A cupcake party, a holiday, and a couple of teefs

My mother is a subtle decorator.

That's a lie. 

She's anything but subtle in absolutely everything.  But she makes sure to always take care of the details.  Like the Santa Claus nightlight in the kitchen.  If the Santa Claus nightlight has replaced the hummingbird nightlight in the kitchen. . .you know it's the holidays.

(if this sounds a bit sarcastic. . .then you're right where you should be.)

We've had a busy few weeks in the P household that now lives with the G household.  We went to cousin K's birthday party.  Which was a blast because of a few reasons:

1. We haven't seen them in almost a year and we've missed them!
2. They had bakery cupcakes. And any party with cupcakes trumps a party without cupcakes in my book.
3. They have a dog.  And any party with a dog trumps a party without a dog in Cole's book.

A blast.

Here's the Tills crawling at the party while showing us that not only can she make her eyes look demon-ey, but she can also cross them in two different ways:

Side Note: 'the Tills' is Matilda's new nickname coined by Cole.  It's funny because it's not only used in affection, but also when he's just about ready to go nuts on her, as in "MUM. . .the Tills take my shrain!"

The Tills is crawling and pulling herself to standing.  Which, like many other things about babyhood that I've chosen to forget, is actually not a fun or exciting stage of development at all.  Especially with a toddler.  It's bad enough that my sweet girl has a new bruised egg on her forehead every other day, but the combination of that, paired with some new teeth, and topped off with trying to separate their toys. . .is enough to drive me to put a few eggs on my forehead. 

That's a lie. . .It's enough to drive me to put a few eggs on Bill's forehead.  I mean, really. . who are we kidding here? 

Back to the cupcakes.  We weren't talking about cupcakes yet, were we?  Clearly you can tell what made an impact for me here. . .

Can you tell that those are little mice made of frosting on that cupcake?  Not the tough frosting that doesn't really taste that good anyway. . .the good frosting.  Anyway. . .great party. 

Onto Thanksgiving. . .

We spent Thanksgiving with two close friends this year.  This was exciting for a few reasons, too:

1.  We wouldn't come home with colds.

2.  Holidays are quiet when there is only your children (and one of them can't speak!) and cats.

3.  I had my first taste of candied yams. . .and am certain they were made by God herself!

4.  We had place cards!  Even the Tills!

I think sometimes we get so worried about obligations to family that friends are easily forgotten.  Especially when you have kids.  I know that my folks were pretty surprised when they found out that we were choosing to spend the holiday with friends instead of family.  But you know?  When your friends have known you as long as these ones. . .there is very little distinction between the two.

Friends, and keeping in touch regularly is something that really helps to keep both Bill and I stable and healthy.  It's something we need to do better.  And we were all (kids included!) glad we made the trip and decided to spend the holiday that way.

Cole entered their home and ran right for his place card:

 How could he not?

Cole played trains on the floor in the living room while the Tills smashed some Cheerios and I got to watch football.  The turkey was amazing, the wine was better, and the children slept like sugarplums all the way home.  I think they actually dream of sugarplums, but that's besides the point.

Let's stick with the numbered theme and list out our family updates:

1. Cole seems to have finally figured out that I'm working and not home during the day.  Nights can be tough.  He wants to be glued to my leg for the two hours I am home before his bedtime.  I, too am starting to have more serious feelings of guilt and all that stuff people keep reminding me is normal and necessary.  Hasn't made it easier.  But it's good to know that it's not a me-alone kind of problem.

2.  The Tills is just breaking her two front teeth.  Just in time for Christmas.  Silly joke.  She's fussy and moody and restless and not very nice to William in the wee hours of the morning.

3.  I am enjoying my job and will post more about it soon.  Really, I will.  Let's just wait until I've reached my 90 day-probationary period.  You know. . .just to be sure. ;-)

4.  Living with the Mom and Dad G is still very trying.  Bill and I are trying to figure out how we can be less invasive on their lives. . . their, crazy. . .loud. . .filled with Everybody Loves Raymond for 18 hours each day. . .lives.  No solutions yet, but if you have any ideas on if the cable company will let you block TBS from your parents. . .please let me know.

My big fat bad morning

Ever have one of those days where you really should just go back to bed?  This is mine. . .

Actually, it started last night.

Matilda hasn't been sleeping well lately.  She's really hit a growth spurt.  She's climbing and cooing and trying so hard to walk.  But at night, she's fussy.  And because I have the best husband on the planet, I haven't had to deal with her at night. 

So last night I could really see his stress.  And I tried to take over.  And by take over, what I really mean, is that I made dinner for the first time in a month, bathed and fed one child, and expected a long royal line of accolades for my apparent hard work.

Anyway. . .I fed and rocked Tills and she was out cold.  COLD.  Snoring, in her cute little way that babies snore, which actually isn't that cute because it's just the dried up boogers that you're hearing. . . and I took her upstairs to bed.

Laid her down. . .put her quilt on her. . .gave her one last pat on the head. . .and shut the door.

And that's when I heard the loudest, deepest retching vomit sound.  Retching like a grown man. Ahhherrrrgh!

