If one more person asked me if I’d had that baby yet…

I went from having a big baby in my belly last year to a big baby in my arms this year.

She turns 1 in 2 days! Her Christmas gift to us? Walking.

Leyna Walks <<Video… hopefully that works.

This is The Big Guy that we’ve taken Kendall to every year of his life. He’s the real Santa, and the sweetest man ever.

Leyna wasn’t buying what he had to sell, but I’ve secretly always wanted a screaming baby/Santa picture, so it’s cool. Kendall was always so composed in his. (You can see years past in this post.) I mean, there’s just something so very Classic Christmas in America about handing over your terrified, crying child to a man who makes a living off a letting small children sit on his lap. And now I have one of my very own to frame and put on my mantle every year.

Ho, ho, ho! I love it.

Oh, and about those Inappropriate Elves… I know I’ve got to narrow down the top 10, and I’m about to dig into it now. I’ll probably save the announcement for tomorrow morning, so don’t wait up. Sorry folks. This Santa thing ate up our entire night.

Kendall is 3.5 and Leyna is *gulp* nearly a year old. 

Yes we NEED a little Christmas!
Right this very minute!
It hasn’t snowed a single flurry
But Santa, dear, we’re in a hurry! 

The Christmas carols blared through the speakers of our car as we tried to drown out the sounds of both of our over-tired children screaming in the back seat. The best birth control always comes in the form of shrieks from the rear of a vehicle at 70 mph. I should bottle this shit and sell it… like in a conch shell. Audible birth control.

Anyway, we were headed to go see Santa. It wasn’t our original plan. Originally, we were supposed to join friends and their children on a carriage ride through a rich neighborhood to look at expensive Christmas lights because nothing says “we live in the burbs and don’t get out past Chilis and the mall much” like having horses pull you through a wealthy neighborhood to gawk at all their festive decorations that they paid others to put up for them.

But then the weather decided to be crap and rain that day, which, you know, OBVIOUSLY, because we are in a drought, BUT OF COURSE it would rain *that* night. You’re welcome, Texas. We didn’t need to ogle rich people’s Christmas lights anyway.

Weather be damned. Non-napping children be damned! We were going to be JOLLY, dammit. So I dressed the kids up in their brand new Christmas outfits and away we went to see The Big Guy.

We WISH you a Merry Christmas!
We WISH you a Merry Christmas!
We WISH you a Merry Christmas!
And a happy. new. year.

By the time we arrived at the mall, both of the kids had passed out. We drug them both out of the car to the sound of the amplified holiday station over the parking lot loudspeaker and their cranky whines.

“Come on! It will be SO. MUCH. FUN. to see Santa!” I cheered, my fake smile plastered firmly from cheek to cheek.

“I’m sorry. Santa isn’t taking anymore reservations for the night,” the elfish receptionist said flatly and nasaly while gesturing to a long line ahead of us.

“Uhhhhh….. what? I’m sorry, what? It’s 6:20. Seriously?” ::blink, blink:: That was the only response I could come up with. She, apparently, wasn’t taking the bait. She just stood there, blinking back, so I walked away and sighed.

And then I had the super pleasant job of telling the already tired and cranky 3 year old that nope, no we were not to see Santa tonight… and no, no we still can’t ride the horsies to see the fancy Christmas lights.

Iiiiii’m dreaming
of a whiiiiiiiite
Christmas…

I stopped to pause at how non-relevant this song is to all Texans. I don’t think I’ve ever met a single one who used to “know” White Christmases. Not that that should stop them from playing this song down south… just a random thought one thinks when they realize they have wasted an entire evening accomplishing nothing at all festive, just buckling and unbuckling crying kids in car seats all night.

But we will save this night! Dinner and cookies for all!

Except the children were still cranky and tired and the dinner sucked. The service sucked. I think the restaurant was being run by the cast of Glee, but with way less enthusiasm.

We threw in the towel. Done. We’re going home.

It’s the MOST wonderful time
Of the yearrrrrr…

As my favorite of all condescending Christmas songs came on over the radio, I at least felt some comfort that we would get home in time to put the children straight to bed and enjoy a glass of wine before turning in.

