Cora - 14 Months (Even Though She is 16 Months Now)

She stands with a whisk clutched in one hand and a spatula in the other, waving those simple cooking implements like she was conducting a 50 piece orchestra.  Her smile so big and gaping that a line of drool has no chance but to escape her mouth and land ceremoniously on her pretty black dress.  She doesn't care that her rear end is a bit odoriferous or that her top end is as bald as a que ball.  She may even lose her balance a time or two while the whisk is wildly spinning around her head in a moment of reckless abandon.  No matter.  She's having fun.  Living her life like no one is looking.

I envy this about a one year old.

Not a care in the world, simple joys, simple pleasures, the ability to cry it out and then move on.  Cora has it all....the world on a string and her daddy wrapped tightly around her finger.  At 14 months she is the proud owner of 8 shiny little teeth and 4 molars that work harmoniously to supply her with all the bread, Kix and yogurt her little tummy can hold.  She never met a sweet she didn't drool for and a Daddy that didn't give it to her if she flashes her baby blues at him.  Those little teeth are often visible in a wide and genuine grin when she sees her brothers but hidden when a stranger asks for one.

The percentiles at the pediatrician's office say that she is average in every way a parent wants their kid to be average.  She's healthy and vibrant, not too tall, not too short and her head is just the perfect size to hold her perfect brain.   

But not all is perfect.  She continues to want to party in the middle of the night.  After an hour of screaming, she knows that we've reached our limit and Jay gets up and holds her.  EVERY night it is the same party and we desperately want to be uninvited.  We've tried letting her cry, patting her back, wrapping her up in 3 layers to ensure warmth and putting Christmas lights in her room, but to no avail.  Cora hasn't slept through the night in months and hence our gas tanks are empty and our patience is running thin.

Thankfully our memory is impaired, because when "Cooey" (as Kai calls her) lifts up her shirt and points at her tummy when we ask her, or shows off her incredible smarts by knowing the difference between a giraffe and a cow, or goes and gets her baby doll and gives it a kiss on our command, we all just melt under her spell.  Her brothers show her uncharacteristic patience and love that they don't show to each other.

And as she prances about with her purse filled with Transformers, saying MAMA and A-DA (Daddy) or Uh-mmm (uh-oh), we continue to feel blessed that I was lucky enough to be able to have her so she could complete our family.

She is the perfect ending to our family symphony.

Life Lessons Learned from a Three Year Old

From Kai:  A Public Service Announcement

"Get your extracise......So you can be extra strong."

Choosing a profession:  Go With Your Gut

When Kai was asked what he wanted to be when he grows up he said without hesitation, 

"A robber!!!"

I told him in no uncertain terms that that wasn't going to be an option.  I asked him again what he would like to do with his life and with only a little hesitation he said, 

"A bad guy!!!"

When I looked at him with my most stern motherly glare and I shook my head, there was a long pregnant pause and he asked in a quiet voice, 

"A mean person?"

Thankfully he is only three.

A moment of truth:  Lessons in Humility

I have a concert coming up on January 1 at the Washington DC Temple Visitor's Center.  There is a lot of music to learn and my pipes are a bit rusty.  I practice in little snatches between diapers and disasters, thankful for whatever time I can get.  While Kai was busying himself with the Lego's upstairs and Cora was busying herself taking out all the plastic containers from the drawer, I was busying myself with a little singing time.  I went for the most difficult part of the song first:  The high belt/mix that happens on the bridge.  I just went for it.  I was pretty proud of myself that I could still hit the notes with the right technique.  It was loud and powerful and a very good first round.  Just as I was about to sing it again I hear from upstairs,

"Mama!  Are you okay?

Do you bleed?"

Obviously I'm in need of a bit more practice.

And finally:  The Art of Debate.  

You must know your position and play to your strengths when any type of debate is taking place, especially when your opponent is a three year old.  Kai's strength is honesty and transparency with a little bit of personality on the side.  When asked if he should be allowed to do something special he explained that he already knew how to behave so I didn't need to remind him:

"I don't act crazy.

I don't act wild.

I don't say dammit."

Well stated.

On our trip to Colorado in early September.  

 

Kai saying "yah, yah" to get the horse to go faster

Kai hunkering down in aerodynamic mode to get the horse to go faster.  Notice the slow-poke leading the horse.

First Day of School

I wasn't entirely ready to relinquish my lazy summer days to the hustle and bustle of packing lunch boxes, signing papers, stuffing backpacks and cramming a healthy meal down sleepy eyed children's mouths.  I'd become quite friendly with Apple Jacks and bare feet.