Everything was covered in baby puke.  The bed. The wall.  The floor.  The mommy. . . . .

That was last night.

Eventually, she went back to bed.  And no, she's not sick. . .she just had a coughing fit and up came everything I'd just fed her. . . that's what I get for not burping the baby. . .when will I learn?

About 3:00 a.m. (a fat thank you to the Exorcism of Emily Rose for allowing me to freak out every time I'm awake at 3:00 a.m.). . .I fell out of bed.  Right out of bed.  Bill didn't even notice.

This morning? 

This morning I could only find one of every sock I own.  I pulled out a white shirt and some khaki pants and could only find a black bra.  This morning, I dropped a full jug of milk out of the fridge.

Yes.  The cap popped open.

This morning I stepped in crap from rat dog on my way to the car.  SIDE NOTE:  "rat dog" is my affectionate name for my parent's dog.  She looks like a rat.  She acts like a rat.  And she eats socks. 

No, seriously.

I was able to scrape the crap off my heel and onto the tire of my dad's car.  I actually did that.  And admitted it.

I went to Dunkin' Donuts this morning because after the whole milk thing I was pretty angry at my house and thought it best not to operate machinery.

This is how it went. . .

Old lady that should be retired but probably can't because of those lousy Republicans:  What can I get for 'cha?

Me:  A veggie egg white flat bread and a medium french vanilla, cream only, please.

Here's where it all went to hell .  . .

Me:  And would you mind putting a few ice cube in that for me?

This lady stops pouring my coffee, gave me the nastiest look ever and threw ice in the cup.  I think she said something about charging me for ice. . .or maybe she said something like I should choose between a hot or iced coffee. . .I'm not really sure.

Anyway, I have my coffee and I wait and I wait and I wait and finally the old lady that should be retired but probably can't because of those lousy Republicans asks me what I'm waiting for.  I told her I was waiting for the veggie egg white sandwich.

She handed me something off the counter.  I left.

On my drive in, I was cut off about 400 times (or at least that's when I stopped counting. . .), I hit every red light, and dropped my keys in a puddle.

I wish I was making this all up.  I really do.

I got into my office, opened my coffee and I could still see ice floating in it.  She filled the damn thing with ice.  And my sandwich?  Just a piece of sausage.  On a croissant.

I'm still going to eat that. . . .'cause who don't like sausage?  But I needed to reheat my coffee.  I put the cup right in front of the door to the microwave. . and in this alternate-universe-slow-motion-reality I watched myself push the button to open the microwave door, and my coffee spilled all down my pants.

My Ann Taylor pants.

I cleaned it up and came immediately to tell you.  Because all of this can really mean one thing. . .I need to end this day.  Immediately.  Maybe right after lunch.  Maybe after a long lunch of margaritas. . .

Argh! You land lovahs seen me Captain Morgan?

People are really scared of clowns. 

Like, seriously scared. 

I thought it might be a nice idea if Bill and I dressed up with Cole for Halloween. . .you know. . .make a tradition of it.  And what would be cuter or nicer or friendlier or not so scary that grown women would scream and run down the street from me?  A clown of course!

True story:  an adult woman actually looked at me, dropped what she was carrying (a candy sack. . .not a child, thank goodness) and hauled off running down the street. . .screaming the whole way.  She must have been drama for Halloween. . .like anyone in their right mind would be seriously scared of a clown. . .

. . .a clown like this. . .



If it looks like I was drinking. . .that's 'cause I was.

Ah, you know?  Now that I'm looking back at this. . .this is actually wicked scary.  I'm sorry to the lady that I sent running down the street screaming on Halloween.  This is my public apology.

We went trick-or-treating with my brother, sister-in-law and adorable little niece.  Cole was a chef.  My niece was a panda bear.  My brother a pirate.  My husband and sister-in-law went as the responsible parents.  And I waved Cole's whisk at unsuspecting children while my brother asked anyone he could if they had "seen his Captain Morgan".  In pirate talk.  Sigh. 

::holds head in shame::

Thinking back on this, I'm pretty surprised no one called the cops on us, actually.  I'm even more surprised I'm telling you about this. . .

Anyway. . .a lovely Halloween.  My sweet boy went up to houses and instead of saying "trick-or-treat" he skipped right to the "thank you." 



It's not that I don't want you to see our adorable panda bear,
but I haven't asked for permission. . and you know how I get about those things. . .

It was freezing.  And Cole is wearing a hat under his chef's hat.  Those aren't braids.  Really.  They're not.

We started our day at a nice Halloween family fun bike ride.  Cole and Bill biked a few miles with Cora and Auntie Colette and Till and I stayed back and got a coffee.

Not everyone is excited for their first Halloween. . .

We only trick-or-treated for a couple of hours and with the cold and all the excitement, it was long enough. 

The best part?  Cole still doesn't really understand (or remember)  all that candy he was given. . .so Bill and I have been snacking on his stash ever since!

This is certainly our last year of that.  Next year, we'll have to share with the children.  And I don't think Captain Morgan will be invited. . .