This is the Face of a Hoarder

We've all seen the shows on TV lately revolving around "Hoarders" - people who are incapable of ever giving away or throwing anything out, to the point that there is barely any space to walk through their rooms, never mind a place to sit, or floors or walls that can be seen.

Sure it's entertaining to watch these shows; they are simultaneously interesting, disgusting, and funny.

But friends, I will have you know that it is one thing to watch these shows, and another thing entirely to live with a person who is afflicted with Hoarder's disease.

I live with a Hoarder.

Ryan. 

He hoards everything - mainly during meals. It's like he is afraid that once I have given him his food, I might take it back, so he holds as much of it as he can in his little clenched fists. Then he sits there - not eating any of it - just desperately attempting to contain his entire meal within his palms.

Green Beans

String Cheese

Gummy Vitamins

Pop Tart

M&M's

Cheese

Saltines

Pretzels

Then there is his toy box. He puts everything in here. EVERYTHING. From bouncy balls, to stuffed animals, to trucks and cars, to books, to blankets, even his sippy cups. It's like he is hoarding all of his belongings in the event of an emergency. I imagine that if Ryan had been an adult during the whole Y2K scare, he would have been one of those people who built a bomb shelter and then stocked it with every item you might possibly need. 

Protecting his treasures

His bomb shelter.

Even Ryan's bed cannot escape his compulsive need to hoard items. I guess he uses it when his toy box is completely full to the max. In fact, I have to clean out his crib about three times a week, just to ensure that there is room for him to sleep at night.

So, the next time you are watching your Hoarder shows, and smirking at the quirky actions of others, I want you to think of this face.

This is the face of a Hoarder.

This is My Life

This is my life.

We have to mail a package. 

We're five days late getting it out because of a combination of bad weather, Richard's Homecoming, and Thanksgiving.

I absolutely have to mail it today, my tardiness is just getting ridiculous at this point.

I hustle the boys into the car with promises of lunch at McDonald's, where they can eat all the Chicken McNuggets and french fries that they want. 

15 minutes later we arrive at the post office. Which, for some very awkward reason, is as quiet as a library.  

Great, the perfect setting for two loud toddlers.

And, of course, everyone and their goat decided to go to the post office today too. 

And, of course, each one of the zillion people in line has a VERY IMPORTANT ISSUE they need handled RIGHT NOW, that will take no less than five minutes to sort out.

Multiply five minutes by a zillion people and that equals one very bad headache and two super impatient toddlers.

Ryan is screaming and trying to wiggle himself out of the stroller.

Jacob is yelling "Chicken please! Chicken please!", frustrated that we aren't at McDonald's, and now the other people in line behind us are looking at me like they think I starve my children, and force the poor babies to beg for food.

In an attempt to buy myself a few minutes I dig out some stale Gerber Puffs that have been in the bottom of the stroller for who knows how long, and hand Jacob my car key ring, which has a small flashlight on it that I think he will like playing with.

Instead, he goes straight for the button that sets off my CAR ALARM. 

Finally - somehow - we mailed the package and piled back in the car.

Once we are in the McDonald's play area, Jacob keeps trying to push open the emergency exit door, which conveniently has an alarm on it as well.

Seriously, who's genius idea was it to put an emergency alarm door in the children's play area of McDonald's?!

Ryan is running from table to table trying to steal other patrons' french fries and juice boxes. 

This is my life.

Setting off alarms.

Disturbing the peace.

It's the most adorable chaos you can imagine.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Flashback Friday - Recent Halloweens

I've always been a fan of Halloween. 

Sure, the candy is delicious, but my favorite part is getting to dress up every year. I was usually something predictable, like a pumpkin or a witch or a cat, although one year I was a Christmas Tree, and that was pretty rad. 

It was just so much fun trying to find the perfect costume, and then getting all the accessories for it, like face make up, creepy stick-on fingernails, vampire teeth, wigs, etc.

I was pretty bummed when my mom put the kibosh on trick-or-treating when I was 13. She told me I was too old and that people would be scared to have a teenager come to their door, and they'd all probably assume I was about to egg their house or something. So, from 13 to 18, Halloween really wasn't anything special. 

Once I went to college it got fun again, there was always an annual dance, haunted house and some sort of Halloween party going on. AND we got to wear costumes again. We were basically a bunch of over-sized kids getting to live out our Halloween fantasies one last time. 

Not to mention, since we could drive and had our own money, we didn't have to wait to go trick-or-treating, we could just go to the grocery store and buy as much Halloween candy as we wanted until we passed out from a sugar coma.

