Ghost Babies and the Dull Truth

Ghost Kitty!

Two things:

It is really creepy when your husband is gone and your babies are asleep and you're sitting on the couch in the dark and you hear...a musical baby toy go off. The resident ghost baby strikes again! For real, Carol has a scary ghost story about our neighborhood involving a woman named Rachel and her baby. She told it at the seance in the basement a few years ago. Perhaps we should revisit that story at this year's Halloween party.

When I am home with the boys, I put the TV on PBS. We like the background noise and the little dudes enjoy watching the lights and colors (a bit too much, I have decided...the television is only going to be on for a very limited time from now on, but that's another story). Most of the shows on PBS are pretty groovy, but there are some annoying ones. I can hardly tolerate Sid the Science Kid (especially that Grandmother's laugh) and The Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot about That. Now, I want to tell you that I was at first captivated by The Cat in the Hat. I mean, it's The Cat in the Hat! The voice of the Cat is Martin Short, who is a pretty funny dude (come on! the dude was hilarious as Frank Eggelhoffer in Father of the Bride). But mostly, I was fascinated by this show because I thought it was ultra progressive. First of all, the sister (Sally) is white and the brother (Nick) is black (FYI--there is also a biracial couple and child in Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood). Secondly, there is never mention of a dad. There are 2 mothers! So, naturally, I thought it was a lesbian household. Two mothers! Whoa! You better do it, PBS. But then, an episode came on the other day that revealed the truth about the characters of the show. The truth was so incredibly dull and disappointing. The two children, Sally and Nick, are not siblings as in the book. No. They are NEIGHBORS. How lame! And, for the record, Martin Short aka The Cat is incredibly irritating in the show; his laugh rivals that of Sid's Grandma. Just stick with Dinosaur Train, people.

Bad Bed Fellow

I don't know if you know this or not, but I am a strange bed fellow to have, some might even say a bad bed fellow. I hog the covers and I Debo the real estate. (That's my bed, punk!) I have weird dreams, and I talk in my sleep.

Sometimes, I have dreams and then, when I wake up and the day goes on by, I can't be sure if what I dreamed was really a dream or if it was reality. On Saturday evening, I was feeding the boys some grub and Doug was eating an orange. Doug said, "I've never seen any orange baby food. I wonder why they don't make that." Sunday afternoon we went to Babies-R-Us and I bought the boys some baby food; they needed fruit, so that's what I bought. It was time to feed the boys dinner, and I said to Doug, "Hey, I found some orange baby food at Babies-R-Us...I think...did I dream that last night? Or did I actually buy some today?" I searched through the baby food. No orange. Twas a dream.

Another example of confusing dreams with reality involves one of my all-time favorite dreams. I was a freshman in high school, and after a long day at school, I came home and took a nap on the couch. I dreamed that Mommaw had made me some gingerbread. It smelled so heavenly and I could not wait to eat it! Then, I woke up. "Mom, bring me a piece of gingerbread, please!" "Gingerbread? We don't have any. Your Mommaw hasn't made gingerbread in forever. You must've dreamed it." Daggone! I thought my life was over, but wait....what's that? What's that you say? Oh, yes, that's right! My Mommaw is the most awesome Mommaw in the world. When she heard that I had dreamed about her gingerbread, why, she just whipped me up a batch! Oh, and it was delicious!

When I was in college, I would often wake up in zombie mode and go to our mini fridge on the hunt for BRAINS (read: orange gatorade). I would grab my beverage from the fridge, and then I'd wake up my poor roommate, my beloved pal, Eller, and ask her to open the bottle for me. Then, I'd inevitably announce some random tidbit from my dream, such as, "That's my lunch box, Brent!"

So, last night I had a zombie-state episode. Julian was screaming bloody murder. So loud that he woke ME up (that's really loud). I somehow managed to successfully get out of the bed and walk to the nursery without killing myself. Doug, of course, was already in there consoling our little babe. He said that I opened the door, saw that he was in there, said nothing, turned around and left. What a fright that must've been! Why am I so weird? But the best was yet to come. Doug finally got ole Jules settled and came back to bed. We had a conversation, supposedly, about what, I do not recall. Seconds later I was asleep, but then awake (if you can call it that) again to ask Doug, "Our cats never wore diapers, right?" And then, just like that, I was asleep again.

