so... not sure.

I'm super duper tired all the time, and I discovered today that if I don't eat every two hours on the dot, I actually get woozy and shaky like I've consumed three pots of coffee in 10 minutes. I'm eating about six meals a day, and it's now 9:23 pm and I feel like I might pass out from exhaustion. Higher cognitive functioning is completely beyond me at this point. Kyle swears I didn't get like this last time till more like second trimester time, so I don't know what's going on. This pregnancy is just an overachiever, I guess. I'm gonna sleep on it, and I'm sure I'll come up with an amazing explanation for the complete ass-kicking I'm already getting here. Okay, no, not complete. This is me NOT jinxing things. Complete destruction would include barfing, which I thankfully am not involved with. I'd MUCH rather sleep 100 hrs a week than barf. So. On with the sleeping then...

Funny thing happened on the way to washing my hands

2011-01-24T10:31:00.002-06:00

I nearly threw it in the trash. Okay, I did throw it in the trash, but then I pulled it out again really quickly to make sure that I at least gave it the full three minutes that the instructions suggest you wait. So I set it down on the counter and went to fetch some coffee. Then the toddler started climbing my legs, and the cats were crying about not having any food in the left-hand bowl (even though the right-hand one was full), and the phone was ringing, and I knew I was supposed to be doing something but since I needed the coffee to be alert enough to remember stuff like that, I couldn't remember that the thing I was supposed to be doing was getting coffee. Oh, and also checking on that little bathroom project I nearly tossed.

That line is so light that I nearly threw it out again, but figured it couldn't hurt to get a second set of eyes on it. What follows is possibly the most humorous attempt at getting good light that the three of us have ever undertaken. Kyle and I are holding it up to the kitchen window, squinting and angling our heads, and Iris is down by our feet shouting, "MINE." As if I'm gonna hand the thing I peed on to the baby... anyway, we determined that it's either the location of the second line were there to be a second line, or it is in fact the second line, and OMFG, I'm pregnant.

Thank You, Claus

2011-01-06T23:34:00.009-06:00

I am aware that it has been ages since I've posted. Be forewarned that this post contains no pictures. I'm sorry, and of course, I'm sorry.

Kelly's been bugging me for months to post something (anything, MeMe, ANYthing...). Yeah, I get it. It's been a long time. I shall inveigle you all with my storytelling mastery, and of course forgiveness will rain down upon me once you've heard my tales of pride and woe. Seriously. It's gonna be majestic.

So we spent a quiet Thanksgiving at home. For the entirety of the turkey-week break, Kyle randomly spouted platitudinous declarations like, "I am thankful that we are not on a plane, and also that we are at home." Or, "I am thankful that no one is announcing our initial descent, and that no toddlers are barfing on me at 5,000 feet." The man is lyrical. Anyway, I made like, seven times the amount of food we'd actually need to feed a family of 2.5 for three weeks, and we invited Uncle Jesse over to share the feast. He took home a three-meal sized tupperware of leftovers and we still had to throw out a huge quantity of food after awhile. I either need five more children, or to work on my portion control.

Kyle put up the Christmas tree and decorated it while Iris napped on Thanksgiving day and I continued to baste and dress things. While still in a groggy stupor directly following nap time, she gazed upon that fine plastic pine and said, "the treeeeeeeee!" She may have waved her fingers about in a lackadaisical spirit finger effect. There was wonderment. Kyle purposely placed all breakable ornaments well above toddler grasping reach, resulting in a minorly top-heavy yet heartfelt Christmas scene, including the Christmas panties/cigarettes that have adorned our tree since our second Christmas as Kelleys. Don't judge; they're colorful, and they add just the right amount of levity to an otherwise staid holiday scene. I mean really... they still have the tags on them and everything, and the box is empty. Anyway.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. Christmastime is upon us, and at our first available moment, we jet off to the sunny hills of Liberty Proper. Can I just have an aside here to note that the folks of that town know how to do it UP when it comes to twinkly lights? Seriously, it was all but professional. It certainly helped bring about the yuletide spirit, that's for sure.

So we get to Grammy and Pa-Pa's house, and everything is great. Iris is in love with her grandparents and can't stop talking about Uncle Kiss and Coco (Chris and Craig, for those of you who might be a little unfamiliar with Iris-speak) and everything is great! We arrive right at nap time, an idea which Iris professionally and soundly dismisses. Said dismissal is levied with such flare and aplomb that Kyle and I find it's best we locate the nearest Target Greatland and hide there sans child for as long as possible. This is clearly a great idea on December 23rd in the middle of a large city. We, being the shockingly graceful and mature adults that we are, handle it with poise and confidence, and we don't even bicker or attempt to remove each other's eyelids while navigating that Great Land. Once we locate nearly everything we need, we exit the store with more speed and efficiency than I thought either of us capable.

Grammy offers to let Iris sleep with her our first night there to give Kyle and I a break. Everything is great! We all get to bed at a respectable time, we catch up on our sleep, Grammy and Iris get their bonding time, and it's great.

Christmas Eve morning dawns, and by 6:30 am, I've luxuriated in so much sleep-in time I have no choice but to shower and descend to real life (note: if 6:30 is me sleeping in, please imagine our daily life, thank you). I end up lazing alone on the downstairs couch till nearly SEVEN THIRTY before Grammy and Iris emerge for the day. This is weird. This is remarkably late for the whiz. She finally joins me on the couch for some snuggle time and I am shocked to note that she is blazing hot. Temperature check = 102. This is... great.

Pa-Pa saves the day with baby ibuprofen, and Christmas Eve is afoot. We head over to Aunt Carol's house for Kelley Family Christmas Debauchery (um, Uncle Eddie? I was sure your name was Brendan...) and Iris gets to spend time with her cousins. After a few minutes of introduction, Iris, Rylee, Walker and Wyatt are off. I know everyone likes to joke about family get-togethers when the kids just gang up and tear around the place like Tasmania is their homeland, but really. I mean, really. Genessa (Walker/Wyatt's mom) and I took turns meeting up in random living room corners and asking one another, "have you seen...fill in the blank with any child previously mentioned???" They are just so. freaking. fast. In summation: it was a fantastic time and the kids were stoked beyond words. Good, good times.

Christmas day, we go to the Hicks side of things. By this point, Iris is fully feeling the evil virus deep in her bones, and she's not handling it well. Frankly, Kyle and I didn't handle it very well either. She's fully doped up on baby ibuprofen/tylenol/cold medicine/lack of sleep. Our arrival... didn't go well. Eventually we manage to jointly pull our sh*t together and have some Holiday Cheer at Aunt Patty (Aunt PittyPat!) and Uncle David's house. It should be noted here that Santa Claus lives at Aunt PittyPat and Uncle David's house. He is about 5'2", he's animatronic, he sings songs, and he sports an external mic that anyone (*coughuncledavidcough*) can speak into, causing animatronic Santa Claus to speak. He resides on the stairway landing. Grammy took Iris to see Santa Clause (quoth Iris: "CLAUS! CLAUS!"). First she cheered, then got too close and cried, demanding to get away, then immediately demanded to be brought closer again. Iris loves/fears Claus. If she had motor skills to carve, I'd be staring at IK+SC FOREVA on a nearby conifer.

What follows is the Classic Flu. A couple of days of high fever, followed by nearly two weeks of snot-nosed, hacking cough, twitchy sleeped, irate child. This of course begets the same, thrice-over, manifested first in me, then Kyle, then Aunt Claire, just for good measure. The Flu is an insipid beast.

How did Aunt Claire get said cloying illness, you ask? Well clearly the Reinhards descended! We drove home from KC on Christmas day to meet with Grandma and Grandpa Reinhard, and Aunt Care and Aunt Kaykay.