Once I had kids, and I had to be more budget-conscious, I realized that I should pretty much just spend our money on costumes for the boys, despite the fact that I really wanted to get in on the fun of dressing up with them.

When I was single and didn't have to spend my money on diapers and milk and chicken McNuggets, I wouldn't have given a second thought to paying $60 or more for a Halloween costume. Things are different though now, and considering that the boys will wear their costumes for probably two hours tops, it just isn't fiscally responsible of me to spend that kind of money on any of us.

Fiscally? Did I really just write that? I think I've seen one too many political ads lately.

Anyhow, so for Jacob's first Halloween I just dressed him up as a pumpkin. Richard was on deployment, and I was pregnant, so I wouldn't have fit into a costume anyway. 

But last year? Last year was truly inspired.

 I actually got the idea for it in February 2009, and then ordered the costumes in August. I was so excited.

Sure, it took a little bribing (and maybe a little whiskey), in order to get my husband to play along, but I absolutely adore this photo of us.

So now I am struggling to decide what I will be this year. The boys' costumes have already been decided, and I would like to get in on the fun, but at very little cost.

Here is what I am thinking:

I could be Snooki, because she is culturally relevant right now, and I definitely have enough hair to copy her 'do, and then I just need to throw on like a pound of bronzer.

*Photo courtesy of Google Images.

Or!

I am also considering going as Bella Swan from the Twilight series. I already have the brown hair and eyes, and I live in Washington. So really, all I would need to complete the costume is a "Team Edward" shirt, and then walk around  all pouty and angsty like emo Kristen Stuart.

*Photo courtesy of Google Images.

 What do you guys think? Which one would you vote for? 

Or do you have a totally different suggestion for me?


UPDATED:

Jonesin' for more of my thoughts? Check out my post over at http://thesmartly.com/ today!

Camping

When I was a kid, few things were more exciting than getting to go camping.

I think I fell in love with camping because my brother was a boy scout, and he got to go camping all the time. In fact, when I was younger I used to want to be a boy scout. I even wished we lived in Canada, because someone once told me that in Canada, girls are allowed to join the boy scouts. 

And I didn't want to be a girl scout, because everyone knows they're super lame. While the boy scouts got to do awesome stuff like camping with mountain lions, archery and rafting, all we got to do as girl scouts was make shirts using puffy paints, and visit nursing homes.  

So, clearly, who wouldn't want to be a Boy Scout?

The only thing good about Girl Scouts are their cookies, but those aren't even available year-round.

So since I wasn't a boy, and therefore, wasn't allowed to go camping with my brother's scout troop, it was always a treat for me when we'd get to camp out at our house. This usually involved my brother, my dad and myself sleeping in our tent in our fenced-in back yard.

On rare occasions though, my parents would actually pack up the tents, and all of my brother's campsite cooking gear, and we would head out for a night of real camping in the woods.

I loved it. 

We would build a campfire, roast marshmallows and my dad would tell us stories that would scare me silly. I didn't mind sleeping on the hard ground, my head resting on a jagged rock for a pillow. 

I didn't mind using the campsite restrooms that didn't offer soap. Or warm water. 

I didn't mind waking up in the morning, freezing from the cold, and soaking wet from the dew that had leaked through the tent's sides. It was all part of the grand experience!

As I got older though, my love of camping waned. I preferred a warm, comfy bed to the hard, cold sleeping arrangements of the great outdoors.

When Richard and I were dating, I actually asked him if he liked camping, because the last thing I wanted was to marry a man who would make me go camping with him all summer long, and I'd have to pretend I loved it. Because like 15 years into our marriage we'd be having an argument one day and I'd be all, "Well ya know what? I NEVER liked camping!" And then his whole world would be shattered it would be just a big, ugly mess.

So I was relieved when Richard told me that he too, is not a fan.

I can't remember which was my last camping trip: the one where my brother and I hiked down to the beach and got attacked by sand fleas, or the one where I drank too many Mike's Hard Lemonades, woke up at 3am, couldn't find the restroom and had to pee in the dark, bear-infested woods. Either way, I haven't gone camping in nearly six years. I think I'm done with all that out-doorsy stuff.

We have two sons though, and I was certain that around ages three and four they would probably get the desire to camp out in the back yard. 

But I think it may have happened sooner than I was expecting.

Recently, I ordered two miniature tents, which are meant for traveling with. I am planning to take them with is when we travel to Hawaii and then Illinois this winter. Since both the boys can climb out of cribs now, I wanted them to have something to sleep in that they cannot escape from, so that I won't have to stay up all night guarding our hotel door making sure they don't take off with any strangers...or let one in.

They love the tents. 