Basketball Jones and the Aquarium

I tried to capture the Ale 8 sign (that yellow blur)

Well, despite the 30-point whomping by Tennessee and the season-ending injury poor Noel sustained against Florida, I still made the trip to Lexington to see my beloved Wildcats take on Vandy (like there was ever any doubt I would go). Rupp was rocking! It was a rowdy bunch, desperate to see a win. There was lots of cheering and some booing and some cussing and even some laughing (once at the referee who fell while trying to run down the court). There was also dancing. Big Bertha (the Rupp Arena sound system) was blasting some song about Wobbling (I just tried to google the song title but I don't know enough about the song to determine which is the correct title; there is something called Wobble Baby, maybe that's it). Anyhow, the wobble song was playing, the student section was dancing, the cheerleaders were getting down, and the old woman behind me said, "This song makes me want to shake it." I love going to UK basketball games. Makes me so happy.

On the way back to the car after the game, karma got me (remember when I laughed at that old guy who fell in the mudhole), or maybe it was just me being me, Grace Jones. Anyway, I bit the dust and my body hit the pavement as I tripped on an invisible line and fell in the middle of the sidewalk. Nice. At least no one laughed at me.

Back in the car, my scraped knee was forgotten when TBo and I began to reminisce about the classic movie Space Jams and its awesome soundtrack. I confessed to her that I indeed owned both the movie and the soundtrack. That I often times serenaded Ben Affleck, who was plastered on my wall, with that Monica tune from said soundtrack (For You I Will). And that I also pretended that I could actually play basketball and that Basketball Jones was written for me. God, I was so cool back in the 90s.

You know, I think the Space Jams soundtrack was one of my very first CDs. I got a CD player for Christmas when I was in 6th grade, and with it, my first few CDs, which were: Foghat Greatest Hits, Lynyrd Skynyrd Greatest Hits, and Bob Dylan Highway 61 Revisited. Yes, I was 12. And, I had no clue who Foghat was.

Back to the UK game, Jorts was the Y. I like how they put him up on the big screen at Rupp and under his image wrote, "Josh Harrellson, Former UK Basketball Player." DUH! Good grief. We are at Rupp Arena. I'm pretty sure everyone knows who Jorts is.

Big boys. Big boy stroller. Big penguin.

Anyway, so, I took the boys to the aquarium today! Hooray! This was their first official outing/activity/play date. Sure we've been to stores and restaurants (read: Target, Sam's, and Mi Tierra), but I've never taken them anywhere just for their entertainment. We met Cathy and Seth there. We were supposed to meet at 10, but naturally, we were late. People, I am telling you, it is hard work getting those little goomers and everything they need loaded up! We also busted out the new stroller, the big boy stroller, the city mini double. Oooh yeah! They were riding in style today. I do reckon they enjoyed themselves at the aquarium. True, they don't even know what the hell a fish is, but you know, they were happy happy and smiling and checking out their surroundings and being suave little dudes. We'll be going back soon, friends. Plus, they totally get in free. Score!

At the aquarium, we saw a gigantic alligator named Mike. He was 15 ft long. Is that really necessary? A 15 ft long alligator. Good grief. I'm probably going to have nightmares tonight. And you know, they play some pretty creepy music when you walk through the alligator and crocodile rooms. It reminded me of the sort of tunes they play on True Blood. I half expected ole Bill Compton to hop out at any minute and see what was up.

After we cruised through the aquarium, we headed back to our house for lunch and KING CAKE. Oh, how I love King Cake. Have you had it before? It is a Mardi Gras tradition (let wikipedia tell you all about it--click here). I, personally, want to thank my friend Sarah for introducing me to this lovely pastry. For it is heaven in cake form. It is a giant cinnamon donut stuffed with cream cheese and covered in sugar of all sorts. Please, order yourself a King Cake from Rouses Markets. They're dope.

A pretty good couple of days if I do say so myself.

I love these dudes.

Tattoos

I tried to convince Britt to get this.

My cousin was up visiting last week and she wanted to get a tattoo. I obliged and took the ole gal to get some ink. We asked around and finally settled on an establishment recommended by a couple of friends. I didn't even think about calling ahead and making an appointment, I thought you just showed up and that was that. I mean, it was a Wednesday night at 6 o'clock. Well, we got there, and that place was bumping, and by that, I mean there were 2 tattoo artists and 3 people waiting for tattoos. Luckily, Brittany's tattoo was so small that Nasty Nate said he would go ahead and fit her in before the dude with the appointment. So, we were ushered to the back of the parlor and Britt's arm began to be branded.

