Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Coen the Barbarian

Coen is growing up and getting stronger. And with great strength comes....the urge to smack people around.

"Hey, biddy tiny boy, can mommy have a little--" FWACK.

"Night night little nugget, give daddy a kiss goodnig--." THWACK

Even strangers aren't immune.

"Oh, he's so adorable, can I hold him?" LEFT HOOK, RIGHT HOOK, TINY DIGITS JABBED INTO THE SOFT TISSUES OF THE EYES "Okay, um, you can have him back now."

He's also reached the age of awareness and is no longer content to be set aside to play with some meager toy while Fintan, say, "GETS HIS FOOD FIRST!?" Waaaaaaaaa! Or "FINTAN IS STILL IN THE BATHTUB?! AND I HAVE BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BATHTUB?!" Waaaaaa! (Picture lil nekkid-bottom-boy arching out of my lap to stand against the cold side of the tub and lift a chubby leg to dive back in.) No more oblivious baby is he.

And now...he has teeth. Gulp. They have only just peeked their little pearly white points out of his tender, pink gums but already I'm quaking with fear. Because, as a baby, I made it my sole purpose in life to drag myself across the floor and sink my freshly minted toofers into my mom's ankles. Again and again and again.

He is my son.

I'm afraid. I'm very very afraid.

Happy 8 month birthday sweet little monster!

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Tintan no more *sniff*

Fintan is now "Fintan" even to himself. Woe is me.

Earlier today Fintan raced across the room to me yelling "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!". I was feeling sad over some news I'd received about a girl dying who was younger than I am with a son almost exactly Coen's age. Seeing this, Fintan flung himself into my arms and hugged me and gave me a kiss and asked "are you sad, Mommy?". When I put him down a moment later he walked away and then turned around and repeated the whole performance again, and then again a moment later. I got to savor his call, his hug and his kiss three times. He's so intuitive and special. I adore the socks off him.

And I always will, whether he's Tintan or Fintan and whether I'm Mommy, Mama or just plain ol' Mom. I'm just so grateful to be here, at this moment, to enjoy my little boys.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Thanks Auntie Tara bo bara!

We love the hats!

Friday, February 13, 2009

I want to be like Blogger

It's like traveling back in time to the moment I tried for the 4th time to start the previous post. I left the window open that time, since I managed to load a picture, and that's what I revisited when I decided to just go ahead and skip the videos and post something. To me it's been days since I left it but to Blogger it's like no time has passed at all. Too bad I can't freeze time like Blogger. That would be cool.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


I've been trying to upload photos and videos for days now and keep getting error messages. Why must the internet be so finicky? Oh, finicky finicky internet.

I need to note the milestones happening at our house right now. Fintan is potty training. He's doing extremely well and I'm so proud of him. He gets a dumdum sucker every time he pee pees on the potty. He's gotten a lot of dumdum suckers. He gets a small measuring cup with chocolate chips in it when he poo poos on the potty. He hasn't gotten very many chocolate chips. (As a side note to my future self when potty training Coen: remember to remove all rugs from the room BEFORE you start, woman!)

Coen is really close to crawling, and, following his usual procedure for milestones, he accomplished his latest major one when I wasn't around to see it. I went to pick him up out of his crib in his darkened bedroom and poked him right in the eye because his eye was a lot higher than it should have been. He was sitting up!

I have a bunch of photos and videos to load as soon as my internet stops acting so finicky, (I could say that word all day, finicky finicky fin-ick-y). But here's one that managed to load before the darned thing "timed out".

Coen likes to stop jumping to tilt his head back every now and then and contemplate the ceiling. Here is what happened when mommy appeared overhead with a camera to interrupt his contemplations:

Holy cuteness.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

You know your sick child is watching too much TV...

When he stands upon a small stool with a ball in one hand and a rubber rocket in the other and announces: I want to play a game...but I'm going to need your help.

Bye bye brain cells

Some people remember faces and the names that go with them. Some people remember birthdays after only one mention several months before the date. And some people remember important details about their lives and past experiences well enough to write books about them. Some people, when it comes right down to it, remember things worth remembering. Not me. The only thing I remember with any accuracy are songs, rhymes, stories---really anything with a catchy rhythm--and I remember them forever. I'd say the vast majority of my brain cells are inextricably bound up in remembering everything from a silly song I learned in third grade (Can I remember my third grade teacher's name? Not on your life.) to the book "The Sneetches" by doctor Suess.

I quote:

"Now the star belly sneetches had bellies with stars. The plain belly sneetches had none upon thars. Those stars weren't so big they were really so small you might think such a thing wouldn't matter at all. But because they had stars all the star bellied sneetches would brag: We're the best kind of sneetch on the beaches. With their snoots in the air they would sniff and they'd snort...." I could transcribe the whole thing without peeking.

And I could do this with numerous books: Epossumondus, all of the nursery rhymes in Rosemary Wells nursery rhyme collection *in order*, all of the Sandra Boynton books, Here's a Little Poem, etc. And about the only purpose my memory has ever served is that I can recite these stories and verses to Fintan when we're waiting in the Doctor's office or driving down the street and kid-music isn't cutting it. But that will only work for me, and rarely at that, for as long as my boys are preschoolers and LIKE these stories and verses. After that I'm sure they'll pay me to keep them to myelf. So really, I just wish my extremely spotty but otherwise picture perfect memory would work for...I dunno, the greater good?

Because if I'm going to be tortured I want it to be for the greater good. And yes, it IS torture. Take this song for example. Do you think I could just memorize it and go on my merry way? Of course not. If I so much as roll over at night and barely perk into semi consciousness I hear: "HERE'S A LLAMA THERE'S A LLAMA AND ANOTHER LITTLE LLAMA, FUZZY LLAMA, FUNNY LLAMA, LLAMA LLAMA DUCK!

I get up to nurse my baby at 2 a.m. and I drop my head back against the chair, relax and snuggle my tiny boy and it's: LLAMA LLAMA CHEESECAKE LLAMA TABLET BRICK POTATO LLAMA, I hope he goes back to sleep for a few hours I WAS ONCE A TREEHOUSE, I LIVED IN A CAKE oh, I have to remember to sign up for story time tomorr--BUT I NEVER SAW THE WAY THE ORANGE SLAYED THE RAKE. I hope the boys feel better soon IS IT MADE OF LEMON JUICE? DOORKNOB, ANKLE, COLD, okay fine, I give up, DID YOU EVER SEE A LLAMA KISS A LLAMA ON THE LLAMA---

It's sheer unadulterated torture. And my brain will continue to do this to me until all of the important synapses are so tangled around these songs that they will remain with me long after I've spiraled into dementia (I don't do crossword puzzles so I'm doomed) and can't remember my own grandchildren's names. Just know, grandchildren of the future, I do love you dearly and I WISH I could free up some brain cells on your behalf.

Leah, I blame you.