Boxing Day dawns, and we all settle in to open presents under the tree and make merriment like we have any idea what you're supposed to do on Boxing Day. I'm thinking it's open boxes... Anyway, it was our one day of mostly healthy togetherness before things get ugly again. Grandma and Grandpa offer to make dinner for everyone (lasagna) and I joke that I used to tell people I was allergic to spaghetti because I coincidentally came down with a stomach virus the morning after spaghetti dinners no less than three times in my childhood. Lasagna, being essentially spaghetti in a different shape, proves no less potent by the time morning rolls around. Aunt KayKay arrived already sick, and at some point over the course of the next five days, Kyle falls in with the whiney lot of us, only in a markedly less whiney way.

You'll have to forgive my lack of lucidity for this next part of the Holiday Journey. The Flu pretty much pistol whipped me into submission the day after the Lasagna Event. I didn't make friends with the toilet, but I felt like I should have been doing so, and I'm not sure the anticipation of hurling is less severe than just getting it done with already. Between my own whiney B.S. and Iris', I had little energy to devote to things like "social awareness," or "change out of your crusty sweats sometime, you gross, gross woman." Iris and I jointly decided to forgo food for a few days and settled in together for some quality moaning.

What I do remember is a string of days filled with skillful lazing and a never ending supply of coffee and breakfast sandwiches (thanks parentals). Grandma and I hit the crafty store one day so that I could get supplies for a completely inappropriate cross-stitch I've been working on, and she grabbed some yarn and whipped up two neck warmer things. I'm wearing one now. It's heather grey and warm and awesome. It's like a super cozy neck brace (love you, cozy neck brace! smooches!); I might have developed an inappropriate relationship with it shortly following our introduction. Ahem. At some point in the week, Grammy and Pa-Pa visit to deliver the final 2/3 of Iris' gifts that we couldn't fit in our car when we first returned home.

Iris manages to return to the land of the living the day the Reinhards depart. I can't manage to curtail my awe at her about-face in personality, and Grandma and Grandpa manage to regard me as if I'm only a little bizarre for being so shocked at the change. I might have been a little feverish still, so I can't be blamed for the irrational feelings of loss that accost me when I realize my family is leaving. I still feel like crap and I want my mom to pet my hair and tell me it's going to be okay, Claire just turned 21 and I was too out of it to show her the town, Katie and I were supposed to watch The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants II like four years ago and we still haven't done it, my kid JUST stopped being anti-social and she STILL won't let Grandpa Reinhard pick her up, and I think I'm still wearing those damn sweatpants. Okay, Flu, I give. You win, you big bully. The morning after the Reinhards arrive safely home after a few near-misses with a giant snow storm, Aunt Care is felled by the Flu's Poleaxe, and the gift keeps on giving.

It was a great Christmas.

Because the world needs to see that Iris did eventually become well enough to decide to watch

her Elmo stories shirtless, with a hand down her pants. If that's not a sign of good health, I don't know what is.

Hey You Guys...

2010-11-28T22:47:00.002-06:00

So basically what happened is that I uploaded some pictures that have (almost) all been posted on the BookyFace, but if you haven't seen them yet, they'll probably be exciting. Let's pretend I'll post something of substance soon. You never know, it could happen...

Taken the day after Thanksgiving at 9:30 in the morning. Totally passed out on the couch and slept for like 45 minutes. It was weird.

The day Iris decided to enjoy coffee for the first time. She is now obsessed. You can almost see the caffeine coursing through her system. Please don't ask me how she got the coffee...

Okay, so there are like four different shots from the "Iris wearing Mom's Wellies" series, but this was the most descriptive. Hello? The child put on giant, adult-sized rubber boots and then pranced around the living room. This is from MONTHS ago, but I felt it was still worthy of note.

This one serves no other purpose than to be compared to the one following. Heyyy, ya think we're related or something?

My name is Iris and I enjoy crumpets and clotted cream.

Old video I finally figured out how to retrieve from my phone...

2010-09-14T19:21:00.003-05:00

Okay, so, please excuse the poor quality picture/sound/screaming. This video was taken back in July, I believe, on a day that Kelly and I were at a loss as to how to kill time with the girls, so we plopped them on Lola's mini trampoline to entertain ourselves.

Untitled from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

Schrödinger's Teeth

2010-09-10T22:46:00.004-05:00

In this thought experiment, there is a toddlermouth containing a finite number of existent teeth, a geiger counter, a hammer, a vial of acid, and a finite number of probable teeth (which is to say, it contains a finite number of existent teeth, likely screaming gums, negative eleventy sleep, possibly painful vocalization, and a finite number of probable teeth). Without viewing said mouth or irrefutable x-ray evidence of future probable teeth, one is unable to predict with certainty the likelihood that current or future probable teeth will irritate aforementioned hammer, nor will the toddlermouth open widely for anything other than a vitamin D milk delivery system of some sort; it will most certainly not avail itself to scrutiny.

One may presume, when presented with all available data, that the toddlermouth is either in a state of intense pain, or severe sassiness. While the scientific evidence remains inscrutable, the toddlermouth simultaneously exists in a superposition of the states "in-pain," and "attention-seeking." Only when the toddlermouth gains fluent speech is true observation attained, and the wave function collapses to reveal the identity of the fussypants' inception. The real difficulty is that it is also deterministic, or more precisely, that it combines a probabilistic interpretation with deterministic dynamics.*

Even if she could speak fluently, she'd likely blame her attitude on teething, new molars or no. Hell, I would, and I've had all my teeth for a while now. It's a handy excuse for unrestrained crankiness. I completely understand, and of course, observation is always subjective.

Points of Interest: Iris now calls me "Mommy." This was completely her idea, as Kyle and I have always referred to ourselves as "Mom," and "Dad," perhaps sometimes I threw out a "Mama," but never "Mommy," and certainly never "Daddy." The fact remains, I am now "Mommy." She also says "ducky, doggy, yessie, no-ie, shoesie, shirty, flowery, planty, foody, etc." Every word now gets the "y." Funny how steadfastly we avoided those parental titles, and not only did they happen anyway, but they make us totally melt upon execution. WHY, with the cuteness, Luella?

Short Story Time: Iris and I went for a walk after dinner tonight. She really enjoys simply walking; no stroller, no holding, just walking beside you and taking in the neighborhood. We circled a three block radius and headed towards home. As we approached our street, a dog barked kind of frighteningly in a neighbor's yard, and a car turned town the super-remote street on which we'd decided to amble. I tossed her on my shoulders and jogged home. The baby bounced and giggled, and I held her waist and unnecessarily jostled her, and it was seriously the best time ever. We were both laughing so hard we were snorting by the time we got home. She had a bath and we read some books, and she asked to go to bed. She kissed me goodnight and went to sleep. It was a good day.

*Shamelessly ripped off this entire sentence from wikipedia

Maybe she could be a back-up singer for Stevie Nicks or something...

2010-09-07T09:21:00.006-05:00

Iris. Seriously.

Please stop making this face (and really, super duper please, for REAL, please please please please stop making the accompanying bleating/keening/dying sound):

You're taxing an already over-stressed system, which is to say, your parents are very nearly at critical mass with this sh*t. Critical mass being, of course, "wow I so totally don't care that you're making that face, so cut it out and quit whining at me."

It's not that we don't care when you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. We love you, and we want you to be happy. The problem that you face in this particular situation, my dear, is that we have stopped believing your sincerity. Remind me to talk to you about wolves and crying. This face does not mean that you are sad, or upset, or just need a hug. This face means, "I haven't demanded anything from you in recent seconds, and also you are not doting on me endlessly whilst simultaneously accomplishing all the other tasks that comprise your day. Now entertain me better, and make me some dinner." This face could also very well mean, "I'm bored. Are you paying attention to me? What day is it? I like noodles. The sun is out. I have hands." Makes us all a little testy, you see.

I really would like to get back to that place where sympathy is my first reaction to your expression here, but when EVERY. SINGLE. THING. causes you to make this face, I really cannot find it in my heart to be moved. I also cannot really bring myself to feel too bad when I blankly tell you to stop crying and go sit down, preferrably somewhere far, far away from me. The sound, as I've mentioned, is probably the worst. Make no mistake, it is constant. It is a low hum in the background of life around here. It escalates frequently and never ends. It goes from completely fake-sounding, mildly grating but low, to loud, sharp wails that punctuate some weird dance of backwards-walking and near intentional injury as a means to extend the misery. Dude, fake crying in front of a mirror is doing nothing to further your cause. Yeah, I caught that. Remember? I was holding you at the time.