The first day of school snuck (sneaked?) around the corner, whacked me upside the head, and took two of my boys away in a big yellow school bus.  I just wasn't prepared.  We didn't have our Back to School Feast or end of summer extravaganza.  We spent the last week of summer in Colorado so I didn't attend any Meet and Greets or Kindergarten registrations.  Summer was going along swimmingly, and then all the sudden the drain let out and we found ourselves thrust into a schedule and deadlines.


(Ever doing her part, Mother Nature decided to yank summer from my tightly clenched fist by dumping rain on the first day of school with temperatures hovering at 65 degrees.  No easing us in, just thrusting us off the cliff into another school year.)

So I had my hint(s).  Time to get back into the grind with stricter bed times and odd, unidentifiable odors emanating from lunch boxes.

My brand new big boy kindergartener donned his brand new spiffy "jogging shoes" (he already tested their "speediness" in the aisles of the shoe store), hoisted on his unblemished backpack (that looked like it could topple him over at any minute), tamed his unruly hair, and waited impatiently for the clock to reach 8:30 so he could run to the bus stop.

My seasoned second grader ate 3 eggs on toast (with the eggs on the side....I'm still trying to figure out why we don't call them "eggs on the side of toast"), secured his going-on-its-third year-dirty-backpack to his back, and played with Cora until I told him he had to leave her to go to catch his bus.

As Owen climbed up the very tall stairs into his bus and sat down in the second row, I could only see him from his nose up, face pressed against the window.  He looked so small, yet so confident.  He was still my baby with the giant blue eyes looking down at me as he excitedly waved goodbye. 

The juxtaposition of letting go but hanging on always comes to greet me on the first day of school.  I'm excited to send my boys into a new adventure where they will gain the skills and knowledge they need to grow up happy and well adjusted.  But I want to hang on to them and shelter them from things that little eyes and ears shouldn't hear or little hearts can't absorb.  

First day of kindergarten

First day of second grade

A brother's version of putting their arm around each other.

Kai rushing after them saying, "Wait for me!"  They didn't wait.

They made me proud on that first day.  The pair of them were intrepid explorers ready for their next great enterprise together as brothers/friends.  I sent my little men off and I could see they were confident and curious.  And then I looked over and saw Kai spinning Cora around in the stroller and I was brought back to reality.  I'll see them again in 8 hours, their heads crammed full of knowledge, no doubt.  And they'll be ready to cram their mouths full of snacks and take heartily from my stash of patience. 

Cora at 9 Months

• Daddy's girl (the baldies unite!)
• enjoys crawling, drooling, teething and chewing
• beloved by Drew, and loves him right back
• dislikes her crib in the closet and requires that she be put to sleep in someone's arms (see the first bullet point)
• favorite foods include mangoes, sweet potatoes and kale, peaches
• tolerates bananas
• dislikes avocados
• loathes cheese
• is the proud owner of 7.5 teeth (still waiting for the last one to reach the height of the others)
• weighs a few ounces shy of 20 lbs. and is short (my contribution, no doubt)
  
• her tiny feet are finally growing to meet the needs of mobility
• never met a staircase she didn't desire to climb (note above point)
• enjoys waving...but only at herself
• is a champion peek-a-boo player
• finally discovered that 4:30 a.m. is not as exciting as it once was and has given up waking up at that ghastly hour (Jay has yet to discover this truth and is up by this time every day.  Craziness.)
• she is happy most of the time and makes us happy all of the time
• likes her mama, too

Baby Sister

My three-year-old is going through a bit of an identity crisis.  He is teetering on the precipice between wanting so badly to be a big boy but still wanting to be Mama's little boy. I promised him I'll always make room for him in my lap even if it means that I have to have a winch to hoist him up into it.  Unfortunately, that was little consolation to him when I evicted him out of my lap, mid-cuddle, to rescue Cora from behind the chair.  (She gets stuck there sometimes in her quest to find little things on the floor to eat.  Bugs, fuzz, dried up pieces of cheese....she doesn't discern.  Her portly self gets wedged in there pretty tight so I have to shimmy myself in there and haul her out by her legs.)

He demands to put his clothing on all by himself with not one ounce of assistance from me; hence, he's gone out in public twice with his shirt on inside out and his shorts on backwards which, I suppose, is a blessing because he has yet to understand that plaid doesn't go well with stripes.  Thankfully no one could see that underneath that mess of an ensemble he wasn't wearing any underpants. 

