Open For Business

For months now, Aaron has been burning the candle at both ends right down to the middle. Since the economy took a dump this year and no one is buying boats, Aaron has had to switch gears and come up with another way to take care of his family. Currently, he's working his regular job, opened his own label printing business and is going to school. A typical week for him includes going to school all day Monday and Wednesday. After school, he works in the label shop. All the other days of the week he works his regular job until 6pm, then works at the label shop until about 2am (sometimes 3 or 4am), then wakes up at 8am to start all over again. There are no weekends, days off or holidays. The last vacation we took was almost 2 years ago.

Monday I got a call from Aaron. He was at the label shop and wanted to know if Everett and I could come and visit - he missed us. You don't have to ask me twice! I loaded the car up and headed out to Anaheim to hang out for a few hours. I took care of the woman's work (vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning the bathroom), while the boys printed some labels.

I even made Everett his own label.It was so nice to see Aaron holding Everett. Since he's hardly ever home, Aaron rarely gets to spend time with his son. I appreciate everything he is doing so at least I can be home with Everett. I can tell how much he loves us, and wouldn't trade him for anything. I've got the most perfect husband for me.

Wife Points

So, what were you doing at 3:30 this morning?

Here's what I was just putting into the oven:

Aaron's brother is getting married in less than 3 weeks and today is the bachelor party. They are going camping and Aaron needed some help getting the food together - call in the wife!

Yesterday was my day to get everything done but Everett had other plans. He decided he didn't want to take naps longer than 15 minutes unless he was strapped to my body (a la Baby Bjorn). So last night I was putting together 4 HUGE man-sandwiches while reaching around Everett on my chest. My back may never be the same.
I had to wait for the rolls to rise in between feedings and getting other supplies ready for his trip. So with 30 minutes of sleep I got my hubby out the door at 5:00 this morning. While they have a great time running around the forest acting like a bunch of adolescent dorks, I'll be cleaning this up:I've racked up so many wife points, I'd marry myself.

6 Weeks

Everett is 6 weeks old today. You ladies aren't kidding when you said it goes by fast. During a phone conversation, I was asked how I was enjoying hibernation. I never thought about it that way. After I got off the phone that got me thinking. I HAVE been in hibernation, just not the sleeping kind. I've only gone to the store twice in 6 weeks. I rarely leave the house, and if I do it's to go to Grandma's. I haven't turned the TV on, no ipod or stereo (gasp!) in 6 weeks, I'm just not interested.

Everett has all of my attention, and I don't mind one bit.

In the past 6 weeks I've learned:

Grandmas and Aunts don't like to share

All bad habits come from your dad

You HATE your carseat

You have your dad's wavy hair and blue eyes

Pacifiers and Mylicon are lifesavers

You love being outside

I could watch him sleep all day

If I don't stop taking so many photos, Everett is going to think my face is a shiny black lens.

Kaiser, I Hate You

Kaiser Permanente had been very good to me (despite my rates seeming to hike every year). That is until this month. In the last 2 weeks I've learned that even though Kaiser had a series of documented major screw-ups, and admit that they screwed up- I'm the one that ends up getting screwed over.

A simple problem that could have been fixed in 20 minutes has now escalated to a huge ordeal. I've been shuffled around, sent through a string of departments, and have had our problem discussed all the way to the top of the bureaucracy food chain. In the end we will have to pay out of pocket to fix their screw-up.

So Kaiser, that is why I hate you.

Redneck Potential

It's the running joke in our family that my husband is a redneck and has redneck friends. My husband never met a redneck sport he didn't like...fishing, deer hunting, duck hunting, toilet seat horseshoes, you name it (just kidding on that last one). When he gets home we watch nature survival shows and on Sunday we get to watch the fishing channel.

It's long been discussed that our spawn would have no choice but to succumb to the redneck gene. Before we knew if we were having a boy or girl, Grandma bought our baby these shoes:

When Everett was born, I had no idea how true those discussions would become. He was even born with a baby mullet. Sure, both of his parents grew up in the 9-0-9 but c'mon! Are our genes mutating? He's all business in the front, and all party in the back.

So my husband goes to Bass Pro Shops and comes home with this onsie. Lord have mercy!

Next thing you know, Everett will be hanging out with these kids:

And wanting this bedroom set:

Guess I better learn to like country music.

The Mommy Club

I've heard countless horrendous stories from friends detailing the plight of motherhood. It's not something anyone can understand unless they've been there themselves. It's like a secret club, The Mommy Club, as I like to call it.

Giving birth is not enough for admission. You need to survive an entire day of pure grief before you get admittance. Well, I'm proud to announce - I have arrived.

So at 5am today Everett starts fussing so I rush him out of the room so Aaron doesn't wake up. We make it to the couch, get comfy, and he pukes all down the front of my shirt. I'm so tired I don't even care. I wipe it up with a towel and we fall asleep.

Aaron left for work, and at 8am I notice that Moe is throwing up outside - great. The vet said this might happen so discontinue one of his meds. No problem.

At 9am I phone Everett's doctor regarding a very important matter. I leave a message and decide not to take a shower so I don't miss her call. Everett has decided that today he's only taking 15 minute cat naps, so nothing is getting done around the house. I finally get him to nap and decide Moe needs some attention. I call him in the backyard with no response. Guess he doesn't want to play.