Yo, other people who know stuff that I don't (clearly): Is this the terrible twos? I thought that was overt defiance and gleeful obstinance? This is just... uhg. This makes me want to take her to the hospital to demand a medical reason for the woe. This has driven me to take her temperature at least three times over the weekend, because no one is this sad over the fact that I walked out of the room without taking them with me. This makes me want to peel my face off. Or maybe just my ears. Yeah, that would suffice.

Seventeen Days...

2010-08-19T18:43:00.004-05:00

Is how long it took for day care to infect Iris with some Eustachian Tube-munching virus, warranting a trip to the good ol' Hippie Doctor Folk. Not so hippie that they didn't slap us with some azithromycin after interestingly minimal inspection, but definitely hippie enough to ask us to hold off on administering said drug for a day or two "to make sure it's really bad first." So we (called Grandma Reinhard, made her tell us what to do, and) got the prescription filled and gave it to her a couple of hours later. Iris is in pretty good spirits, all things considered, and would like for you to know that she weighs 27.4 lbs.

Addendum

Actual conversation between Iris and I, approximately four minutes ago:

I: Bears! Bears bears bears bears bears bears bears bea....

M: Do you want to count the Care Bears on this page? Let's count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,

I: AYT! AYT AYT! AYT! AAEEEEET!!!

M: *blinks* Did you just say "Eight?"

I: *nodding* Aaayt.

M: Okay, let's count the bears on the other pages too. *turns to next page, containing only one bear*

M: *pointing to single bear* One.

I: TWO!

M: *holding up three fingers now* Three?

I: Foooah!

M: Five...

I: Fiiiieee.... SICK!

M: Seven?

I: AAAYT AYT AYT AYT AYT. Nein. *stares in confusion at the little blue cloud of smoke as it puffs from her mother's ears*

Trust me, she didn't mean "nine." She was saying "no" in German because she was surprised to note that my brain had exploded at her shocking display of intelligence, and also because she's freaky like that.

Obligatory front porch photo of mildly willing participants!

2010-08-02T07:14:00.003-05:00

Oh you guys. So precious in your back to school clothes, looking both eager and frightened with equal measure. Well, Kyle does anyway. Iris just looks like she has no idea we're about to drop her off in the den of iniquitous germ origins (AGAIN), which makes it a little sad for her. Let's all cherish this photo as the last time we saw her healthy for longer than six days straight. sigh.

Okay! We are being positive! and optimistic! This year will be GREAT! No prolonged ear infections; no evil hades children demanding Kyle's sanity on a platter! No! It's gonna be great.

Winner of the Way Rad Award Goes To....

2010-07-26T08:43:00.002-05:00

Rebecca! For not only completing the edits on the entire photo session and posting them to her proofing site (I first wrote "poofing site" there, and I think I like it better. Heh. Poofing site...), but also for making this KICK*SS slideshow. I mean, really. Where does the awesomosity end?

Richie Tenenbaum Is Jealous

2010-07-25T15:34:00.002-05:00

She will not take it off, and she will not lift it off of her eyebrows. She will slice through the still summer air with wicked serves and she will volley with fearsome justice. Behold, Iris the Hardcourt Hooligan.

All Hail Rebecca, Queen of Photography and Awesomeness In General

2010-07-22T09:36:00.012-05:00

Step one: Go to here (http://www.rebeccaallenphotography.blogspot.com/)
Step two: Leave a comment for Rebecca. Be sure to use words like 'amazing,' 'delicious,' and 'life-altering.'
Step three: Hire Rebecca.
Step four: Be jealous of me till you finally get her to photograph something for you.

I tried to snag these from Rebecca's blog and just post them here, but the size went all wonky and I did my best to reformat them. Did not work out so great, let me tell you. The quality here is really poor compared to what's posted up at Rebecca's place. Which is here. Go to there.

There are a bunch of photos in the main body of her most recent post, and here very shortly the entire gallery will be available on the client proofing site (that leetle grassy square that says "clients"). Various sizes of prints can be ordered from that page, so peruse to your heart's content.

Reunion Tour

2010-07-20T11:33:00.004-05:00

Hola Friends,

Here are some photos I ripped off of Grandma & Grandpa Reinhard. I didn't post all of them, just most of the ones featuring Iris, and one without Iris but that I think makes Kyle and I look really dashing and relaxed. We're like, "hey, join us on the lanai. Kick back, have a cocktail, be good-looking and chill like us." It's what we do.

Anyhoodle, the reunion was fun but sweaty. So much so that we mostly opted out of bathing, as it was mostly useless. You know it's bad when you all smell like dark armpit and you can't find it in yourself to care. So here are the photos. I'll try to get them on Picasa later, for now, please to enjoy:

Portrait of the Baby as Esther Williams

2010-06-29T21:07:00.003-05:00

Thank you all for suffering through my first attempt at a home movie of sorts. I thought it was going to be this awesome click/paste/cut/slap/done situation, but it ended up taking me the better part of six hours to get it compiled, formatted, and posted. And yes, it is embarrassing as all jehoshaphat to admit that to you. Oh well. Learned something about this lovely piece of macintosh machinery here. The upside is that I apparently nearly made a pregnant lady cry (said pregnant lady who took at least half of the photos that comprise that little number), if you consider that to be a good thing, anyway.

I'm here to tell you a quick story and to direct you to the new! awesomesauce! photos of Iris in her yellow swim suit from last weekend, which are completely dissimilar and opposite in every way to the photos of her in her green swim suit from the weekend previous. har. Anyway, second things first: go check out the Picasa albums to see the new set of pool pics. They're cute.

Okay, story time: Every morning at dawn o'clock, light begins to seep through curtains. The house starts shuffling and rolling, trying to hide from the shifty new light, and a little chubbylegged, curlyhaired, sassyfaced monster begins her song. "Woof? Dawh? Dawh? Dawh? CACK CACK CACKCACKCACK! woof? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! AH!" Every day is the same. Every song begins with a "woof" and ends with an "AHHHHHH!"

Eventually the monster is dissatisfied with her lack of audience and commences a round of protestation so thorough that it cannot be ignored. Then, the gate to the evil steep stairs is closed, the monster is relocated to the big bed, and the assault begins. First it's wiggles. Then it's thrashing. Then it's full-on grabbing and kicking and pulling hair and gnashing (of tiny, singsong, monster) teeth. Once the slumbering beasts in the big bed have lost enough hair/sleep/sanity, the monster is returned to her white wooden sleigh with a book and a toy and a kiss.

The monster recommences singing, and the slumberbeasts pretend like there's still some night left in which to sleep. Dawn solidifies, and there's silence again. Curlyhairs plays with her toys or reads her book to herself, or contemplates Hemingway's position on modernism and houses on stilts. No one knows, but they welcome the quiet nonetheless.

The silence lasts for an indiscriminate number of minutes before the pleas for rescue begin. They are traditionally jumbled cries, but they are not always without actual words. Favorite requests include "ba!" (bottle), "Moah! Bie! Eeee!" (More! Bite! Eat!), which are always fulfilled with expediency, as hungry monsters are sad monsters, and no one wants that. Some days, there is no request for goods and services, only a call to action: "Da. DA! DADADADADADA, Mama. Mama?" So the beasts heed the familiar call of the monster; they accept defeat, flick switches and squeeze chubbylegs and descend evil steep stairs, and the day begins.

Today, the monster completed her silent dissertation on Lacanian Jouissance while the slumberbeasts slumbered, and when she was finished, she said,

"Lola?"

We weren't quite sure what to do. So we fed her some strawberries and pickles, gave her a bottle, and got ready for the day.

who'd have ever thought her

2010-06-28T23:44:00.001-05:00

I.L.K. from Megan Kelley on Vimeo.