Kai wants to make all his own decisions but has yet to master the art of sticking to them.  For instance....

He loves Cora.  He truly does.  He hasn't shown an ounce of jealousy since she entered center stage into his life.  But when he suddenly had an equally cute baby in his midst while on vacation in Florida, he started to waffle back and forth in his loyalty to his "Cooey."

Entering stage left was Shaye, Kai's cousin who is almost 2 months younger than Cora.  It was like he suddenly realized that there were other babies in the world besides the one he had been given and now he felt like he could choose.

One instance he looked at my brother playing with Cora and possessively demanded, "That's our baby.  He belongs to our house."  (Like the little issue with wearing underpants, pronouns just aren't his thing.)

And then the very next day he's on team Shaye.  He said:

"I want a different baby.....

(then he looked back and forth from Cora to Shaye, pointed at Shaye and said,)

like THAT guy!"

Fickle, three year olds.  Too many more evictions from my lap and Kai might start looking for another mother....like THAT guy.

Mind Your Bee's and Dude's

When I was a little girl, we often congregated in our living room, cinnamon toast in hand, to watch our favorite program on the old box television.  Mom or Dad would instruct the remote (usually the kid that was best with numbers) to get up and turn the dial the 6 or 7 clicks around to find Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.  Sitting there on our rust colored carpet, we learned all we ever wanted to know about the mysteries of the animal kingdom.  

These days, most of that valuable knowledge has been replaced with other things more applicable to my life (like the phone number to the Poison Control).  BUT..... I do recall the Secretary Bird.

The secretary bird is a bird of prey that has really long, powerful legs and isn't particularly fond of flying (although it can).  What it is fond of, however, is snakes. 

Ms. Bird would sneak up on an unsuspecting snake and THWAP!  beat the living tarnation out of that reptile.  And then the secretary would step back and just stare at that snake.  Daring it.  No, taunting it to move.  If that snake so much as twitched a muscle or slithered its forked tongue...THWAP!....another relentless assault from the secretary's lightning fast legs.  

And to add insult to injury to the already dead reptile, or just because, or to show the rest of the world that secretaries really are the boss.....the bird would thwap that reptile another 87 or so times just for good measure.  Then madam secretary would gobble down the deceased slithery serpent with no apologies for the violent assault that delivered the food to her beak.

I've never forgotten that bird and its unwavering confidence while facing a formidable foe.  It holds on to the self-confidence that sometimes gets lost when life deals us a poor hand or the world gives us a new set of rules.  Whatever the cause, holding on to the assurance that you possessed in the easy times can be more tricky to hold on to when life gets sticky.

Now, instead of being the secretary, seizing the day and standing tall, I find myself relating more to the beleaguered reptile.

Just when I think I've gotten ahead...THWAP!...I realize there's more laundry underneath someone's bed.

Just when I consider giving myself a pat on the back for going to the gym 5 times this week...THWAP!...I see some "newsworthy" story about a leggy blonde going back to work to model Vicky's secret underwear.......5 WEEKS AFTER GIVING BIRTH!!!

As soon as I put a delicious and healthy meal on the table that I'm convinced Owen will eat...THWAP!...he's changed his mind about liking chicken.

THWAP!.....THWAP!.....THWAP!......

I need to be schooled in the fine art of seeing the positive even when chaos is swirling about like a hurricane.  My homework should be a few minutes in front of the mirror telling myself that I did a good job, despite the THWAPS!

I think I've found the perfect teacher for my class in self-affirmation.  He is a strawberry blonde, somewhat rough around the edges, loud and determined guy who still sucks his "fum" and sleeps with a "blankee."

Professor Kai is demonstrating to me every day that he doesn't need the world to tell him he's important....he's telling the world.  

With a devilish grin and a swagger he says, "I hannsome."  

Kai doesn't worry himself too much about insignificant details.  He tries to put his "unnapants" on "the way Daddy tells me."  If he inadvertently puts them on backward and inside out, he gives himself a pat on the back anyway because he at least remembered to put them on in the first place.

With Kai's criteria for being all you can be, we would all be 4 star generals by now.  In a particular moment of self-appreciation, Kai said to me in his most animated voice, "Mama!  I don't bees trouble!  I don't poop in my pants!  I'm AWESOME!!!" 

And just when he thinks he can't be any awesome-er, he writes his name all by himself and shouts, "Look what I dood!"