I mean, it must be some genetic thing in boys. Like, they just know they are supposed to be into camping out and roughing it and stuff. They were playing in the tents all weekend, so Saturday night I decided I would indulge them a bit.

And we camped out.

Mommy-style.

Their tents:

My tent:

 Okay, that's just my bed.

Our campfire:

(Battery-operated candles).

There were even wild animals roaming around the campsite:

 

It was some legit camping up in here.

Except that it was a pleasant 70 degrees, and I didn't wake up wet from dew, bitten from sand fleas, or hung over from Mike's Hard Lemonade. And my bathroom was two feet away, offering me more than enough soap and warm water.

I think I might just be in love with this whole camping thing again.

Mine

I never liked babysitting. 

I hated when people would ask me to babysit. They just assumed that all fourteen year old girls love little kids and babies, and I was too nice to tell them no.

I hated it though. Every minute of it. 

I hated the whiny voices and the messy meals. I hated how all the toys in the house were always sticky and dirty. I wasn't comfortable holding babies. They were so wiggly, and their heads bobbed around unnaturally, and I just knew that I would break them. And when they cried? It was all over. 

I think the little ones could smell my fear.

I didn't want to play with the kids; the idea of hide-and-seek or pretend play was so dull to me. I would simply plug them in front of a movie and then write notes to my friends that I would give to them the next day at school, (sadly for me, there was no texting or Facebook when I was a teenager).

Yeah, I was pretty much an awesome babysitter.

I have just never been crazy about other peoples' kids. 

I didn't melt over their photos, or want to hold their babies. I just had no interest in them, and yet, I always knew I wanted my own kids. I knew that all I wanted in life was to be a stay-at-home mom. And I wanted lots of kids.

When I got pregnant with Jacob, I wasn't scared to be a mom. I was ready. I was excited to have my own baby. I remember when I had my first ultrasound done at 10 weeks, and the doctor printed off the pictures and gave them to me, I had never felt so proud in my whole life. That's my baby, my very own baby, and look at how perfect she is! (I assumed Jacob was going to be a girl until we found out otherwise). 

Nevertheless, when I was leaving the doctor's office and went back out to the waiting room I had to bite my tongue because all I wanted to do was shove my ultrasound pictures in the face of the waiting room attendant and tell her all about how awesome and perfect my baby was.

When I was in labor with Jacob, I remember being in horrible pain, it was the worst I had ever felt in my life. I had my eyes squeezed shut and was just trying to get the process over with. All the sudden my mom said, "Oh my gosh, Kellyn, look!"

I opened my eyes, and Jacob was out, and they were holding him up in front of me and oh my God. 

All that pain instantly went away; I had never seen a more perfect, beautiful sight in my whole life. It was amazing. I just fell in love.

And then they put him in my arms and I melted into him, and it was perfect. It was like he'd always been in my life, and I was so comfortable holding him and caring for him.

While Ryan's birth was a little more complicated because of his prematurity, the same thing happened. It was like he had always been a part of our family and even though I worried over his skinny limbs, I wasn't afraid to hold him or love him.

Now my sons seem so big in my eyes and they make me laugh every day. I love getting on the floor and playing with them and tickling them. I love making them meals that they enjoy. 

I love how Jacob's finger nails are always dirty, and how Ryan always seems to have grape jelly in his hair. I think they are adorable when they have little runny noses, and when they get grass stains on their clothes from playing outside.

I'm so different with my own children, versus the teenage Kellyn who used to babysit. Becoming a parent is truly unlike anything else in this world. There is a bond that no one can replicate. 

When I used to babysit, I would watch the clock and pray the hours would go by fast so I could go home and get away from those loud, messy kids. 

Now I pray that God will make the days go just a little bit slower, and keep my babies from growing up too fast.

Flash Back Friday - Like Father Like Sons

My friend Chris very kindly pointed out to me that I have been neglecting to do my "Flash Back Friday" segments. 

I admit, it's been harder to do than I originally thought. I had planned to put a lot of old diary entries, and college papers on here. But, as it turns out, most of those college papers aren't very interesting to read, and as for the diary entries - let's just say I won't torture all of you with the musings of a dramatic 15 year old girl.

But I think it's fine for me to put pictures on here, which leads me to this week's theme.

When Richard gets home from deployment I am planning to blow up photos of the boys, and put giant words on them that say things like "Welcome Home Daddy!" and, "We Missed You!", etc. Then we're going to place the welcome home signs along our street leading up to the house.

I took these pictures of the boys yesterday evening, wearing miniature Sailor uniforms. These are the photos I plan to use to make the signs:

Jacob in his Sailor uniform

My kids are so patriotic

After I uploaded the pictures to my computer though, I was instantly reminded of a similar one taken a couple decades ago...

