Yolande

Weird, weird things, man.

Alternative titles: Is This the Twilight Zone? Is It Friday Yet? WTF? OMG! Blog Worthy! Where Is My Wine?

This week has been way too eventful for my tastes and deserves a blog post, although if you follow me on Instagram you're probably sick of me whining about the weirdness of these days. Also, since the week isn't even over yet, I worry that maybe I'm jinxing myself into having a particularly horrific day tomorrow but whatever. Tomorrow is a new day and hopefully more ordinary than the rest.

Monday drama: a large bird was stuck inside of our exhaust fan in our half bathroom. I thought it was a mouse, or a rat, or a raccoon because of how gigantic and terrifying it sounded. Literally, I almost had a panic attack when I realized a critter was STUCK INSIDE OF OUR WALL, which was predictably about 15 minutes after Nate left for work in the morning. And about 10 minutes before I had to rush the kids and myself out the door for a super early morning with patients. I was a blubbering idiot with them and kept trying to keep Cecelia out of the bathroom since miss curious was bound and determined to see what the 'noi' was. Truman was near tears because 'I don't want a mouse to be in our wall' --um, yeah. Me either, buddy.

Did I mention that I have a major fear of mice running through our walls after a particularly scarring experience in Arkansas? (shudder). All I knew was that a rustling loud enough to be heard from all parts of our house was haunting my soul on this Monday morning. And I had to get the heck away from our infested house before I lost my mind.

I had a friend of Tony's named Mike meet me back at home over lunch and that is when we discovered the startlingly large beak poking out of the fan. OMG. Thankfully Mike caught the bird and set him free and I did not accidentally kill the poor creature when I turned on the fan that morning to 'scare it away from the fan'.  Nate told me to do that over the phone when I was fa-REAKing out before work. The bird's head was totally stuck in the fan by noontime but it was able to fly away properly, so I guess I didn't commit murder that day. A bird. In our wall. I can't even.

Cover is off here--do you see the beak???


(video of the nomad bird's release. HUGE)



Tuesday drama: Cecelia had her first real stomach bug and barfed all over the house three times including once down my shoulder and twice in her crib. She was completely pathetic and sick and sad all day, and had a low grade fever, too. I was a nervous wreck imagining Truman and myself coming down with the bug and made us practically bathe in sanitizer. When CC wasn't puking she was in my arms and we didn't leave the house the entire day, adding to the stir craziness of feeling germs infest one's nostrils. Is that a queasiness I feel? Did I really let her drink out of my water bottle yesterday? Will I die of dehydration from barfing while pregnant, or worse....will Truman and Nate get the bug and cause the entire world to bow to their Mutant Bug Afflicting Men?

So much laundry. So much hand washing. So much paranoia. So gross and sad. Saddest face ever.








Sorry for the mention of manly parts to my family, but this Some Ecard cracks me up and was so fitting. Wanted to post on IG but did not.




Wednesday aftershock: I stayed home with the kids in the morning because I knew I couldn't send Cecelia to Lori's, and was too afraid to put her in the van to take Truman to Lori's by himself. Barf in our brand new mini-van would have done me in. Then Nate came home at noon and I left to see my patients. Tag teaming at it's finest and it made the day feel so different and out of our normal routine. Happy we have the flexibility to make 'sick days' work like this, of course. Happy to have no puke to consider while breathing a bit of fresh air. Happy that Cecelia started to feel better this day, too.

Popsicles for breakfast this day. Duh. Still with the sick eyes.


And it was a great mail day on Wednesday. 4moms sent me some of their products to try (it never hurts to ask, apparently?!) We tried out the spout cover right away for baths and got FANTASTIC pictures showing how wonderful it was. Sarcasm. Actually, we DO love the temperature gauge a little too much and I'm happy I no longer have to stick my hand in the water constantly to see if it's too hot or too cold. Truman is especially excited about this cover because now he wont stick his feet into a scalding tub without knowing it, and he loves the colored lights. Technology is his fave, just like his daddy. But bath time in general was just a disaster that night due to one overtired little lady. Real life pictures, for sure.





Thursday drama: Record number of errands run this morning including dropping Henry off to get his teeth cleaned, a donut treat with me and the littles, library fun, mini-van wash, and a craft trip to Michaels. Then a 5 minute car nap by Cecelia which is normally no big deal, since she will usually turn over in her bed as soon as I transfer her there and sleep like there is no tomorrow. But today it spelled disaster because once we were back at home she would NOT continue to sleep. Truman happily played on the iPad a bit for a portion of his 'quiet time' but my girl who loves to nap more than two hours a stretch? Nope. Not happy and she let me know through frequent check-ins that is just wasn't happening.

