Thriving

If you're wondering whether or not your child can survive on pasta with butter, the occasional grape and a spoonful of yogurt - the answer is yes.  Not only can they survive, they can thrive.

They can also say words like "shit" and "damn it", in contextually appropriate ways. "I'm pretty sure he's saying 'share', babe."  "No, he's not.  Stop swearing in front of the kid."

Kiwi: fwuck

Also fun?  Grabbing used toilet paper out of the potty and sucking the wah-dah out.

Oh yeah, that happened.

Speaking of the potty, we bought Kiwi one.  He spits in it and then says, "yuck".  To my knowledge, he's only ever seen people use the potty appropriately and he's certainly in bed when I'm doing my nightly ritual of washing my face, brushing my teeth and puking up the bottle of Jack and bag of shame Doritos I had for dinner.  So why the spitting, I wonder?

Maybe it's the same instinct that drives him to take his diaper off and pee all over the kitchen floor then stomp in it like a puddle. Or figure out how to take his shorts off, stick his hand down his pants and then lick his fingers.

I seriously don't even want to know what they taste like but I can guarantee it's not the "mmmmmm, good" he claims.

Kids are funny like that, aren't they?  Like when you go to Hooters and your almost two year old points and screams "NEE NEE" at every pair of tits he sees, or when you're at the grocery store and you let a little fart squeak out and he yells, "Momma toot!"

Fwuck me.

Coming out

Of blogging retirement, that is.

I know some of you drama llamas were hoping for some juicy lesbo sex stories instead of why I haven't posted in half a year, and sorry to disappoint, but I haven't caught the geigh...yet.  Although I've been watching a lot of Suits lately, I could totally bang Donna.

It's been a challenging few months here at Casa de Beanie. 

We made the decision to put our house on the market and head back home to be with family.  My sister had her baby and is digging the mom thing.  We hired a realtor and had a ton of cosmetic work done to the house. A listing was imminent

But then Mr. T's brother passed away suddenly.  It's been a difficult reconciliation, emotionally for us, mostly for Mr T as he and and M were very close. Some would say that there is no such thing as the Blue Line, but trust me when I tell you, it's there, we feel it and it's gotten us through a very difficult time in our lives.

Needless to say, the pain that my family deals with on a daily basis is horrific.  The media is relentless in their attempts to gain access to the core group and it's infuriating when people on the outskirts speak out of school.  We have to be very, very careful what we say publicly so other than this post, I won't discuss it further.


On a happier note, Kiwi is freaking awesome. 

He's a funny little bastard, likes to sing and dance and play air guitar.  He's a man's man - playing in whatever is dirty, rolling his dump trucks through the mulch, choo choo'ing his train along the dog, playing with the hose.  The other day, I found him scaling the stone fireplace to gain access to the remote control. And before that? I found him stuffing his play broom into the fish tank, standing on top of an empty laundry basked he'd turned over.

He bosses me around all the time, "Mama, dat one.  No Mama, dis one."

But when he says, "Mama, kiss, hug, love", I swear to god, I melt. 

I love this kid...like wow.

Be well and love each other

Will he ever learn?

Here's an interesting tidbit

Women menstruate.

Just an FYI.

Mr. T and I got a babysitter for Kiwi and spent the morning test driving cars.   At one dealership our salesman was really inexperienced. 

And when I say inexperienced, I mean that I'm pretty sure I saw a piece of his mother's placenta peeking out of his sweater vest.

After our test drive, the manager came over to "say hello".  And when I say Say Hello, I mean that he came over to ooze his particular brand of douche our way. 

Here's our exchange:

Car Dealership Manager: Blah blah blah.  Car payments suck, huh?

Mr. T: Um yes.  They can get pretty painful.

Manager: Painful is right!  Once a month, it's painful.     ::turns to me and says::     You know all about pain once a month, huh?

Me: We're leaving.

Me (the rest of the day): No fucking way he said that, I can't have heard him correctly.  I must have misunderstood.  No way he said that.

Mr. T: Are you ever going to stop talking about this? 

Me: Probably not.

From my family to yours

Happy Thanksgiving.