When I grow up, I want to be more like the secretary bird and more like my Kai.  I want to remember all the things that I "bees" and all the good things that I "dood." 

And I can start with my underpants......Right side out?  Check.  Tag in the back?  Check.

I'm AWESOME!

All Boys

*I wrote this back in July 2010...pre-Cora.  It still holds true.  But I'll be adding another list in the coming years:  "You Know You Live With a Drama Queen When..."

Ah....the testosterone that hangs in and around my house like the humidity of a hot July day in Alabama:  There is always a faint yet distinct aroma and the energy is intense.  It is inescapable.  So to honor the time when I have a homogeneous set of children, I wanted to write down a few thoughts.


You Know You Live With All Boys When.....

1.  You think about designing your dream house, the first thing that comes to mind is installing a urinal.

2.  You keep super glue in your purse just in case they split open their foreheads.... again.

3.  Anything is turned into a sword and everything is capable of making a gun noise.  Little boys point their fingers at strangers in a gun-like charade.  Very nice.  I promise I'm teaching gun safety...."Put that pea-shooter down!"  (100 points if you can name that movie.)

4.  Gravel and dirty rocks are presented to you as being "pretty" and must always be lovingly displayed.
   
5.  When asked "will you play with me," be ready to be on the losing end of a smackdown...WWF style.

6.  The toy bins are labeled "Vehicles", "Legos", "Bad Guys" and "Weapons" (to take care of the "Bad Guys" in the neighboring bin).

7.  Cargos, jeans, t-shirt:  Wash, rinse, repeat.

8.  After a blessing on the food, you find yourself saying, "Please!  Put away the sword and eat your peas.  You know there aren't supposed to be any weapons at the table."

9.  They shout, "Let's go to the playroom and play Zookeeper Who Gets Eaten By a Lion!"


Here are my boys doing a few boys things (which don't involve being eaten by a wild animal):

Little Broken Hearts Club Man

(Written on January 10, 2010....Don't know why I never published it.)

Oh the tragedies, the insults, the grievances, the injustices that must be endured by a beleaguered and embattled four-year-old! It is all just, well....UNJUST!

We required that Owen take ONE little bite of lasagna. Only one. Apparently, that was just too much to ask a kid who can smell a bread crumb being dropped on the floor after tea in England.  Of course, he was forced to take immediate action.

 He wails, "DADDY! YOU ARE FIRED!"

I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN YOU BEES (THAT IS AN EXACT QUOTE) SO MEAN TO ME!!

I JUST CANNOT TAKE IT ANY MORN (ANOTHER VERBATIM QUOTE)
.
.
.
.
I GIVE UP!"
(and then he falls ceremoniously to the floor)

So up to his room he was banished with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (that were free of cavities on Monday, by the way).  He was hauled up there, stiff as a board, grasping desperately for anything he could reach to delay his ascent to his place of exile.

The battle lines have been drawn and we're not backing down. Little boys cannot exist on nachos, pizza, and honey nut cheerios alone! Who knew that food could be such a formidable foe?  (I, personally, like food.  Too much.)

But, oh! The gut wrenching sobs and deep-from-the-soul crying that erupted from Owen are enough for me to wave the white flag! Are the tears and night spent in his room worth one lousy bite of lasagna?

Alas, I won't back down over a request as small as one bite. It wasn't liver pate or fish eyeballs.  It was simple, delicious lasagna.  So for now he remains holed up in his room, hopefully thinking about how much easier it would've been to try just one bite.

As the day came to a close and the wails of injustice quieted to a whimper, I made my way into his room to soothe the savage beast and calm his lasagna tortured soul.  I cuddled up with him on his bed and stroked his back and told him happy things like, "We'll build a clubhouse tomorrow.  But you need to remember that it is important to eat so your bones will be strong and your muscles can grow big. When you have a healthy body it is easy to do so many fun things!"  (hint, hint, wink, wink)

And then I asked him if he has any happy things he wants to say to me.  I'm trying desperately to turn a disastrous evening into something positive so that I can once again be his prettiest princess (still without backing down)!  I even try coaxing him into an apology for acting like a raving lunatic over a measly mouthful of lasagna.  

He takes some deep and dramatic breaths, looks at me with huge tears and tells me, "I am not supposed to tell you happy things.  I am the kid.  You are the grown up.  You're supposed to make me happy!"  

I haven't been put in my place in a long time.  And I think I was just put in my place.  


And it started with lasagna.


I won't make that for a loooooong time.