It's a Complicated Spiritual Exercise

2010-06-20T19:44:00.004-05:00

'Twas an exciting afternoon here at the Kelley abode. We pumped up the giraffe pool (me) and filled it with water (kyle). We donned our saucy spotted suits (iris) and prepped for the sun (half-gallon of SPF a million and The Dreaded Hat of Scalp Protection).

We had a bunch of fun at the inaugural pool event. Iris walked up to the pool, and shouted at the pool, and shook her little spotted booty at the pool, but was not so keen on entering the pool. She got a really big kick out of throwing grass into it. So that's nice. She did eventually concede to standing in it, but the closest she got to sitting was a modified squat and grimace. I swear the temp was like bath water, so I think it was really just concern for squashing the giraffe or something. Anyway, she got really into splashing it and then running around the yard, then coming back to splash some more. In fact she and Kyle both got so into it that I feared to interrupt. Things got a little serious there with some sort of devotional to Poseidon or something, so I just let them be and did my best to document the revelry. See below.

I think they're doing the wave.

p.s. rest of album on picassa.

Just Call Me Dancin' Kim

2010-05-26T22:06:00.003-05:00

Yeah, yeah. It's been like three years since I posted anything. Sorry. I've been sleeping.

You HEARD THAT? SLEEPING, PEOPLE. Iris goes to bed at her usual early-o'clock (like, 6:30/7:00?); it's crazy. She usually only wakes up once or twice throughout the night, for just a few seconds at a time. She's easily convinced to go back to sleep when we hand her a bottle of water and stumble back to bed. She's usually awake for the day by 5:00 am, but 5:00 is no 3:00, and for that, I am eternally grateful. So...yeah. She's still not technically sleeping through the night, but she's so close, and I truly don't believe she ever really will sleep through as a general principle, so I'm calling it. VICTORY, MAH CHICKENS! VICTORY!

I've been so caught up in all the sleeping that I forgot to do anything other than luxuriate in all of the slumber. Then, just today, I remembered: my Victory Dance. Slap a side pony on me and call me Kim, because that right there? That's me now. Every day. Somebody high five me.

Cherries & Burkeface

2010-03-31T09:02:00.003-05:00

Hola Friends - Just a quick pop-in to share with you the ridiculously cute outfit I put on the kid today. Snapped this picture with my phone & e-mailed it to the Grandmas this morning because I cannot get OVER how much I love this dress on her. Also, though you can't really see it clearly here, Iris has a little plastic red barrette in her hair, holding back the comb-over. So nice to see her face now.

Though I know this won't mean much to like, half of you out there, other half, please take note: Is this not the most Burke-y face you've ever seen on her?

Ed. to add: Cleaned up the photo a bit & reposted. couldn't handle the quality before.

gasp.

2010-03-24T08:42:00.001-05:00

Iris slept through the night.

The Answer is 42

2010-03-09T22:33:00.007-06:00

"How many roads must a man walk down? "

Okay, that was unnecessary, but funny to me, so please go with it. Vogon poetry couldn't tear me from this now. Heh.

So I know that I delivered your six monthiversary letter right on time, complete with photos bursting with preciousness, but you'll have to understand sooner or later that I don't need a birthday to embarrass you with my smoochy love, and I'm certainly crap at photo taking.

Hey! Iris!

I love you.

I wanted to post some epically heart-warming thing on your birthday, but, well - you remember your birthday, right? The jigging quarterbacks? The subsequent amoxicillin? Yeah, that sucked, especially for you.

I just want you to know that your Dad and I couldn't be more delighted with you. It's not possible to be more so. On the night of your birthday party, in fact, we solicited Jennifer and James to explain to us whether or not the delight ever ends, what with their children being like seven and twenty seven (what? James Thomas is a grown-up now, right? Har). As we suspected, it doesn't, of course. It does that morphy changy thing that ends in us googling over every single thing you ever do forever. Promise not to disown us for thinking your first hangover is funny, and I'll promise not to disown you for getting your first hangover.

Inevitable future dumb decisions aside, I will tell you this: you are so smart. You can say something like twenty words. When we're getting ready for bed, we walk to the bathroom and you say, "bruh! bruh! bruh!" When you see Lando you say, "Dawh!" When you see me, you grab the middle of my face and say, "Noha!" It means 'nose;' I don't judge. When you see Dad, you grab his beard and say, "HAIR!" That's one that you got right away. Awesome job, kiddo. You can sign for 'more' and I know you can walk, but you're too afraid to let go yet. It's okay. Letting go is scary.

Dad and I strive to hold you up, but not coddle you. We hope that you'll be savvy, but not wary. Don't be naive, but please don't be jaded. You already shine with so much kindness and wonder. Don't try to deny it; I've seen you pet the cats nicely when you think we're not looking. Listen, your parents can be paranoid over-protective crazies at times, but please don't let that deter you from discovery. You are the best of us, and we could not be more proud of you.

Happy Birthday, Iris Luella.

Hey Innernets

2010-03-05T13:38:00.002-06:00

I think we got some birthday pics - honestly I haven't looked at the camera yet. ALSO - I plan to get some professional (olan millllsssss!) one-year shots done, but Iris has a big ol' rash all over her nose/chin area from being sick recently, and apparently she head butted something pointy yesterday at school and speared her lip. We're waiting for all that business to heal a bit more before I schedule the appointment.

HOWEVER. This is not why I am posting today. Today, I am asking for advice.

Iris goes to sleep between 6:oopm - 7:30pm. Usually on the earlier side of that range. There is nothing to be done about that. If you try to keep her awake, she falls asleep sitting up, and collapses on the spot. This will be the kid who falls asleep in her dinner someday, I am sure of it.

So, she wakes up once around 10pm - 12am, which is when we usually bring her from her crib to sleep in our bed. Sometimes she can be tricked back to sleep in her crib at that point (since she's been sick it's been increasingly difficult to get her back to sleep at this time, but I have faith that things will return to normal soon). Basically though, a non-sick Iris can be cajoled back to sleep with back pats and quiet voices in the 10pm - 12am time range.

At 3:00am. Iris wakes up like, hard. Every day. She is loud and boisterous and usually completely flooding out of her diaper. She wants a bottle, and she wants to SHOUT. She dances on our faces, and pulls on the curtains, and waits till we fall asleep again so that she can pour her bottle out on her stuffed monkey. Sometimes, after an hour or two of shaking down the house, she will fall back to sleep when one of us tucks her into our sides and demands that she quiet down and close her eyes. It doesn't usually work, but sometimes the timing Gods smile upon us and she sleeps for another hour or two. Again, this is very rare. Most of the time, if she is going to sleep more, it will happen about five minutes before the alarm goes off. Magical.

Does anyone have any advice at all as to what we should to about the 3:00am wakehard? You can tell me to make her cry it out, but I am telling you that there is not a corner of the house remote enough to get us away from the sound, so that's really not an option (see? Not a push over; not a softie; just really like my sleep enough to not have it interrupted by sounds of dying baby). Besides, if this problem isn't solved by the time I get more vacation time, Iris is in for some serious baby boot camp sleep training. This request for advice is my attempt to solve the problem amicably, before I bust out the big ear plugs and send Kyle away for a few days. You know, so I can break her tiny little spirit with no witnesses. (insert maniacal laughter here.)

Happy Birthday

2010-02-26T07:13:00.005-06:00

You've been extra good this year, so we thought we'd give you the flu for your birthday. Be sure to share it with your family too, no one ought to be without. Plus, it fosters mother/daughter bonding when you both feel like a professional football team danced a complicated jig on your back.

We do have tylenol, so all hope is not lost. And of course, we have this nifty photo booth application to keep ourselves busy, so that's at least fun for the kiddo. She spent lots of time waving to herself this morning. Now she's waving at the table lamp/trying to get her foot in my ear. It's awesome.