I was sitting there observing when it occurred to me that tattoo parlor talk and salon talk is basically the same, only tattoo artists and parlor clientele like to say the F word much more than the women at the salon. While we were there, I heard about the hardships of parenting, dudes being unfaithful to their wives, discussions regarding earrings and what style was most desired, employment statuses, and what to make for supper. The only thing missing was the horrible music. Tattoo parlors always have awesome playlists.

The Scream Heard 'Round the State

You knew there was going to be a post about Nerlens, so don't act like this is a surprise (yes, I realize it has been 5 days). Kentucky basketball is my religion people, and the Pope didn't retire, but he blew out his knee (is this extremely offensive? if so, apologies). My beloved Nerlens was playing his hardest (the only Wildcat doing so, might I add) and trying to get the Cats back in the game. His knee died doing what it did best--elevating Nerlens above chumps so he can knock balls down dude's throats. I hope for a speedy recovery for Mr. Noel and cross my fingers that he may return to the Big Blue Nation for a sophomore year (dream on).

God, that Tennessee game was pathetic. That is all.

In other news...

I no longer feel like death warmed over and the boys are back to their cheery little selves. So happy to be done with that bs! Being sick is the worst, especially when you have 2 little dudes depending on you to care for them!

I am a true Covingtonian, people. I used my babies' stroller to haul something other than them. But, on my behalf, I was just walking across a parking lot and I wasn't carting scrap metal that I dug out of someone's trash. Because someone blocked the loading area, I had to park in the parking lot at the Children's Home when I dropped off our donations. And because Kelli and I are so awesome, we had a ton of goodies to deliver, and I couldn't carry it all in my weak arms, so I improvised. Speaking of the Children's Home, for the month of March, we are buying beach towels. So, if you want to do something good, give me $7 so that I can buy a little dude a beach towel. It'll make you feel good about yourself. $7 on that McDonald's Extra Value Meal, or $7 to the Children's Home. You know what to do! (Seriously, shoot me a message if you want more detail on how to help!)

So, we are finally all (mostly) moved in upstairs. Our bedroom is super suave. What I like most about it is our awesome closets from Ikea and our very cool bathroom by Carol. We have heat lights in the bathroom. Talk about an amazing feeling in the morning. Ah, they are nice and bright to wake me up and oh so warm! It's like taking a shower in sunshine. I recommend everyone get those for their bathroom.

The boys' room is right across the way from our bedroom. There's not really a hallway in between our rooms, just a door. You know how these old homes are. Anyway, when I lay in bed, I can see into the boys' room. I can see the little critters in their cribs. This is good and bad. Good because they are so close, so when they wake up screaming bloody murder, Doug can get to them before they disturb my sleep. And bad because, well because things like this happen:

It was about midnight and I was still awake for some reason. Doug was in the study studying (read: playing video games). The stars projector was on in the boys' room, and I was looking in there, just thinking about them, when, I saw this huge monster standing over Jonas's crib! I immediately thought of Supernatural and the Yellow-Eyed Demon. I was so scared! What was that over Jonas's crib?! (Obviously I wasn't that scared because I never got out of the bed. In the back of my mind, I knew it was just me being an idiot.) I laid there wracking my brain trying to figure out what the "creature" was, when it dawned on me. The projector was on, so there was light in the boys' room, and the "creature" was the shadow of that damn over-sized stuffed T-Rex that Boomer got them for Christmas. 

Jonas was crying the other night and Doug was already busy with ole Jules, so I had to get up and console the Bear. It usually only takes a couple verses of "Country Roads, Take Me Home" to send the Bear back to la-la land, but on this night, he required some milk. I made him a bottle, in the dark. You know, when you become a parent, your eyes quickly evolve and you develop night vision. There I was, making my way back to Jonas, when I saw something moving around in the dark nursery. WHO IS THERE?! WHAT IS MOVING?! My mind was going crazy. It moved again, and I screamed bloody murder. It was Doug. My screams woke both babies, who in turn screamed. Doug just simply asked, "What is wrong with you?" People, I think I watch too many movies. 