It’s the hap- happiest season
of ALLLLLL

“What was that??” I quickly turned to Scott, then looked behind us as we rapidly decreased speed. Cars were whipping by, and all I could hear was thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

We had a flat tire. We then had to drive .5 mile to get off the highway and into a U-Haul parking lot so Scott could change it. In the rain.

As he popped open the trunk of his car, it hit me suddenly- the vision of that table saw I bought for him for Christmas, sitting there in the trunk, waiting for me to figure out a way to haul it inside and wrap it. I was sort of hoping I’d just tell him on Christmas morning to go retrieve it himself.

It was too late for such surprises. I leaned out of my door and shouted over the traffic, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Let your heart be-

I turned that shit off.

We laughed the whole way home about the unfortunate unfolding of the day’s events to nothing but the sound of our sleeping babies. All the while, I was secretly relieved that I wouldn’t have to worry about getting that enormous box inside and could now make Scott carry his own present in.

And that is why God gave me a sense of humor, a handy husband and wine.

The end.

Kendall is 3.5, Leyna is 11.5 months old and we WILL conquer Santa pictures this week, so help me.

But there’s a light at the tunnel, yo. This kid exits in 5ish weeks.

So when my husband whined at me- AGAIN- that he doesn’t know what to get me for Christmas, instead of rolling my eyes and lecturing him all about the glorious Sephora and DKNY Cozy Wrap- AGAIN- I took it upon myself to set up a Wishpot.com account. I will fill it with a plethora of sparkly, pretty, superfluous, superficial, mostly non-practical items for him to choose from. Because left to his own devices, I will end up with another panini grill. <<What? It’s practical.

I would also like to a few fashion-y things, like maybe a new scarf because a cold neck is a sad neck. And maybe some *gasp* leggings and tunics (breastfeeding friendly and tummy pouch concealing, of course). And shoes. I need new winter shoes.

But what shoes? I don’t really anticipate wearing anything with much of a heel as I balance a newborn on my hip while chasing a toddler. My flats are all a little thin and chilly, though. Everything I find that’s a compromise of the two looks a lot like an Ugg, and well, I just don’t think I can go there. I already caved to the Crocs this year, people (for the toddler… only for the toddler!). I’m trying to maintain a shred of dignity in the eyes of my sister and friends.

I would love suggestions. Also, if you have any suggestions for tops that make great, warm, breastfeeding friendly transition pieces, that would be spectacular. Of course, this could all be for naught. My husband could look past all my impractical and stylish requests and get me some steel toe boots and coveralls from his favorite store- Lowes.

And tell me, what is on your Christmas list? Now what do you think your significant other will get you?

Kendall is 2.5 and I’m 35.5 weeks pregnant… and the size of a house. The stretchmarks are out of control. There are NEW ones. Apparently I didn’t produce enough the first time around to accommodate the canon ball growing inside me now.

The child has eaten nothing but oranges and cookies this week. He is a citrus-y little ball of sugar that spontaneously combusts every 20 minutes and is totally using his powers of cute for evil, but, let it be known, he won’t get scurvy.

He has gone from charming and adorable to clingy and apocalyptic with his “I only have eyes and arms and whining for mommy” bit.  I couldn’t even pee this week without hearing him outside the bathroom door, wailing, “MaaaamaaaaaAAA!!” Leave the room? How dare I. What if I was sucked in by the toilet monster, never to fetch another orange or cookie again? OH, the humanity! It’s far too much to ask that he could be soothed by one of the hundreds of other family members floating around here, all itching to scoop him up and smother him with love and kisses.

And there is little to no sleeping going on… for any of us.  God love the in-laws, they carved out a space in their already packed house for the three of us and our two huge dogs to stay. Granted, this space is the size of a large walk in closet with not much more than a twin bed in it, but it’s a place… and it’s free… and they let our dogs sleep on their couch, except at night when they sleep in the room with us. So that’s the three of us and two dogs (did I mention these are very LARGE dogs, over 230 lbs combined?) in a small room with a twin bed and a pack and play, from which Kendall likes to scream at us frequently throughout the night. Are you getting the visual? I won’t even describe the smell.

Of course, this is a bit more room than we had in the Jeep for the 15 hour drive to St. Louis from Dallas. The smell, though, is pretty much the same.