Neither one of us has a fever at the moment, but Iris has almost completely lost her voice and has a nice raspy cough to go with it. If she feels at all like I do, then it is most assuredly really crappy, and I have no intention of taking her to school in such a state, even if she is fever free for now.

We haven't gotten out of bed yet, but we're thinking really hard about it. There is probably breakfast and tea and such somewhere beyond this room. I wish the dogs had opposable thumbs... how I would love to train them to make me some tea. It would be well worth it, especially on days like this. Iris has been chugging water like it's going out of style and recently discovered her love of pizza, so maybe we can use that to our advantage and circumvent the fasting that happened in the last round of illness. Right. The baby needs breakfast. Totally getting out of bed now. Pizza is a completely acceptable breakfast food. Don't judge.

The Freakness

2010-02-15T23:04:00.002-06:00

I would have called it "The Sickness," but I didn't want to worry anyone. Iris had some bug. It mainly consisted of a 102.5 fever on and off for like four days. No barfy, no hacky, just high fever and sadness. We alternated the OTC meds the best we could and wiped her down with damp cloths. She licked them. She maintained her usual good spirits till the final leg of The Freakness, when there was no fever, yet much crying. She'd eschewed food as a general principle and fell back entirely on formula & breast milk. So much for weaning, eh?

I think the lack of food + extra fortified fluids led to the gassiness issue of 2010 that we're facing now. Plus, sick or no, her little astute mind noticed that we've been coddling her for the last week or so, which means we're always capable of said behavior. Not an issue when one is sick and miserable, but when the sickness abates and suddenly extra special treatment reverts back to business as usual, well... Iris took issue with the situation.

She was tired. It was 7:30. I said, "Let's go to bed. Say night night to Dad!" We had our family hug and everyone kissed Iris' face, and we all said "I Love You! Night, night," just like we do every night. Then I took Iris upstairs, hugged her a little more for good measure, and laid her down in her bed like I always do at bed time. She immediately started flailing. She thrashed and kicked and yelled and made every sound she could think of to convince me that this, right here, was the worst idea ever.

She has always hated sleep. Right. We know this. But today marked the first instance of an Honest-To-God-Temper-Tantrum. I did everything I could to prevent her from hurting herself. Even picking her up again only angered her more, because she was so anti-touch in that moment.

I flipped her onto her stomach and patted her back once, and immediately she was silent. I patted her back for another few minutes, and she was completely out. Shut down in under five minutes.

It is now 11:20. She hasn't budged since. Can we claim progress now? Can we call this sleep? I don't really even want to do the happy dance like I won or something. I just want her to sleep, and not wake up sad. I think we're close.

Official Birthday Invite: Do It.

2010-02-10T08:55:00.003-06:00

To: You Guys
From: The Whiz
Where: Our house. Don't know how to get there? Means we probably don't know you, but e-mail me just in case and we'll make sure you're a stranger before I completely blow you off. :)

When: Saturday, February 27th, 2:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. (just so you know, Iris will be near to crashing by the end of that time, so you might want to peace out of there before the big ugly sleepy crying begins. We won't kick you out necessarily, but it isn't going to be pretty. You were warned.)

I sent out a Facebook invitation, but I know you aren't all on FB, and I thought I'd go ahead and throw something up here too just in case I missed anyone. This isn't really going to be a huge shindig (at least I don't think it is - do let me know if you plan to attend though. I hear these things sometimes require a keg, and I wouldn't want to disappoint). I'm joking! (mostly!) Anyway, I'll probably make some snacks and a cake. As always, your thoughtfulness is appreciated in anything you choose to do, but please know that presents are not necessary at ALL, and also I will really totally cry myself to sleep forever if one more singing monstrosity of plastic baby crap shows up at my house.

(I have had a song stuck in my head that's been there for WEEKS. Allow me to regale you with a small sampling of the lyrics: "Me and my friend, (at this point, all music stops, followed by a lengthy pause, after which a stiff voice says "Iris," aaaaand, resume music) "like to do everything together! We jump up and down! Jump! Jump! Jump! We wag our tails! Wiggle! Waggle! Waggle!" That fine specimen comes from a small purple thing that happens to know Iris' name, favorite animal, favorite food and favorite color. I think the purple thing is a spy, but I'm not sure. Do not discuss sensitive issues near the purple thing. Do not get the purple thing wet, and for the love of God, do not look directly at the purple thing. Save yourselves.)

Moral of the story: Come to the party. It will be awesome. Bring yourselves and your children and your party pants. Avoid the purple thing.

Thanks guys! See you at the party!

P.S. Iris' shirt says "When I grow up, I want to be an evil genius." Thank you, Uncle Craig.

Unbunch Thyself

2010-02-01T09:24:00.002-06:00

Alright everbody, get your panties out of that twisty little bunch that seems to be forming due to lack of baby photos. I'm working on it. Or will be, once I'm not actually AT work. And you know, am also near the baby. And the camera has batteries. Okay, that's a lot of variables that have to line up, eh? Listen, I hear the whinging of the masses; on it.

I would like to state for the record that Kyle picks up Iris from school every day, spending all sorts of cheery quality time with her before she inevitably falls asleep a couple of minutes before I arrive. And he knows how to operate the camera. And he really likes it when you call his phone, repeatedly demanding that he photograph the baby for you. No really! The man loves to be nagged. Seriously. Give it a go. LOVES it.

(aside to Kyle: BWAHhahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!)

See? I told you I'd come back SOMETIMES.

2010-01-14T08:42:00.004-06:00

I just probably won't ever tell you anything useful or anything, and what I do tell you will only come in random short bursts. I give. Anyway, here's a little story for ya.

At Christmas, as most of you know, we went to visit the Reinhards for the week. We spent all day in our jammie jams, we drank too much coffee, we watched lots and lots and lots of TV, we mostly did nothing. It was farking heavenly. That right there is my absolute favorite thing to do, EVAR. Mom and I went shopping one day, and I was all, "you mean I have to put PANTS on???" The humanity. I totally hate going places. This might explain my unusual disdain for shopping, but I think that has less to do with the pants application/going somewhere thing, and more to do with all the strangers standing too close and trying to get me to make decisions/spend money. So it's much less painful to go shopping with Mom A) because of course that drastically cuts down on the amount of money I'm spending (thanks Ma!) and B) because if any of those pushy strangers starts setting off my weird social anxiety stuff, I have my MOM there with me, and helllooo? She does not mess around. Woman has a stinkeye that will melt your face off.

Okay, this shopping story was soooo not the point of this post, but I do have a couple of pairs of lovely work shoes now, so there's that. Ahem.

Claire was given a new memory card for her Blackberry as a Christmas present from her lovely boyfriend. Seeing as we all have Blackberries now, and I was without a memory card, Claire deleted most of the pictures from her older, smaller memory card, and passed it along to me. I (just today!) went through the pictures she left on the thing, since I took a picture of Iris this morning with my phone when my real camera had the nerve to die on me. I swear, you replace a battery then let the camera sit on a shelf for a couple of months, and all of a sudden it's running out of juice the minute you get the baby in a cute ensemble. So as I was uploading the picture from this morning, I looked through and found a couple more that were pretty precious in their own right. They're supper fuzzy, definitely not print-quality, but I thought you might enjoy nonetheless.

From Iris' Baptism Weekend - you can almost see how much less hair she has then (in July)

This morning, right before we left for school. I've been waiting to put Iris in that sweater since my baby shower, and I only had to roll the sleeves a little bit. There might be a picture around somewhere of big ol' pregnant me holding this sweater up to my belly.

It's Iris & Auntie Katie Pants! It would appear that I have a thing with dressing the kid in green stripes. I won't apologize - she looks darn good.

Okay, when I first saw this on my phone it was all super teensy, and my first reaction was, "WHO is that person holding my child, and WHY do my sisters continue to think it's okay to hand the baby to strangers just because she's cute?!?!?" All sorts of righteous indignation followed, only to be capped with a mighty dose of contrition when I embiggened the photo and realized that said stranger is my cousin Kate. Hi Kate! *waves* You're just lovely. No really. Love you! Hearts.