Mother's Day

You know you're a mother when.....

You google "eyelash serum" and "steam mop" within minutes of each other.  When you discover they are both the same price, you realize that your dream of fuller, longer lashes is trumped by the need for your newly crawling baby to have a sanitized floor to drag her belly around on.

You have a conversation with your spouse that starts like this, "Do you think we've ruined him?"

You have another conversation with your spouse that goes a little like this, "Do you think we'll survive them?"

You feel guilty about a million and one things and then feel guilty for feeling guilty.

You cringe (and wish you could pull out your soapbox) every time you have to say "No" when asked "Do you work?"

During your relaxing Mother's Day shower you look over and discover you are bathing with 2 giraffes, one green dinosaur and a Night Fury dragon with optional flapping wings.

On your relaxing Mother's Day you....write a child's Primary talk, go to 3 hours of church, change a child's sheets who had an accident, make pancakes for dinner, fold laundry and give a laundry folding lesson at the same time, run to the store for milk and juice because you forgot them when you went to the store yesterday (ironically so you wouldn't have to go on Sunday), yell a few times at a few children, and then feel guilty about it AND the going to the store part (see above), dispense medicines, vacuum, give yourself a pedicure, and refuse to share your strawberry Hagan Daas.

The pain of a botched c-section and subsequent recoveries pale in comparison to the pain you feel when your child has a heartache, or worse, you've caused the heartache while trying to navigate your way through this parenting obstacle course.

You don't care one bit about the scar snaking up your abdomen because it means you have a happy and healthy baby.

You can't remember the last time you had 8 hours of sleep.

You drive a mini-van but pretend you are back in your convertible Mustang GT by opening the sun roof (which you promptly have to close because a shortling in a car seat complains about the sun in his eyes).

Some days you feel like Mother of the Year and other days you grasp desperately for the Easy button or wish you had a do-over.


And you know you've fully arrived to the motherhood party when someone asks you, "Are all those your's?"

Cutie

She still bewitches us all.  

Her fuzzy bald head is a culinary map of our day, with traces of syrup from breakfast, salty pretzels from lunch and chocolate from our tasty treats.  You see, her little baby head sees more smooches from three handsome boys than a daytime soap opera queen ever dreamed of.  She's a collector of kisses, crumbs and all.

Next to the leftovers on her noggin is the whisker rash from her Daddy.  Snuggling under his coarse chin is a favorite resting place after his long day of work.  A symbiotic relationship where relaxation and contentment is shared.  The only casualty is his lapel that shows the signs of a drooling baby drifting off to sleep.

Dishes remain dirty, extra pounds unshed, projects undone and dinners uninspired, all in the name of a new baby that isn't as new anymore. 

Stop, time!

What's the rush? 

The Plague

I like excitement and I like the unexpected.  These days, I find myself unexpectedly unexciting.  Gone are the days of late night dinners out with friends.  Gone are the days of after-show parties and false eyelashes.  Gone are the flowers wilting underneath the heat of my dressing room lights.  

Enter Act II of my life, where late night dinners are replaced with late night barf bowls.  After-show parties replaced with potty training parties.  False eyelashes?  Nope.  Undereye puffiness reducer cream (which is proving to be a waste of my money).  No more fresh flowers, just fresh packages of wet wipes.  

Because I've complained of boredom, I suppose I was blessed this week with a little bit of excitement.  In the form of the dreaded plague(s).  Our story reads like a case study in a manual at the CDC.

I started the week with Jay and Drew going on an unscheduled body cleanse.  The stomach flu hit them hard.  Poor guys.   

Meanwhile, I had the brilliant idea that this was the week for Kai to potty train.  After several wet pants, some misses at the toilet and one very unfortunate incident involving our carpet and poop (all hail the expensive carpet extractor!)....I am happy to report that Kai has now joined the older boys in the "unna"pants parade.  He's now so "trained" that when he has to go to the bathroom he says, "Oh, no!  Not again!"


Next on the agenda was Owen's ear infection that had him begging in agony to go to the doctor's office so he could get some medicine.  Since we've never had an ear infection in this house, I was unaware that I could've put him out of his misery sooner by giving him Motrin.  

Don't worry, he got me back later by getting the stomach bug.


And not to be outdone, Kai brushed his teeth.... with a tube of hydracortisone cream. 

He stood on the counter, moved aside the actual toothpaste, and extracted the faux paste.  (I have now Kai proofed that area.)  After a quick and pleasant call to my friends at the Poison Control Center (we've chatted about Kai a time or two), we sent him to bed, only to be woken up several hours later to his barking cough.