Richard, wearing a similar uniform. Awww!

 

 It's funny though, because I have always thought that Ryan most resembles Richard, but when comparing the photos I took of the boys, to this one of Richard, I kind of think that Jacob looks more like him, at least at that age. 

I really see the similarities in this photo in particular:

Happy Flash Back Friday!

I am Never Washing My Sheets Again

I was reading a friend's blog the other day and he had written about how his wife was teaching him to wash their bed sheets every 1 to 2 weeks.

It got me wondering when the last time was that I washed mine. I think it was in August. I'm pretty sure.

I didn't even know you were supposed to wash your bed sheets on a semi-regular basis until I was in my early twenties.

Before that, I thought it was a good thing for your sheets to mold to your body's shape and to take on your odor, after months and months of you sleeping in them.

I have made an effort to be more on top of it, but sometimes I forget. Plus, since I'm the only one sleeping in our bed at the moment, I obviously feel like our bed is only half as dirty as it would be if Richard were here.

When he is home, I swear, every. time. I wash the sheets, he comes home from a long day at work and the FIRST thing he does is lay down on the freshly cleaned bed, while wearing his filthy combat boots.

I always bite my tongue because I know he gets nagged at all day by people at work, and he shouldn't get it from his wife too, the minute he walks in the door. 

But believe me, in my head, I am totally screaming.

So anyway. Yesterday I got inspired to clean the bed sheets. I opened our bedroom window to let in some fresh air, ripped off the pillow cases and sheets and threw them all in the laundry.

At that point I was feeling so motivated that I went through my closet, pulling out old clothes or ones that I never wear. I packed up two huge garbage bags full of clothes to give away.

The rest of the day we were busy: I took the boys for a car ride, then we went to the park, then it was time for dinner, and soon after, bedtime. That's when I settled on the couch to watch TV, most importantly, my very favorite show, "Modern Family", which premiered last night.

Afterward I suffered through the premier of "Cougar Town", which I personally think is the most mindless, boring piece of trash on TV - BUT - Jennifer Aniston was guest-starring and I wanted to see her and Courtney Cox together again, hoping against all odds that it would be reminiscent of "Friends".

I was horribly disappointed.

Just as that show ended, Ryan started to cry. I waited a couple minutes, to see if he'd get himself back to sleep but he didn't. 

I got him out of his crib but he wouldn't stop crying, it was a horribly pained sob. I've never heard him cry like that before. And the worst part was that I couldn't get him to calm down for at least 20 minutes, which is so unlike Ryan. It scared me. 

So I decided to keep Ryan out on the couch with me so I could observe him. He finally calmed down and closed his eyes for a bit. I thought he was asleep for good.

At midnight he woke up screaming again. Even though I did get him calmed down and into his crib after this, we went through this cycle the entire night. Ryan would fall asleep, then wake up suddenly screaming.

After I got him quieted down shortly before 1am, I was just out of it and exhausted. I stumbled to my bedroom, craving my nice, comfy bed and soft sheets...oh but wait.

My sheets were still in the washer, soaking wet from hours ago. 

And there were two huge garbage bags full of clothes sitting on my bare mattress. 

And my room was freezing since I had left the damn window open. 

So I ended up having to sleep on the couch. All because I decided to do some laundry.

I am never washing my sheets again.

I See London, I See France...I See Girly Underpants

Last week I wrote about how I've been having problems with Jacob taking his diaper off. He even knows how to unhook a diaper and pull it off through the leg holes of a onesie. So I decided to try to outsmart him by putting him in a Pull-Ups diaper, since those don't unhook. The only problem is that Pull-Ups aren't designed to be peed in for 8 hours, so I had to search for Nighttime Pull-Ups. I was so excited when I found them in the diaper section at Target. I bought them and took them straight home.

They have been working pretty well, except that I recently noticed a small problem.

The Pull-Ups are Disney Princess-themed.

It wasn't until like the fourth time that I was putting one on Jacob that I actually stopped and looked at the cartoon printed on the front of the diaper. 

Yeah, I'm super observant.

I'd be that parent that buys their child a toy that is supposed to "I love you!" but instead, we get the defective one that says "I'm gonna kill you!" and I wouldn't even realize it until five years later when we're selling it at a garage sale, and some other parent, who is far more observant, points it out.

That's me.

