Monday, December 14, 2009

It's the busiest time of the year...

Believe it or not, I haven't disappeared from earth. I have been working on top secret projects though, so I haven't been posting about most of what I've been up to. The truth is, we've been getting ready for Christmas around here, and that involves a lot more than it used to. For example, I was trying to figure out a convenient window for Christmas shopping, and one just never opened up. So finally I roped David into tagging along with me and helping out with Elliott while we crossed off each person on our list. That was a long, napless day.

This week I am wrapping up the few gifts I am making- and since I'm pretty sure he is to busy gnawing on his toys and splashing in Jack's water to catch up on his blog reading, I can safely show you one of my finished projects.
This is Elliott's new buddy. Okay, yes, it's a doll. But don't get all up in arms yet. It is a boy doll that he can play with (or chew on) and learn to dress and take care of if he wants. If he doesn't, it only cost me a little time and scrap materials. The thing is, we have been incredibly fortunate to have friends with little boys who are growing out of toys and clothes just in time for Elliott to inherit them, and most of these things have come to us in pristine condition. Some even still have the tags on them. So I have had to buy very few things for our little man, and I don't know what he could possibly need at Christmas. But we don't have a doll. We certainly don't have a hand-made one, with blue eyes and crazy brown hair that took hours to attach to his head, which is sewed on a little crooked. And I figure that as he gets older, he'll figure out that he can get loads of toys at Christmas, but I really like the idea that for a short while, this holiday can be relatively simple and true to what it is supposed to be about: Spending time with the people you love, and showing them little ways that you care.

That, and awesome footie pajamas. (The other little boy is a friend's son who I babysat last week. His jammies have MONSTERS.)

Now I just have to figure out how to manage to get our little family down to Arkansas. I have no idea what I need to pack or how to cram it into our car with the car seat, dog, and presents. Eesh.

Friday, December 4, 2009

When life gives you puzzle pieces- make Pacifiers!

Let me just start by saying that when I had Elliott I decided we would try not to give him a pacifier, just to avoid weaning him from one later on down the road.

Then when I tried to take him on errands and he started to cry, I reevaluated my stance in favor of peace and quiet and offered him one. Elliott then proceeded to gag on the paci and threw it in the floor. He has NEVER taken one, unless it was somehow attached to another child. If it is another kid's paci, look out. He takes it out of their mouth and sucks on it like it is coated in chocolate. So to keep him from being a paci thief, I again offered him one of his own and he gnawed on it for five seconds and threw it out of the crib. So he isn't a paci baby, and I am FINE with that. But lately I have caught him doing this:

I guess it is his way of showing me that if he can't steal one, he'll make his own.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

eight months

Dear Elliott,

Geez, little guy- I looked up and it is December already, and somehow you are eight months old. Between teetering from panic (Aaaagh- if he's eight months old he should be huge, 'cause that's pretty old. He's not eating enough and underweight I'mnotagoodmom-aaaah!) to um, well, other forms of panic (How are you already standing up in your crib and eating everything in sight is that paper in your mouth gimmethat gimmeTHAT!) I've managed to let go a little bit this last month.
A tooth sprouted in the bottom of your mouth on November 2nd, and then another came along the day after my birthday. You were kindof whiny and punkish right before they popped through, but not bad compared to horror stories I've heard from other moms. Well, until a week ago, when you up and decided to become a BITER. I tried firm talks, which went over as well as I imagine a trigonometry lesson would at this age. So I went on strike for a couple of days and only gave you bottles (which don't scream when you bite them), and then I googled ways to get you to stop and I'm sincerely hoping that we've fixed that problem. Because after a couple more times of that, I am going to hand you a pork chop and call it a day.

I also decided to go to Chicago for a weekend with some of my friends, which was really hard considering the longest I have been without you has been about four hours. So I left a schedule with your Daddy and took off, and being the emotional blob that I am totally cried when I left- right after I sniffed all of your blankets and stuffed animals. I probably annoyed the living daylights out of your father, calling and texting every hour and just waiting for the world to fall apart. Apparently you didn't even notice I left though, and you and Daddy had a weekend with no major catastrophes or incidents. My weekend in Chicago was a different story- although it was fun, it involved getting caught in the middle of Michigan avenue in some ENORMOUS crazy parade, an unfortunate purchase of the most uncomfortable, adorable shoes, and a seriously weird cab ride. Oh, and finding appropriate times and locations to pump- 'cause there aren't any.
We hosted your first Thanksgiving here, and you (finally) got to try food with seasonings and meat and marshmallows! You also discovered that making a disgusted face and gagging makes people laugh, and so you did that every time I gave you a bite to eat. You seemed a little bewildered by all the people in our house, but shrugged it off afterward and decided the crowd was worth it if it meant sweet potato casserole.
The next day we broke out the Christmas decorations, and while you have yet to figure out that I have plopped a tree in the middle of the living room, you have discovered the toy nativity scene I bought a while back and have discovered the true meaning of the holiday. Tasty, tasty baby Jesus.