Aaaaand finally, Auntie Clairence and Iris wearing their matching PJ's. Does not get much cuter than that, folks.

I've got nothing.

2010-01-07T22:55:00.003-06:00

You know that awkward scenario that happens somewhere like, let's say, the grocery store? You are just trying to pick up some essentials so that dinner doesn't have to be cold sandwiches again, and you haven't been home since you stumbled out the door before dawn, and you're dragging the cranky kid with you, and all you want is to just please get out of the store as quickly as possible, or at least before said kid boisterously announces her crankiness to the rest of the shoppers, when you run into a friend/acquaintance/anyone who has ever met you and who really wants to hear just everything that you've been up to in the past however long it's been since you last saw them. Every time I encounter that moment, I am reduced to a sort of stunned stare while I try to come up with something of note to share. I just never know what to say. I'm way boring. My standard response is typically, "well, I'm sort of a hermit these days." The End.

We don't really do anything. We have this life that includes going to work, then staying home when we aren't there. We read a lot. Kyle or I will occasionally go out for a bit, but not very frequently. Iris is still pretty much just Iris. Maybe a little taller, a little louder & more mobile, but she's still the kid who fights sleep and wants to grab your face. She's stopped growing at her old break-neck speed, and seems to have settled at approximately the size of an 18 month old. She's almost a year now. She has four and a half teeth. She really likes mashed potatoes, and she really likes The Cure. Awesome, and also, wait for it... awesome.

Suffice it to say, we are happy. Really and truly cozy and happy and boring as tree bark. I want to keep posting here frequently and filling your days with all sorts of clever witticisms, but like I said, I've got nothing, and my cleverness was dubious anyway. So please, with all my apologies, consider this space tentatively silenced. I'll come back for the big stuff, and I do feel that I'll revive the blog to its former glory eventually, but for now I'll probably be pretty scarce around these parts (because I was so verbose the last few months anyway, right?), but please check in every now and then for picture updates as I'll probably make a little note here each time I update Picasa. Goodnight, Friends.

LOVE me!

2009-12-10T11:05:00.003-06:00

It's kind of hard to tell (actually impossible to tell) in this photo, but Iris' jammies actually say, "LOVE me." I find that to be hilarious. As if we need a written reminder, stamped right there on the baby's chest. Just in case you forgot, folks, you are supposed to LOVE me! LOVE ME! AAAAAHHHHH! I dunno, maybe some kids really are so awful that a helpful reminder is always in good taste. I suppose that should make me feel better about Iris. She may suck your will to live at three in the morning, but she never sucked my will to love her! Ooookay, that might be a teensy bit morbid. Moving on.

Kelly once again proves her awesomeness by not only having her christmas decorations already in place (we're getting there with ours. we just have a lengthy and in-depth planning process that we like to call "disaster-preparedness," but which you might refer to as "procrastination." Semantics, really.), but she has also taken all manner of adorable christmas photos of my kid in front of her tree. I am totally going to mail out these photos and claim the background as my own. Pretend you didn't read this when you get the pictures, okay?

Anyhoodle. Please to click here to see the entire album.

The Forgotten Photos

2009-12-03T15:44:00.002-06:00

Grandma Kelley pointed out to me recently that I've been slacking in the whole uploading photos to Picasa thing, so I've added a new album, quite originally titled "Dec 3, 2009," which contains all the most recent pics that you've seen here & there on the blog or Facebook. Enjoy!

I Am Died.

2009-11-25T12:48:00.002-06:00

A conciliatory gift to compensate for my previous whininess on this fine fake-friday/pre-thanksgiving day.

Night Time Mothering....

2009-11-25T08:12:00.002-06:00

... is starting to look like this:

I'm pretty sure I'm over it. It's been nine months, and I'm almost positive that the only thing my continued breastfeeding provides is pacification. They make pacifiers for this very reason. Not that Princess Gag-Barf would ever actually use one, but I still think I'm taking my girls and going home, because this party is o-ver.

Picture Pages!

2009-11-17T09:34:00.005-06:00

Chillin.

Still Chillin.

Still Chillin.

You know....

ATTACK.

(kelly might be sporting a teensy little bald spot on the back of her head now. kid has a powerful grip)

Sunday Morning Coming Down (okay, not actually, but it is technically sunday morning and I kind of had to go there)

2009-11-15T01:04:00.006-06:00

Ahem. It is somewhere around the one o'clock hour on this fine November 15th. Let's not get into the details of why I'm awake just at the moment, or why I'm keyed up enough to be writing here, rather than doing something crazy like sleeping or something.

Iris has been asleep for a couple of hours now. A few minutes ago, she started letting out some rather sad little bleating yelps through the monitor. I made my way upstairs to find her completely asleep, sprawled over her blanket in a rather uncomfortable looking pose. As I moved to right her limbs in to some sort of less pretzeled arrangement, she started crying and wiggling around again. I took the opportunity to rearrange her, cover her up a bit, and generally try to help her calm down.

She never woke up, really. She didn't open her eyes. I pressed my palm into the back of her head and tried to make contact with as much of her back as my weirdly angled forearm could muster. She flinched a few more times, but eventually stilled enough to seem genuinely asleep again. After I pulled my hand away I sat back and watched her for a few minutes. Part of me was waiting to make sure she wouldn't wake up again, but after a bit I realized that I was also trying to study her.

She is growing so fast. I looked at my baby tonight and saw her dream a big kid dream. In the low glow of the little glass turtle lamp who guards the changing table, I wanted to take a picture of her. She was so expressive. It felt like eavesdropping because she's such an active sleeper. She looked like she was upset or angry, or like she was giving someone a very serious dressing-down. Is it possible for a baby to look smugly confident while having a bad dream? If it is, that's exactly what she was doing.

I gave her a mental high-five when she very half-heartedly kicked at the air one last time before finally crashing in earnest. She's already so interesting, I honestly can't imagine what we're going to do when she starts talking. We'll have to find a way to record everything she says, because I can pretty much guarantee you that it will either be the funniest thing you've ever heard, or a really awesome name for a band, so either way, we'll not want to miss it.

(sorry guys. blogger wasn't working when I first attempted this post. thought you'd like it eventually, at the very least.)

Surly Monkey

2009-11-06T08:43:00.004-06:00

Hi, my name's Iris, I like carrots and pickles and biting and freaking out and not sleeping. I'm proficient in the arts of fit-throwing and melt-downing (subtle differences, but I assure you, they're distinct). I can say "MAmamamamamamama," "DAdadadaDADAdaDAdadadad," and "Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!" That last one means "cat." I can hold my bottle, but I won't actually ever do it. I can crawl, but that would require you to stop holding me, so again, not gonna happen. I could probably walk, but see above re: put me down and you shall know pain.

Last week I totally punched Kelly in the face for not being Mama. Pretty much every night I try to install my foot into Mama's bellybutton for not being awake at omfg-shoot-me-now-o'clock. I have successfully removed about 25% of the cats' fur, yet for some reason they keep coming over to hang out with me.

Iris is really a joy to be around. She's a pretty happy baby in general, very smiley and ticklish. She's totally interested in everything around her, loves to sing songs and hear music everywhere we go. She wants to touch everything, but somehow skipped the part where she puts said everything in her mouth. Genius baby. Anyway, she's just sorta high maintenance, but I'm thinking "baby" is synonymous with "high maintenance," so I'm not exactly surprised/concerned. She's happy and incredibly demanding and maybe the demon in her soul is just a tiny little innocuous one, one who doesn't necessarily want to harm you, just really freak you out a lot. Hard to tell.

Ok, here's a good example. Everyone here seen The Incredibles? No? Great Pixar flick. You should totally go watch it right now. For those of you who haven't, allow me to explain the baby Jack Jack phenomenon. This movie features a family of super heroes who are doing their best to hide in plain sight, not reveal their superpowers & live as normal folks, etc, etc. Both parents and the two older kids have identifiable powers, but the baby (Jack Jack!) has always been known as the one "normal" person in the family. Cut to the end of the movie, most of the family is off saving the world, and some bad guy is trying to run off with the baby who has been left home with a sitter. This is also, quite helpfully, when Jack Jack comes into his super power.