Death Warmed Over

I think it was a combination of the fever I was running and the stress I am under due to a report I am writing at work that led me to have terrible nightmares last night. Julian and Jonas have taken turns being sick since Wednesday, and last night, I guess, they decided it was my turn. Dacian, Carol, and I were practicing our new Friday ritual (well, at least until Fish Fry Fridays begin next week): dinner and Scrabble. The boys were feeling a little puny still, but were clearly on the mend. Their bedtime is 8. Around 7:45, they both passed out and we took them upstairs to their cribs. However, 15 minutes later, screams were coming from their nursery. Dacian and Carol went to the rescue, as I was laying quite pathetically on the couch. Jules decided that Dacian wasn't as cool as me (naturally), and so, I had to get the little feller and get him to sleep. I took him back upstairs to his crib, but since he was still a little sick and cranky, I just put him in bed and laid beside him. I don't know who went to sleep first.

A few minutes later, the nightmare commenced. I was strapped down to a table receiving subcutaneous injections of a million different kinds of drugs.
Pass me the syringe for gemcitabine. Now, certuximab. Now, omeprazole. The patient is refusing. Tie her down and get me the bigger needle.
I DON'T HAVE CANCER!!!! I didn't sign informed consent!!! I'll sue! 
Tape her mouth shut! She's burning up. Must be running a fever. Give me the morphine, that should knock her out.
IT'LL MAKE ME ITCH. I'M ALLERGIC! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ME. YOUR DRUG IS GOING TO FAIL! I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE PK RESULTS. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE PK RESULTS.
End scene.

I woke up to find that I was blazing hot. I tried to use Jedi mind powers to call Doug into the room. I felt too badly to move and I couldn't holler because there was a sleeping baby next to me. Needless to say, the force is not with me. I wallowed in my own self pity and sickness and finally fell back to sleep. I woke up again sometime later to the same conditions--burning up, mouth dry as a desert, and trying to use mind powers again: Doug. Come in here. You will come in here right now and fetch me medicine and a beverage. Since I was reminded again that I am not a Jedi, I finally got up. Luckily, I didn't wake the baby in this process. I went downstairs and took my temperature. 100.6. I took some Tylenol, since I am allergic to everything else. And I made myself a huge glass of ice cold Orange Crush. It was amazing. Orange Crush, the medicinal wonder.

I still feel like death warmed over.

Little Bear and the Trouble Maker

Sick Little Bear. 

Children, today has been a sad day. My little Joe Bear is sick. He's been running a slight fever all day. I had to give him baby medicine! He looks so sad and pathetic. I wish I could be the one feeling crappy and not him. Poor little dude. I tried all of my best tricks to make him cheer up (letting him fly, giving him a million kisses, peek-a-book, farting noises, and, of course, tickle fights), but nothing worked. He is finally sleeping. I hope he feels better when he wakes up in the morning. I can't take that sad face much longer. Poor little boo-boo.

Parenting tip:

Trouble Maker.

Feeding a baby in any seat but a high chair is a bad idea. While Jovita was tending to Little Bear, I decided I'd feed Julian some applesauce. I thought he'd be alright eating from his exersaucer (some big contraption that he stands/sits in). Wrong! First of all, it didn't dawn on me that the kid wouldn't be still when I was trying to feed him. What does a baby know about the possibility of a spoon being shoved down his throat if he jumps while taking a bite? Nothing. He doesn't even know what a spoon is! That lasted for about 10 seconds. So, out of the exersaucer and into his swing/seat he went. (Yes, I did have enough sense to turn the swing function off!) Now, ole chubbs is about an inch and a pound away from outgrowing his swing.* He's already pushing this seat to its limits, and then he decides he wants to kick. He likes to raise both legs up and slam them both down with great fury. So fun! Especially in the tub where he can drench his poor mother in water, but that's a whole other story. Anyhow, so after about 5 bites, he starts his kicking frenzy. He kicks that applesauce right out of my hands, and it goes all over my shirt. Finally, I learned my lesson. I took the ole trouble maker into the kitchen and strapped him in his high chair. Naturally, by that time, he decided he was done with applesauce. I couldn't have pried those lips open with a crowbar! 

Is my hair gray yet?

*I just googled the weight limits for that swing. "Up to 25 lbs." People, there is no way in hell that thing is going to survive 8 more lbs. You should hear the way it squeaks!