So now I have a pack of Sleeping Beauty Pull-Up diapers that are half gone at this point, so I obviously can't return them now, and I'm certainly not going to throw them away when I paid $15 American dollars for them. I just distract the boys when I change them, so that they don't notice the pretty princess on their underpants, (to avoid causing them any sort of confusion about their masculinity). And I try to use the diapers as often as possible so that all the evidence will be gone by the time Richard gets home, because I have a feeling that my military husband would NOT be okay with his sons wearing these:

Seriously! How did I NOT notice??

Fear

I was nine years old when I saw the movie "It". The scariest freaking movie ever, about a clown that lives in the sewer and kidnaps children and then eats them or something terrible like that.

It is especially frightening when you are only nine years old and possess a very active imagination. For three months afterward I slept on my parent's bedroom floor. I remember keeping my mom up late every night because I was afraid to close my eyes, and about six weeks into this routine she told me emphatically that I was never allowed to watch another scary movie again in my life.

At 26, I am scared of obvious things like spiders and snakes and serial killers, but to this day I still hate clowns. I am pretty certain I will never get over that fear. I have watched dozens of other horror films though, (shhh, don't tell my mom!), but none of them have had nearly the same effect on me as "It". It's interesting, the things that frighten us, and the things that don't.

This past week while we were in California, we pulled out some toys for my kids to play with in my Grandparent's front yard. Ryan loves balls, he can usually be found carrying around one in each hand and saying "Ball!" over and over and over again. My Grandma brought out three balls for him to play with, a large purple one, a green one and a soccer ball. 

For whatever reason, as soon as Ryan saw that soccer ball, he decided he DID. NOT. LIKE. IT. We kept trying to show it to him, to convince him that there was no reason to be afraid of the soccer ball, but he wasn't having it. In fact, he was so scared of it, that we ended up placing it down a walkway that we didn't want him wandering down, because as soon as he saw the ball, he started running in the opposite direction. The soccer ball worked better than any toddler gate!

Well, it was just too quirky of a fear to not have a little fun with. And we totally got it on video:

Epilogue: I am proud to say that my brave little boy ended up conquering his fear. By the end of the trip he was carrying around the soccer ball like they were best buds. Now if only I could be that brave about clowns.

Nah, I don't think so.

Worst Flight Ever

The wings were iced over. 

The ground crew kept deicing them, but within a couples minutes they were iced over again. We were nearly 45 minutes late taking off because of this continual deicing process. 

My worst flight ever.

It was December 2003, in Billings, Montana. My brother and I were on board a Horizon flight, all packed and set to go home for the Christmas holiday, except that it was five degrees outside, snowing, getting dark, and those freaking wings wouldn't stop icing over.

My brother Tim is a commercial pilot, (I know, cool huh? Sorry girls, he's married). But in the winter of 2003, he was still going to school for aeronautical science. He had been flying for several years at that point though, so I liked flying with him. Whenever I would get nervous about a bit of turbulence, or a strange sound, I would just look at him, and if he appeared relaxed and unconcerned, then I knew there wasn't any reason to be worried. 

The fact that we were delayed getting off the ground due to bad weather and ice didn't seem to bother Tim, so I tried to not let it bother me. I was so thankful when we finally took off and got above the clouds. I figured we were good to go for the next hour and a half to Seattle. It was a small plane, and Tim and I were seated in the very front row. The flight attendant was preparing to start the beverage service. He stood only a couple feet away from us, getting his cart ready.

All of the sudden, we heard a pop and then an alarm started screeching. Loud. Piercing. Terrifying. The flight attendant's face froze and he ran - RAN - to his seat at the back of the plane. He had abandoned us! I looked at Tim - my last resort - for comfort. He looked at me, serious as I'd ever seen him, and said, "Tighten your seatbelt. It can't hurt."

OMG! OMG! OMG! We're all going to crash and die!

That alarm went on for what seemed like an eternity, although it was probably less than two minutes. No joke, folks, it sounded like the roof of the plane was going to rip off, sucking us all out into the frigid air with it. My heart was racing and I was saying as many prayers as I could. 

Finally the captain came on and gave some explanation, that, honestly, I didn't even hear because I was still too frightened. In the end though, we landed safely in Seattle. But that was my worst flight ever.

When you have kids, the things that used to scare you about going on airplanes kind of shifts. As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I still worry about the plane crashing. But when I travel with my kids, my thoughts are usually occupied with worrying about whether or not they will behave on the flight, and hoping that they don't make a terrible scene.

I've had some pretty interesting flights since becoming a mom. In fact, it started before Jacob was even born. 

Richard was taking me to Virginia to see where his parents live. We were on a red-eye flight. I was about 10 weeks pregnant with Jacob, and while I hadn't dealt with any real morning sickness, I had bouts with nausea every now and then.