Let us just say that Iris and Jack Jack have much in common.

Blue Steel

2009-10-18T19:03:00.006-05:00

Behold, Her Pudgesty, Iris Luella:

Not much new happening over here, but Kelly took some more pictures, so I thought I'd share. I've now witnessed Kelly's photography stylee a couple of times, and I take back everything I ever said about the embarrassing noises/faces that I make while trying to take photos, because Kelly is way more adorkable than I'll ever be. Woman can do things with her eyebrows that would make even the most determinedly morose of the sulky emo kids crack up.

As you can see, Iris has become much more expressive of late.
I call this one her "I am learning that information for the first time ever!" face. Doesn't she just look so mock-surprised? Like, "oh, that is quite the dramatic turn of events! How shall I arrange my face to portray the most possible alarm?"

And this one, of course is all, "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, you are not SERIOUS?!!!1!??" Like you can see the "nuh-UH" about to roll off her tongue.

So, I don't even know how to talk about this (slaps face in shame) but Iris really likes My Little Ponies. PUHLEEZ for the love of all that is good and Holy, do not start adding "My Little Pony Paraphernalia & Small Parts On Which To Choke" to any sort of Christmas/B-Day present list that you may be keeping for Iris (lookin' at you, Grandmas). Iris has plenty of good quality time with the Ponies five days a week, and I do NOT need them taking over my house. ANYway, Iris really likes them. She whips them around by their manes and bangs them on the floor, and carries them around in her backwards-crawling escapades.

Look! With the standing! and the precious! and that awesomesauce outfit! I actually specifically requested that Kelly take pictures this day because I was so enamored with Iris' outfit. I actually want this in grown up size for myself.

And this one is just so gratuitously cute I threw up in my mouth a little. Just kidding. But it is ridiculously cute, no?

Hey, Iris just woke up! cc tb kkkkkkvg cv7gy fvgfrb. That was her stellar keyboarding skills right there, roughly translated, I think it means "Hi." Anyway, with the elfin one awake, now is the time when we snuggle on the couch and watch bad movies till she passes out. I'll try to get these pictures and the rest from the set up on Picasa soon.

Because

2009-10-06T13:28:00.007-05:00

I'm fully aware that I sound like the bad guy when I describe Iris with words like "Angry Demon Elf," or "Satan's Razornails Freedom Hater," and that everyone wanted to believe that I was joking when I warned that she doesn't take smack from anyone, and that you should watch your soft parts because she's out to maul you. But just look at that face. That is the face of one twisted puppy. She's gonna mess. you. up.

Just joshin. I think she just really wanted some pancakes. She tends to make that face when she's feeling silly and/or really wants to lick your face. Which is always, so.... ya. She makes that face a lot.

P.S. Shamelessly ripped off this pic from Sarah's FB. Thanks dude.

On Epiphanies, and Bad Words

2009-09-27T12:28:00.008-05:00

You guys. I don't know if I have the energy to be interesting today, but it's been awhile, so I figured I should post something. Iris is now like (omfg! gagsputterkaaaack) seven months old. I do believe that some months ago - and please feel free to dig through the archives to remind yourselves of just how long ago it was - that I mentioned that Iris was just "going through a Thing," and certainly this Thing was not the new normal. sigh.

Ok. Fine. Do you see the white flags flapping out of my ears? It's the new normal. This is, Iris is, normal.

There is this woman I work with who is, I am sure, some kind of stereotypical something. She is overweight and talks about it constantly. She wears blue eyeshadow and frosts her hair (no, not highlights, frosts), and she recently burnt her bangs off to a crispy 1/4 inch long with some heated hairstyling instrument or another. She's a close talker and a mouth breather, and she can't sit still for longer than 20 minutes at a stretch. She spends most of her time leaning over her coworkers, cornering them into their cubicles and giving no hope of escape, asking these banal questions with bizarrely rapt attention and glassy eyes.

Her favorite question to ask me is, "Soooooo, how's little Miss Iiiiiiiris? How's she sleeeeping?" She has a problem with vowels. Anyway, my response is always the same. She sleeps when she sleeps. Sometimes she doesn't. It's not predictable, and honestly I don't even think about it anymore. So when she asked me that same question, again, not two days after the last time she asked it, I finally just looked at her and said, "you should probably just stop asking the question, because she's never going to sleep through the night, there will just finally come a day when I don't have to care that she's awake." I realized right then that I wasn't just trying to pound some sort of social awareness into her brain with my curt response, I also actually believed the statement to be true.

I spent a while longer, absently nodding while she explained that her one friend just puts her baby in the crib, and eventually she stops crying and goes to sleep, because she knows that no one is coming, so she just gives up! Her hands fly up in the air and her eyebrows disappear into her squnchy forehead, grinning and smug, as if she's just solved all my problems. As if I have never even heard of the concept of "crying it out." Sigh. She just stands there looking at me, like I need to give her a prize or something, when I level her with yet another accidental truth in my paltry efforts to get her to just. go. away. "Really, I don't care if she sleeps through the night. She's not going to. Ever. I've accepted it. Don't worry about it."

She is never going to sleep through the night. And I don't care.

It feels so much better to just live in reality than constantly wait for that which will never come. It's such a relief! Never! Hah! I've known all along, and I didn't even realize it! My eyelid is always going to twitch if I close my eyes for longer than a blink. I'm always going to drink coffee all day, then grab a glass of wine to shut off the coffee before I go to bed (not to sleep! hah! just bed). This isn't even a pity party, it's an epiphany.

Someday she'll wake up in the night and she won't cry. Maybe she'll be able to read by then, or maybe she'll be younger. She will wake up, look around herself, perhaps find a toy or an interesting tag on a blanket, and she will blessedly entertain herself. Till then, I can just enjoy her charming, quirky babyness and hope that I'm not being too bad of an influence on those nights when I forget about my epiphany and drop an f-bomb or seven in her presence.

Luella Fun Fact

2009-09-22T16:56:00.002-05:00

She talks in her sleep.

I came home from work today to relieve Kyle so he could run out the door to tutor. He told me she'd only been asleep for like ten minutes before I arrived, so I figured I had at least another 20-30 before she woke up. Not five minutes later, I hear her talking. Like, regular, baby is chatting it up, slapping your face and licking your mouth, talking. Sounded perfectly awake. So, because I'm brilliant, I pound up the stairs to go get her, making a bu-hunch of noise on the way, only to see her lying there peacefully talking in her sleep!

This could get interesting ...

If You're Not Down With The Brevity

2009-09-13T14:12:00.008-05:00

And here I thought it had just been soo long since I'd posted anything, but look! It's only been three days! I'm not completely sure if a few sentences outlining my lameness count, but for my sake I plan to pretend they do. Ah, ok - just checked back to see when the last time I posted something of any length was, and it was definitely still August. Woopsie daisy. Moving on, then.

Iris would like for the internets to know that she is a big kid, and big kids do not lie down, nor do they willingly succumb to sleep. Big kids eat a bunch, and they shout. They don't take smack and they really like feet.

Is that pie? I'll be taking that, thanks.

I am totally serious about the staunch anti-recline position that Iris has taken lately. She won't even lean her head back a little to eat. When she falls asleep we have to resort to the utmost in trickery to convince her that she does not, nor will she ever, exist in anything other than a fully upright position. It was this behavior coupled with a few days of extreme sadness and a teensy mild fever, which convinced me that she had an ear infection. I sort of knew that she didn't, but I was feeling paranoid so I just went with it. Of course it turns out that she is infection free, maybe had a mild reaction to a virus or something. But! This means that she had to be weighed!

Check your socks, they're about to be knocked.

19 lbs, 14 oz.

!!! !!!!!! ! !

Well, I think it's a big deal. It's so funny when I watch others try to hold Iris for any length of time. I like to time how long it takes them to start sagging. Best time goes to Uncle Craig, but I think he just hides it well. The kid is a chunk.