She means well

The following is an actual text conversation I had with my mother.

~~~

Her: Does Kiwi have any toys in his crib? Ones that attach? U no what omega?

Me: He has something called a crib soother but he never uses it. Why? Also, omega?

Her: Omega dinner? I dunno. Toys for Kiwi's crib so he will play and U can sleep longer. (Kiwi has recently decided that 5 AM is a good time to start the day) What's a good website for learning toys?

Me: I'm not sure you'll find a toy that's both crib appropriate and educational.  It probably wouldn't keep his attention for very long but thanks for thinking of me! 

Her: Maybe I'll get a toy iPad and put a retractable cord on it for him.  Yes?

Me: For real?

Her:  Or a cellphone he can sleep with.

Me: haha?

Her: Ok, gotta work now. I'll email you what I get for Christmas.

~~~

I'm almost certain she was kidding.

Almost.

Rookie Mistake

I would have bet Mr. T's entire collection of Twilight collectible dolls and beloved Team Jacob hoodie that Kiwi hadn't napped for eleven days, but no - it had only been a few hours since his last nap.

Painful - exhausting - whining - WHY AREN'T YOU HOLDING ME WOMAN hours.


I should have listened to him, telling me he was ready for bed but instead, I pushed him.  Just a few minutes, because I didn't want the day to start at 5 AM. 


Again.


So I put on a DVR'ed episode of Sesame Street, handed him a Ritz cracker and let him play with things he's not normally allowed to play with.  Like the fireplace.  Or recently sharpened knives.  However, when he flipped his shit over Token licking his cracker, I realized I had waited too long.


I went upstairs and got my screaming, trilled r'ing, shoulder collapsing son undressed.


The mood was instantly lightened. 


Finally.


So as he ran around his room, naked and giggling, I drew his bath.  I breathed a sigh of relief that the evening was almost over and wondered to myself if Leslie and Ben would get back together this week on Parks and Rec.


Oh, speaking of relief:

Yep, still kicking

Have you ever accidentally given your dog two Ambien instead of his normal doggie allergy pills and then had to spend an obscene amount of money having the contents of said dog's stomach forcefully emptied at the emergency vet because it's a Sunday afternoon?

No?  Me neither.

I wish I had a cool excuse for not posting for eighty seven years but I don't.  It's just me and my increasing number of black yoga pants being lazy and watching tivo'ed episodes of Happy Endings.

(it's the funniest show you aren't watching, trust me)

Things are just busy here at casa de Beanie!

Mr. T is a traveling fool - going to places that he really should take along compression socks and a broad spectrum antibiotic.  Instead he takes some power bars and his porn iPad because really, does anyone actually get off on Asian ass porn?

Token is, well...I think we've covered him.

Kiwi is awesome.  He totally understands what we say and actually does it! (most times)

If I tell him to put his blue truck into his wagon, he will.  If I tell him to put the pink block on top of the red block, he will.  If I tell him to stop touching the dog's penis, he will.

He loves water, my kid.  He loves to put his whole face in the bathwater and take big swig.  And then choke for five minutes.  He has a toy in there, we call him Scuba Steve, who spits out water in a stream and Kiwi loves it. 

In fact, if he hears water running anywhere in the house, he's on a freaking mission...his little feet slapping the hardwood trying to find it.

Which, as it turns out, may not have been the best behavior to encourage.

Mr. T was using the facilities yesterday morning and didn't quite have the door closed all the way.

This is what I heard:

tinkle tinkle tinkle

Slap slap slap slap slap

"Oh, shit...Kiwi.  No."

tinkle tin....

"NO!"

flush

the sink turning on

squealing

slap slap slap slap slap

"I don't want to talk about it."

I guess when your hands are full, trying to prevent an excited toddler from sticking his hands in your pee stream is kinda hard.

Welcome to my world.

ten years

Ten years ago, I started dating him.

Five years ago, I married him.

Last year I was getting ready to have his baby.



pre-epidural.



Aside from The Apple Store, of course - he's been right by my side.

mostly

I'm pretty sure the next ten will be even better than the last.