Everything was going fine, to begin with. Richard was sitting at the window, I was in the middle, and a man, who I did not know, was in the aisle seat. About an hour into the flight, I started feeling notsogood. I was afraid to tell Richard, because I didn't want him to freak out, so I tried to convince my stomach to chill, and to understand that it was seriously not a convenient time.

It didn't work. 

Richard looked over at me at one point, and said, "You look kind of pale. Are you feeling okay?" 

Right then, my nausea kicked into overdrive. I knew we had a problem! I shook my head no, afraid to open my mouth to speak. Richard started searching desperately in the seat back pockets for barf bags, and OF COURSE, we were the only two seats on the entire plane that didn't have them. 

Uh oh. 

Vomit was coming up my throat, I slapped my hand over my mouth, in an attempt to keep it down. Richard looked terrified, thinking I was about to puke all over him. I knew I couldn't wait for him to ask someone if we could borrow their barf bag, so I literally jumped over the stranger next to me, and raced like 13 rows up to the front bathroom. I just barely made it. I didn't even have a chance to shut the door behind me before I was throwing up.

So that was a bad flight.

Then we had a nice break for awhile. Jacob was a really easy baby. Before he was six months old he flew to Hawaii, California and Virginia, and he did great on all those flights. After that we didn't do any flying for awhile. 

Last December we flew to Illinois to spend Christmas with Richard's parents and extended family. At that point, Jacob was 20 months old, and Ryan was 9 months. I had Jacob in my lap, and Richard had Ryan in his. Because of airplane rules we weren't allowed to sit in the same row, so Richard and Ryan were seated about three rows behind us. I knew Richard was nervous, since that was his first time flying with both the kids.

Not even five minutes into the flight, Ryan barfed all over Richard's shirt. Since I was so far ahead of them, and in a window seat, there was nothing I could do to help, so he sat there for the next three hours with a whimpering Ryan, and dried puke on his sweater.

Jacob didn't throw up on me, but I think I might have preferred that. He spent the entire three hours screaming and kicking at me and thrashing his arms. It was exhausting to say the least, and only slightly embarrassing.

The minute we landed in Chicago and the four of us were reunited, Richard looked me straight in the eye and said, "We're not having any. more. kids. And we're never flying with them again!"

That was our last trip with them. It's been almost nine months, and today we are heading to California to visit my mom's family. I keep telling myself that it's not even a three hour flight, and that this will be Jacob's first time in his car seat on the plane. He normally loves being in his car seat, so I am keeping my fingers crossed that we don't wind up being that family that the rest of our fellow passengers shoot dirty looks at, and then recant to their family and friends for years afterward of their "Worst flight ever".

Please tell me about your worst flight ever, so that hopefully, whatever ends up happening today, won't be as bad as the stories you share. 

And if they aren't worse than today's flight, then I guess I will just have to update this post on my worst flight ever.

The Name Game

It took Richard and me a long time to agree on a name for Jacob. I, of course, wanted to go through all the name books and consider every single name that is in existence, while Richard wanted me to consider the name David. 

That was his one suggestion. 

It was exhausting; we would talk names every night for months, never agreeing. For the longest time I was set on Benjamin and Richard was stuck on David. We had come to an impass. 

We got to Jacob in a sort of roundabout way. There was one other name Richard was willing to consider: Jack Bauer. But it had to be Jack BAUER. As in, Jack Bauer MacQuarrie. And omigod there was no way any child of mine was going to have that name. 

I did like Jack though, but Richard wasn't willing to separate the Jack and the Bauer, and so while thinking about a variation of Jack, Jacob suddenly came into my head. Neither one of us had thought of it yet, but once we said it, we both knew Jacob was going to be our first child's name. For a couple weeks we had chosen Isaac to be his middle name. Jacob Isaac MacQuarrie, we thought we were done. Then one day Richard's mom called, and suggested that we use Andrew as a middle name. Everything seemed to click then. Andrew is my dad's middle name, and with the initials J.A.M., Jacob would be just like Richard's dad, Jeff.

When it came time to name Ryan, I think Richard was still worn out from thinking of a name for Jacob, so when we found a name we agreed on pretty early in the pregnancy, he settled on it, and would not budge. We named Ryan backwards, in a way. 

Richard had always liked the name Walker, and I did too, but I couldn't picture it as a first name. I kept getting tripped up when I would imagine our future son learning to walk, and I thought I would sound ridiculous saying, "Walker is walking!" So we decided it would be his middle name. At that point, I thought it would be cute for this baby to have the same initials as Richard, since his middle name also starts with a W. We began going over R-names, and we agreed on Ryan. It was only after we chose it, that I realized what a perfect fit it was. Richard and I both have cousins named Ryan, and my Great-Grandma Miller's maiden name was Ryan...But, if I'm being totally honest, about 50% of my reasoning behind agreeing to Ryan, was simply because I thought RyRy was the cutest nickname in the world. I swear, Ryan will be 40 years old and begging me to Please. Stop. Calling. Him. RyRy.