Exhibit A:

You tell ME which one looks bigger, and then which one is almost three. years. old.

Crawling seems pretty imminent these days. I propped Iris' knees up underneath her while she was having some tummy time just to see if anything would click for her and it sort of did. It at least gave her a new perspective for long enough to stop thoroughly hating the situation. She lost the pose after a few seconds, but the idea is there. She's almost more interested in standing than trying to figure out crawling though, and I think she fully mastered sitting up alone just a few days ago. Her second (bottom) tooth came in yesterday-ish as well, but for some reason the drooling has ramped up, rather than taper off as I'd expected. She was crying quite a bit on the car ride home today, and one of the few things that seemed to quiet her was pressure on her top gums. It never ends, does it? I shall strive to imagine a word evil enough to encompass my feelings about teething.

Did you bring the baby tylenol? Cuz if not, the sharks are waitin'.

We went to the KC area this weekend for a Kelley wedding. The weather was beautiful and we got to spend some good times with the fam, even though Grandma K. was under the weather (boo.), and we woke up at 6:30 after sleeping in 45 minute increments all night (thanks, teeth!) Last night Uncle Chris was waving to Iris, who was being unusually unresponsive to the gesture (normally it's totally enthralling for her), because she was too engaged with my foot. All babies seem to love their own feet, but we recently discovered that she really likes mine too. I can't decide if it's only my feet or I'm the most frequently barefoot person she knows or what. So I had her sitting on my knee facing away from me, and she caught sight of my toes. The only way for me to get her to even notice Chris was by lifting my leg straight and swinging it across the room to point directly at him. By the time she noticed him everyone was laughing, and I think she was just confused as to what was happening (duh - your mother is pointing her legs at people again.) Good times.

Mom. Why do you have to be so embarrassing?

I've put these, and all the other photos that I absconded from Kelly's Facebook up on Picasa. Unfortunately, no photos yet of Iris standing (working on it) or of me gesticulating with my lower extremities (don't hold your breath), but I do happen to know someone who could give you an excellent tutorial on the Flying Superman Punch, speaking of leg gesticulation (Steudle).

Laming Out

2009-09-10T12:26:00.003-05:00

Hey All. Just wanted to let you know that I haven't forgotten that I have a blog or anything, just lacking motivation at the moment. I'm going to post something really soon. It will be full of intrigue and romance and violence and hilarity. Promise. Soon.

Here - Distract yourselves with this while I think of something intelligent to say:

Oh Dear.

2009-09-04T10:40:00.003-05:00

How to ensure total embarrassment for the child in t-minus eleven years: give Mug waaay too much time and a romper from the 70's. Throw in a baggie of ridiculous baby hair bows, & shazzam!

I am so putting you in a home, woman.

Minutiae

2009-08-28T21:55:00.003-05:00

I opened this new post window with the idea that perhaps I could start with one random piece of information and sort of stretch it into something worth reading. I mean, I do hold a degree in English Literature (i.e. take a small concept that can be covered in your standard five-paragraph essay, write till your fingers bleed and submit twenty pages of brilliance, thank you very much Professor Poosty-Pants). Not tonight friends. I can seriously only think of maybe one really cool new thing that Iris has done in the past few days: she uses a walker.

Of course now my mind goes straight to your standard, geriatric tennis-balls-for-wheels style walker (happens every time I tell someone about Iris in the walker), but I'm pretty sure everyone knows that I mean a baby walker. Is that what people call it? I've heard jumparoo or something, but I think that's the wheel-less alternative for folks with dangerous stairwells. ANYway, Lola's old walker has been recently exhumed, and I got to see Iris like, walking... in the walker. Her little socks were actually sort of grungy on the bottom from walking around today! What kind of person's feet get dirty on the bottom side? Oh yeah that's right, the sort of person who WALKS (ish).

Oh excellent, I just remembered something else! Iris is thisclose to being able to hold her own bottle. From almost exactly the time that she started staying home with Kyle during the summer she has enjoyed bottles with intense aplomb. There is always a bunch of bouncing and panting, and just wanting to get the bottle to her mouth so badly that she gets all worked up and can't eat. These little fits of love for the bottle have always included this crazy thwacking at her face for the first few minutes of bottle time. I always thought she was just really super stoked to be eating, but as the motor skills develop, I can see that she did have ulterior motives in mind. She's been doing it for so long I didn't catch on as fast as I might have, but she's been honing her ability to actually grab the bottle with her hands and hold it up. She's aaaalmost got it, and it's so cute.

On the honing of the motor skills note, Kelly and I watched Iris nearly pick up a bottle off of the table and bring it to her mouth. She was sitting in the bumbo seat (it's that little molded foam/plastic thing that looks like it's made out of roller coaster ride parts) on the kitchen table, and the half-empty bottle was sitting directly next to her. She reached down with her left hand and grasped it by the nipple, then hoisted it up off of the table just high enough to grab the body of the bottle with her right hand. Then she struggled for a few minutes to actually lift it higher than three inches off the table because it was a glass bottle, and full of liquid, and we can really only expect so much of the muscles of an infant. Still pretty cool to watch though.

I'm telling you, tomorrow she's going to ask me for something in a full sentence, perhaps even in another language, and I'm really not going to be that surprised. I'll be sure to let you know when she solves the formula for cold fusion though.

Six Monthiversary

2009-08-26T18:52:00.007-05:00

Dear Iris,

You must have had some foresight that today was not going to be an ordinary Wednesday. We began this day together, just you and Mom, alone in the downstairs bedroom reading (me), and trying to shout down the house (you). About 45 minutes into this glorious August 26th, we finally decided that sleep is in fact, not for suckers, and fitfully rested till the sun came up and Dad came downstairs to figure out why he slept so well for the first time in six months.

As I am sure you remember, I wasn't terribly pleased with the fact that we had to get up and have a midnight party. I realize now though that it afforded us the opportunity to spend the first hours of the day alone together, and that I got to see you the first moment that you became a six month old baby. You must have known that I would carry this memory with me forever, like a gift, or why else would you have so vehemently kicked me in the gut for the hour preceding our departure to the downstairs? Good call, kiddo.

When you were very, very small, Dad and I used to walk miles through the house trying to help you to calm down, relax your tired little body, stop fighting long enough to sleep for longer than 20 minutes. One of those days, as I lapped the living room for the 7,083rd time, I caught our reflection in the big mirror and paused. In that brief pause I reminded myself that on that day, you were nearly three weeks old, you weighed eight little pounds and you smelled like the ocean. I felt in that moment more solidly than I ever knew to be possible that you would grow so fast, and someday I'd fuzzily recall our reflection there in the living room mirror and know what it means to watch time slip away without notice.

I saw you at four, seven, fifteen years old. I saw us living in a different house, a different state, you learning - everything- and moving to your own house, making your own choices, making your own mistakes. It should have affected me more, this realization, but then you were so new and it felt at the time as if nothing would ever change. It felt like time was speeding out of control and standing still at once, and I chose to believe that we would always be like that, snuggled together like we were still part of the same body. Even now, after half a year, I can feel you wiggling and nudging me behind my bellybutton. No matter how old you are, I will always look down to see if I can tell which extremity you're poking me with, even as I realize that no, there's no one there. It's heartbreaking for a tiny fraction of a second, but then, you're here:

Time is flying; has flown. You have now entered the second half of the first year of your life. You like carrots and books and bunnies. You have friends and you like to stick your hand in their mouths. Your are known as The Whiz, Jellybean, Lou, I, Luella (Druella/Truella/Cruella), and Baby Iris. You have one tooth and you don't crawl, but you do wiggle backwards in a crawling-esque fashion. You are ticklish everywhere, and from the first day that you found your voice, you have greeted every morning with a laugh and a song and a hearty wiggle session.

So grow if you must, but remember that to your Dad and me, you'll always be our baby, our Iris Luella, and no you may not wear that skirt out of the house.