Kai got pneumonia.  I have a sneaking suspicion that the pneumonia could quite possibly be due to the Great Goodwill Pole Licking Incident (see post below).  I'm digging deep into my motherly treasure box of feelings to extract the appropriate amount of restraint needed to not dance around him saying, "That's what you get for licking that pole in Dirty Old Goodwill!"

Cora, in an effort to show solidarity, got an ear infection, bronchitis and pink eye.  (I actually think the doctor is wrong on the pink eye part.)  Poor little precious baby looks innocent and sweet but she sounds like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth.

The really good news is that Drew didn't start getting an earache until Friday night after Jay was home and we'd already learned the trick about the Motrin.  The stomach bug didn't bite me until Saturday and I was afforded some much needed time in my bed writhing and moaning while Jay dispensed breathing treatments and antibiotics like a pro. 

Happily, we're on the mend.  Thanks, in part, to the fact that we cleaned out CVS Pharmacy (and our bank account with co-pays and antibiotics).  I think we'll survive the Spencer Plague of 2011 with a little help from some Clorox Bleach.

The Tooth Fairy, however, apparently lost her mind during the germ fest.  Drew lost a tooth on Monday and that germaphobic Fairy didn't make her under pillow deposit until Wednesday.  There was much speculation about the reason she skipped Drew's pillow.  One such explanation was offered up by a very serious Owen when he speculated that the ice storm affected her wings.

The second night's snub was met with less forgiveness.  I simply told the boys that she was busy.  Drew said, with a skeptical look, "I don't know about that.  I'll believe you.....this time."  He's been let down one too many times.  (see here and here)

The events of the last week have left us all a little bit edgy, I guess. 

  *Kai passing along the dread diseases from Goodwill to Cora.  Good will, indeed.

Kai

*I wrote this early last week.

The local jail is readying its starkest cell and warning the guards to be on alert.  Kai is being sent to a lock-up where he can't pillage, plunder or otherwise wreak havoc.  

Several little items in the household are missing and we've narrowed the culprit down to one very grubby little (or not so much little) two year old scoundrel.  What in the world Kai wants with my measuring spoons is beyond me, but he sure does have them squirrelled away somewhere.  

And then there was the big one.  He's been casing the joint for weeks now.  There have been several failed attempts at the heist that ended in tears and apologies and empty promises to "not take Owen's fings eber 'gin."  

While I was busy falling for his pleas of innocence with his disarming grin and talk of me being "boo-veal", he was busy making a more sophisticated plan of attack.

He is a master of trickery and thievery.  While Owen and I were otherwise occupied, Kai sneaked in and snatched Owen's video game and cartridges (an item he's been eyeballing since Christmas) and took the contraband somewhere only a little thief knows.  (Maybe with my measuring spoons?)  

Now that his master plan has succeeded, he's been banished to his room to "think about what he's done" or, better yet, fall asleep and wake up not a thief. 

When he's not busy lifting valuables, he's busy makes messes.  With no rhyme or reason, he goes about the house and leaves a trail of disaster in his wake.  

Cora's neatly stacked diaper bin?  Strewn from one wall of my bedroom to the other.

Cereal?  Leaving a very conspicuous trail from the kitchen, down the stairs to the toy room below.

My neatly folded laundry?  Now it isn't so neat.

And this is all before noon!

Baby-proofing is a joke.  I'm going to have to resort to Kai-proofing, which requires steel, padlocks, and booby traps.

I don't want to give off the impression that Kai doesn't have a softer side.  He does.

His lips are mighty soft and shiny.  My brand new minty lip gloss is now half gone and covering the sheets on my bed and the cheeks of his face.  The other tube has so many bite marks on it that I have several dispensing options. 

He is a crafty little bugger.  He knows that as soon as I sit down to feed Cora is the time to make a break for it.  He raids the pantry searching for the perfect snack to go with his "juicy:" that he tries to pour himself!

That never ends well.  (Cue outfit number four for the day.)


Speaking of ending, his good health and vigor might be coming to a screeching halt after a little stunt he pulled yesterday. 


I look over and he's having a moment with a pole in Goodwill.  That child is busy trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get every dread disease in Northern Virginia.


He's licking the pole!!!


In dirty old Goodwill!!!


I have no more words.  I have no more tricks up my sleeve.  I have only a wing and a prayer that I will survive him.