Some people think my boys' names are plain, and, okay, fine. I will give you that. They're not unusual names or names you have never heard before. I suppose we could have named them Rainforest and Tundra or something along those lines, but for me, their names would be lacking. There would be no meaning behind them, other than a desire to be different from what society expects, and honestly, I already went through my rebel-phase back in high school. I didn't feel like condemning my children to a lifetime of mispronunciations, ridicule or strange looks, by giving them crazy names.

I love the names we chose for our sons, and the family connections within those names. I think it's important for them to be reminded of the family members who came before them, and that, not only do they have the MacQuarrie name to honor, but the relatives who inspired their first and middle names as well.

Actually, now I see it typed out, maybe I will keep Tundra in mind for the next kid.

While They Were Sleeping...

I remember as a kid, my parents telling me how they would sometimes come check on me at night when I was asleep.

I never understood why.

Did they think I was going to run away? Did they think aliens were going to abduct me (even though they told me aliens didn't exist)? I mean, why did they come into my room? It didn't make any sense to me. I just assumed that primetime TV must have been pretty dull in the 1990's if it was more entertaining for them to simply watch me sleep.

Well, a few years went by, and I eventually became a parent myself. All of the sudden, I developed this fascination with watching my boys sleep. As infants, they were so tiny, and I was terrified that they might stop breathing at any minute, so I really couldn't look away. Then they got a little bigger, and watching my chubby babies as they snoozed in bed at night was just hypnotizing; it was the cutest darn thing I've ever seen. Then they got a little bigger. 

Jacob is nearing two and a half and Ryan will be 18 months on Saturday. They are so busy during the day, running and jumping and climbing and yelling. They are full of such non-stop energy, that when they do finally pass out at the end of the day, in their cute pajamas, with those sweet little faces set in such innocent expressions, I cannot keep myself from checking on them every now and then. 

Yes, I want to make sure all is right in their perfect little worlds, but I love it. I love just watching them in that peaceful state. I talk to them, and tell them how much I love them, and how I want them to have every joy in this life, and never know a moment of pain. And when I know that they are both content, and hopefully dreaming pleasant dreams, I leave them to their sleep.

If I was half as cute as these these two are, then I totally get what my parents were doing now.

Best Buds

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

The Little Things

I've mentioned before, that even as a stay-at-home mom, sometimes the days can blur, and the time can slip by all too quickly. It feels like only yesterday was early spring, and here we are, about to head into fall. They boys seem to change on a daily basis, and I have been trying to keep track of the new, cute things they've been doing. While this is a blog about life and family, I also want to be able to look back at it as a reminder of what it was like to have toddlers in the house. I take pictures. LOTS of pictures. Maybe even too many pictures, sometimes. And while pictures show how stinking cute these kids are, it doesn't tell the whole story of what they do on a day-to-day basis, and, well pictures don't show...the little things.

Jacob

Ah, Jacob. I look at him and I am filled with pride at my oldest son, yet simultaneously struck with the desire to cry. He is so big, a little boy, really. His baby fat is disappearing, and he can communicate with me through words so well. I struggle to understand how it is possible that the next birthday he celebrates will be his third. That just sounds too old; to me, he is still my baby - and I will probably always feel that way.

At the same time, it is so exciting to watch him learn and grow and change. Every day he seems to learn a new word, and not only that, but he also grasps the meaning and proper usage of words, which is really fun. This past weekend he learned the word "darn", and that you say it when something doesn't go your way. On Sunday, Jacob kept trying to open the front door, and I was holding my hand against it. I told him the door was "broken", and that we couldn't go outside that day. Jacob's response: "Darn!" After our incidents last month with him playing in the cars and inevitably burning up the car battery a couple times, I now keep the car doors locked. Every time he walks by the cars he tries to open the doors, and when he can't, he yells, "Darn!" It sounds so cute coming from his tiny little voice.

Jacob is super polite. He knows to add the word "please" whenever he wants something. For example, he will say "up please", if he wants to be picked up, or taken somewhere. Then the other night I fed him his favorite pasta and butter dish. After he had finished all the pieces on his plate, he looked at me and said, "More please!" And he also knows how to ask for milk, which kind of sounds like "nook", but, I know what he means. So when he is thirsty ("dirsty"), he will say "Nook, please!" It warms my heart hearing him talk, but even more so when he uses such nice words.