“But…how will we get him in there?” I asked Scott as I looked at the mounds of shit presents and luggage stacked on either side of the carseat, nearly reaching the ceiling and held back by strategically placed and tucked blankets.

“From the front,” he said quickly and as nonchalantly as possible, knowing already what was coming.

“Oh my God, Scott! We can’t travel like this! We could surely get a ticket… or… something for child endangerment. And I don’t even want to THINK what would happen if, oh my God! What if we get in an accident? We will NEVER find him!” Our trip was off with a bang.

Oh wait, the “bang” hadn’t happened just yet. That came moments later when Kendall face planted into the driveway, clinging tightly with both hands to his precious sidewalk chalk, not even thinking to break his fall. Ah, yes. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, or just child abuse, across the top of my kid’s face.

And then there was Oklahoma… the land of those lost in time and trans fats. Is it so much to ask that a McAlisters Deli be located in McAlester, Oklahoma? Or hell, something, anything that doesn’t serve everything with a side of fries?  We are to never travel through McAlester again, for fear of an impending divorce. Something about being forced to eat at McDonalds makes me a stabby wife.

A mile before we entered the Oklahoma toll road we pulled off at a gas station to get cash for the tolls.

I headed to the cash register with some Hostess Cupcakes and a Dr. Pepper, a small price to pay for $20 cash back.

“Sorry hon, we aren’t set up fer that here,” the cashier said very slowly.

Of course you’re not. I left my goodies at the counter and spent the next 15 minutes scouring the bottom of the Jeep (or at least the parts of the floor we could get to) looking for coins, but mainly finding Goldfish cracker corpses. We barely eeked out $1.75, the cost of the toll according to the GIANT SIGN at the entrance.

“That’ll be two daw-lars,” the toll-taker said, again very slowly.

“Huh? No, it’s a dollar seventy-five” we both chimed back in unison.

“No. It’s TWO daw-lars. The sign says so.”

“No, no it does NOT  say that. It says one seventy-five. I saw it,” i insist.

::blink, blink, silence, blink::

“We don’t HAVE two dollars. We just spent 15 minutes trying to find every penny we have in this car. There is no way we have two dollars. Will you take a credit card?” I reply as calmly as possible.

“No. We only take cash and check,” she says.

Who the hell travels with checks anymore?! Hello? Oklahoma? The 1990′s called. It wants it’s forms of currency back.  And, of course, she was unwilling to take Goldfish crackers, too. I have no idea how we managed to get through that toll because I know damn well we did not have two dollars. So she either took pity on us or she was really shitty at counting. If it was the former, Merry Christmas to her, too. If it was the latter, she should probably find a different job.

And to think, we get to brave that super fun drive all over again tomorrow. I’m giddy with the holiday spirit just thinking about it.

Complaining aside, when I subtract the travel and bury the sounds of the screeches, still ringing in my ears, deep somewhere in my soul (or the extra layer of holiday fat I’m packing now), I can concoct a bit of a picturesque, merry scene. It’s hopefully what I will remember years from now, like a perfect postcard. You know, there is a reason why holiday pictures aren’t interactive. It’s great that they don’t make noise, or capture the moment just before or just after. They are just a little slice of  perfect-happy, even if the reality is that perfect-happy only existed for a fleeting moment when someone pressed the shutter button.

Of course, then there are the pictures that capture the moments of truth and preserve them forever, never to let you forget how your toddler errupted into a fit of cranky with a side of extremely unhappy and difficult to please the moment he laid eyes on the presents Christmas morning.

::cue the music!::

“It’s the most WONDERFUL time of the year!”

Hope you all had a merry little Christmas/Hanukah/holiday of your choice

Kendall is nearly 20 months old and is even more fascinated with his grandparent’s Christmas tree than ours.

Edited to add: Gah! This post is so whiney!

I am not exaggerating one bit when I say that in the last 36 hours Kendall has gone from the master of Army crawling to crawling on all fours, pulling up, taking steps with the help of push toys, and flinging himself to the ground with glee.  I think he might even have his first black eye.  This new found dare devilness pleases him greatly.