A few minutes later I try to call him again and notice a huge puddle of diarrhea on the patio. I go to find Moe and he's foaming at the mouth and vomiting everywhere. I completely freaked out. Off to the vet again, loading a hungry crying baby and a foamy dog in the car. Drop Moe off at the vet and realized I left my phone in the car and missed the call from the doctor.

I finally got the doctor to answer the phone after hitting redial 5 times. All I got was a "we screwed up - sucks to be you - I'll see if I can sorta fix it and call you back". Great. Still can't take a shower. I hose off dog poo and puke off the patio and got at least a couple hours of normalcy.

At 4pm I still hadn't heard back from the doctor so I left a message. It's Friday afternoon, guess she has better things to do. Called to check on Moe and he was ready to be picked up, although he was still very sick. I fed Everett before hurrying off to the vet again, but not before Everett exploded his diaper spilling a gallon of poo through his pants and onto my jeans. There was no time to change. Off to the vet with no shower, clothes from yesterday, baby puke on my shirt, poo on my jeans, dog spit and hair smeared on my shirt. I am one hot babe.

Got Moe home and he is one sick puppy. He puked twice (at least it was on the tile), I'm running out of towels between him and Everett. Aaron is going to be working late again - maybe I'll get to take a shower tomorrow. In the meantime, Everett has been crying for a solid 40 minutes, I'll be up all night watching Moe and I could use a break. No such luck. You're in The Mommy Club now.

Genetically Jacked

Moe is a purebred Pembroke Welsh Corgi. I went to a specialty breeder, and paid a grip of money to get the very best Corgi I could for my darling husband's birthday. His parents were both champion prize winners - his father was even flown in from New Zealand for heaven's sake. So our dog is a genetically superior super dog, right?

Well...not so much. Turns out Moe is a genetic freak of nature. Literally.

Moe woke up on Monday morning and couldn't walk. The night before, Moe was at the neighbor's house playing with their dogs while Aaron and I visited. We figured he might have hurt something while overdoing it at the neighbor's house.

Off to the vet we went. Ever see a woman load a newborn baby and a 30 lb. dog that can't walk into a car? It's quite a sight. At the vet we found (after having to get freakin' expensive x-rays) that Moe has an extra vertebrae in his back. We don't call him "Extended Cab" for nothin'. The vet said it was so unusual he wanted to take the x-rays to his next vet conference. The cushioning between his vertebrae are almost wore out so when he plays hard his back gets inflamed causing too much pain for him to walk.

We're treating him with meds and he's feeling better. No more wrestling. No more running up the stairs. No more rough housing, jumping, or vigorous exercise. Poor Moe is only 1 year old. How do you tell a puppy he can't play anymore?

We're so sorry, buddy. We love you so much and can't even tell you how sad we are for you. We hope you feel better soon.

Woman of the Century

Today my Great Grandma, Alta Flossie Bland turns 100 years old. They had a huge party for her in her home town of Lamar, Colorado. Grandma and I have been exchanging letters for years and I still get excited to receive her packages in the mail. You already know it's something she's crocheted for you. I've got a hutch filled with dolls made just for me and a cabinet filled with afghans in some of the oddest color combinations only my 100 year old Grandma could come up with.

I always say I come from a long line of feisty women, and my Grandma is no exception. It's pretty common to hear her talk about how her hip gave out on her so all she can do is sit and crochet. There is however a quick follow up with "...but there ain't nothin' wrong with m' mouth!"

I love listening to her talk about growing up. Back when they said they had "nothing", they really had NOTHING. Somehow they found a way to survive and make it. It always makes me realize that I don't have things so hard, quit complaining, and get to work.

So happy birthday, Grandma! I wish I could be there. I love you!

The Mommy Badge

So when you have a baby, I've heard some women comment on how it was "the reason they were put on this earth" or "their greatest achievement". I can agree with those comments, but I think I will be more satisfied with those comments after I raise my son to become a productive, loving, functioning adult-not living at home.

Everett has let me know that I'm doing a good job, so far. How, you ask? He gives me a Mommy Badge on a regular basis. It's not made of metal, it's not fancy or sparkly - but it does get your attention. Usually you wear it on one shoulder or the other, but if you're as lucky as I am, you get it as a total surprise right in the middle of your shirt. I never thought about a bra having a dual purpose as a spit-up catcher. My boy can spit up what seems an entire meal worth on a regular basis. He's like a milk fountain. Forget the dinky little spit up rags...I am using my dish towels. It doesn't end up just on me. Usually before I can stem the tide he manages to get it all over his arms, clothes and rubs his face in it. Aaah...good times. I'm sure someday I'll miss this. Until then, thanks for the Mommy Badge kiddo.

0-3

So Everett turned a mini milestone of 3 weeks old on Wednesday. Today I was hit with a sad dose of reality, it was a huge milestone of sorts...Everett is growing out of his newborn clothes and is fitting into his 0-3 month clothes. What? Already?

I had been given the advice from many to enjoy every moment because they grow up so fast. I took this advice to heart and have been savoring every moment with my baby boy. I know he's got to grow up, but I really didn't think it would happen quite so fast.

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I've been trying to take photos of Everett so I could remember the details of when he came to us so small and perfect. I try to memorize every wrinkle of his feet, the squeaks and grunts he makes, how good he smells after a bath, his mile-long lashes, even his poop face. I know there's no way I'll remember it all, so at least I have the photos to help me.

I love you, Everett. You are my Sunshine Boy. But could you stay small for just a while longer?