Don't get the wrong idea, though. Jacob is still very much a two-year-old, who is prone to tantrums. When he gets upset, his face scrunches up, and he will start slapping his hand against his thigh; it's almost funny. You can't help but empathize with him, it must be awful feeling all that frustration and not yet knowing how to express it. I am working with him on talking when he gets upset though, so I will say "Use your words, Jacob. Tell me what's wrong." The other day, Ryan was running around with an empty Gerber Cheeto container, and Jacob saw it, and started crying, so I told him to use his words, and through his tears and sad little voice he cried, "Cheee-(takes a breath)-tos!" I really wish I had video of it, because, even though it's sad to watch your child be upset, it is soooo cute hearing him talk when he is in that state.

Jacob has also decided that he is on strike from wearing diapers. If I don't put clothes on him as soon as he gets his diaper changed, then within five minutes he will have that diaper ripped off! If this meant that he wanted to get potty trained then I would be his biggest supporter, except that Jacob Hates! The! Potty! He won't go near it, it's like he thinks he is going to get flushed down the toilet...much like the fear I have of airplane toilets. So, I totally get it. But in the meantime, he is wasting diapers, which are not cheap. And since he is not potty trained, I have to follow him around to make sure he doesn't pee all over the house. Sigh. Something's gotta give.

All in all though, Jacob remains absolutely adorable. Every morning when I am carrying him and Ryan to the table for breakfast, I ask him if he can give Ryan a kiss, and he always leans over and kisses his little brother on the forehead. Talk about cute! And Jacob's love of music continues to grow. I know I am his mom, so I may be a little biased here, but he has got a seriously good singing voice for a two-year-old. He is on pitch, and knows the right notes for the songs. If ever he is in a bad mood, I can usually get him to cheer up by asking him to sing me a song. I won't be at all surprised if music is a big part of his future.

Ryan

Ryan! (yes, he gets an exclamation point because he is one busy little kid), is all boy. "Classic boy", as my Dad pointed out. He loooves cars, and trucks, and basically anything that has wheels and GOES. He likes to push them along the floor, blowing raspberries with his lips, imitating car sounds. Adorable. His other hobbies include getting as dirty as he possibly can, whether it is by rolling in the dirt in the yard, or rolling in the sand at the beach (and eating some of it). He is also usually a big ole mess after mealtime too. He's just busy and active and always running around, trying to keep up with his big brother. Yesterday, he jumped up and started running as fast as he could, yet he wasn't looking ahead of him, and he ran right into a wall. Saddest, and kind of funniest thing ever. He was totally okay! And then last night, right as I was about to put the boys to bed, the poor thing pulled one of our kitchen chairs onto himself. It scared me half to death - thankfully he is A-Okay, but he has a HUGE goose-egg on his forehead. Just one of many I am sure he will get throughout his childhood.

Not to be outdone by Jacob, Ryan is working on talking too. Although, I'm not sure if most people would understand a lot of the things he says, but as his Mommy, I have come to know how to translate on his behalf. A new word he learned last week was "Apple", which sounds like "Bapo", he can also say "milk" and "truck", which, incidentally sound the same: "Gak", so you just have to figure out in which context he is applying the word.

Ryan loves, loves, loves dogs. I am sure that as soon as he is able to ask for a dog, that is all he will say. We have gotten to keep my parent's dog, Millie, overnight a couple times this week. Whenever he sees her, Ryan gets so excited and yells "MeeMee!" (Millie). He chases her around, trying to grab ahold of her tail, and a couple times he has found her while she has been laying on the floor, and he crawls onto her back and tries to ride her like she is a pony. Poor "MeeMee", she is a good sport.

Ryan's got some funny quirks, too. Ever since he was an infant, he has always liked to have blankets completely covering him, including his head. I remember putting him to bed at night and placing the blanket all the way over him, and if he woke up in the night, it was usually because some part of him was showing, and he couldn't get the blanket back over himself. Now that he is bigger and gets himself to sleep, I always laugh when I go to check on him at night and he has burrowed himself under the blankets. It doesn't even matter how warm it is in the house; this week temperatures have soared into the 90's, and still, he burrows himself. Also, he likes to have a toy in each hand. If we go on a walk, I usually pick apples for the boys to eat along the way, but Ryan requires two, or else you WILL be hearing about it for the remaining mile and a half of the walk.

So these are just some recent observations on my boys. I know I will enjoy looking back on these stories as they grow, and it will also be nice for Richard when he gets home, as he is not able to read this blog out at sea, so he will be able to catch up on all the little things.