Among other fabulous gifts, he received a Radio Flyer push wagon and an activity table for Christmas.  I don’t know if it was just the right time, or if these toys helped push things along, but within hours of opening presents he mastered both “big boy” toys.  To think… I was expecting he would have to “grow into” these toys.  But, as it turns out, my nearly 8 month old baby is not such a baby anymore.  And something about these new developments even makes him LOOK LESS like a baby.  As I watched him gobble up the corner of yet another board book tonight, I couldn’t  help but sit there in awe.  He really is growing up…right in front of me.  How is it that we went from this

courtesy of Regetis Photography, www.regeti.com

to this… (and yes, that’s Scott rocking his super cool Santa hat in the background)

in the blink of an eye?  It made me pause and say out loud this quote I think of from time to time. “Be happy for this moment.  This moment is your life.”

I hope you all had a fantastic holiday!  Be on the lookout next year for Santa Claus.  He just may kidnap your baby, too.

Kendall is rapidly approaching 8 months old

One of many failed attempts at a picture for the cards

Christmas list 2 years ago when I was happily child free, fetus free, and not even a touch of the Baby Rabies:

1. High heel, pointy toed, knee high boots
2. Gift card to Sephora for lots of Smashbox makeup – specifically really cool eyeshadows with sparkles and brow highlighters
3.  Fun funky jewelry – chunky necklaces, long dangly earrings
4.  Something silky from Victoria’s Secret
5.  A cute wraparound top that perfectly fit my just the right size and perky bosom.

Christmas list last  year when I was 5 months pregnant, bloated and had cankles, but still had no actual child to influence my decisions:

1.  Ballet slipper inspired shoes (fashionable yet comfy with room for sausage toes)
2.  Gift card to Sephora for lotions and potions because surely Sephora would have something that prevents stretchmarks
3.  A ring big enough to fit on my Shrek fingers.
4. Underwear from Victoria’s Secret that actually cover both ass cheeks because pregnancy is already uncomfortable enough with out a V-string stuck up your crack
5. Maternity shirts that somehow managed to fit my exploding bosom without making me look like a circus tent

Christmas list this year:

1. New running shoes so that I may a) chase my increasingly mobile child around and b) be prepared for the miles I will have to start running to keep the weight off once this kid weans.
2.  Gift card to Sephora so that I may buy some pressed powder foundation and concealer for these dark circles that have suddenly appeared under my eyes, which most days is about the only thing I have time to put on.  I would also love to get myself a Chi flatiron in hopes of making this mommy cut look a little more trendy and a little less frumpy.
3. A nursing necklace with Kendall’s name and birth date engraved on it.  I get to be sentimental, while he has something to distract him from beating the shit out of me while he eats.  It’s a win, win really.
4. Bras and underwear from Victoria’s Secret that fit this completely different shaped body I’m left with.  I don’t understand… are the mediums now too big on me, or is it just that what little ass I had has now migrated to my belly?  And I never thought 36D boobs would need a push up bra.  Damn you gravity!
5. Shirts that fit over my milk factory bosom and still manage to be long enough to not show off the stretchmarks when I lift my arms.  Being back to your pre-pregnancy weight or less does NOT mean you will be back into your pre-pregnancy clothes, ladies.

Kendall is almost 7 months and 3 weeks old, I think.

Created by Seventeen Stone

So I had to go to a certain giant retailer that I particularly despise the day after Halloween.  Immediately upon entering I was immersed in Santa’s sweatshop.  Christmas music on NOVEMBER 1ST?!  WTF?!  Why is it that every year Christmas gets shoved down our throats earlier and earlier?  Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas, but not for nearly two months!  What ever happened to Thanksgiving, people?!  We’ve got to Respect The Turkey.

And it’s not just retailers, there are people putting Christmas lights and decorations up already!  I, for one, am sick of the arrival of Christmas creeping closer and close to the end of Summer.  Now, unlike most of my posts on here, this one isn’t just for the sole sake of me bitching and complaining.  I know there are people out there who feel the same way and I thought this would be a great opportunity to not only have some fun and take a stand, but to help a worthwhile cause while we are at it.  Check out www.respecttheturkey.com.  We have a ton of great merchandise that will help you keep the Thanksgiving spirit alive, and all the profits will be donated to Feeding America, formerly America’s Second Harvest.

So pass on the word!  Tell your friends and family!