This card is funny but not right now. If this becomes a regular thing I will cry. Again, sorry for the foul language.



I'm not sure why this made me want to rage...probably because her nap time is when I get to recharge a bit. It's always a guarantee time in my SAHM days when I can do some paper work, return emails, and spend some 1:1 time with Truman, too. Without that assumed time to re-focus, I honestly felt angry and cheated of my meeeee tiiiiiiiime (said in a whiny voice). It was totally out of my control because my littlest didn't want to nap and therefore I had to continue on the marathon of our day without a breather. Not the end of the world but just enough to teeter me over the edge of reason. Patience runs dry for all of us. Mine was depleted by 3 pm.

It's a good thing they are cute.



Lucky for everyone Nate got home super early compared to his other nights of the week, busting through the door at 4pm with his Super Dad powers and annoying amounts of energy. We went to McDonalds for dinner because putting forth the effort in our kitchen was just not happening. Very good move as it was tasty and easy and the kids had a ball. Other positives from Thursday:  I did get a donut, a hot cup of coffee, and a fantastic workout completed today. Yes. Thursday was not so awful.



None of these ordeals are particularly earth-shattering. Combined they made for a helluva week, and yet? We survived. It could have been worse....especially if that bird had turned out to be a rat. Lord help me.

The baby is kicking like a man man (woman?) as I type this. I'm working on a fun little project for the gender reveal photo shoot which is a mere days away (!!) Our children are sleeping soundly in the same room, like little angels who did not challenge their mama this week at all (ha). Tomorrow is a fresh start. Someday it will be warm again and the snow will melt and we can all break out of this winter funk. It did snow RIGHT on top of my freshly cleaned mini-van, btw. February is such a fantastic month in general. Sigh. But life is still very, very good.



Also of note in the positive remarks arena, Truman had an adorable moment today while eating his donut.

T: "Mom, how did CC and I come out of your belly?"
Me: "Well, we went to the hospital and the doctor helped get you out of me." Easy as that! Riiiiiight.
T: "But what tools did they use?"
Me: hahahaha. "No tools, really. I just pushed you out of me." (praying that wouldn't sound too creepy.)
T: After thinking for a bit, "I think that probably hurt us." (Totally just painful for you, buddy, not me at all). "And I don't understand which way you pushed us." End of conversation.



I mean, adorable that he is starting to think about babies being inside and then coming out. He also asked me what we will do when this baby gets big enough to sit next to him at the table. 'Will we just have another baby then?' Ha. I told him that daddy doesn't want a fourth baby and three will be enough, but Truman did NOT agree. #BabyPusher

There have to be weeks like this to make the boring ones feel celebrated, I suppose. And it sure does feel good to vent about it all on the old blog ;)

Boys and girls, today you shall hear a story about poor decisions that eventually turned into a good laugh, but at the time were completely traumatizing. But before that plot unfolds let's look at my handsome son sporting a mohawk from an envious daddy. :)







Okay, moving on.

Truman and I flew to Missouri last weekend because my dad had a total hip replacement surgery and I wanted to be there as the one healthcare person in the family (more later). I knew that flying alone with a one year old could potentially cause me to lose my frickin mind but I had to chance it. Nate could not join us because of that pesky 'work/school' stuff. The flight to Missouri was a cake walk because we got upgraded to the very front row---something about extra masks on the other side of the plane so our original seats just would not do? Truman could spread out into his own empty seat next to me and he was a total doll that time around. See?




But the return flight home? Horrid. I'm still exhausted from that little 47 minute trip and vow that I will not fly alone with Truman if I can feasibly avoid it. We boarded the plane and instantly knew that it was a packed flight without the luxury of front row wiggle room this time---I guess I picked the 'right' side for this one, so no seat change for us. As soon as we plopped down Truman turned into a whirling dervish and as his energy level multiplied mine divided. We had a very nice college girl next to us who was understanding of my little heartbreaker's need to touch her sweater, then hair, then nose. Of course, the couple behind us was not spared by his charm as he peeked over the top of my seat multiple times to point and reach and smile like it was his job. 'He's not shy at all, is he?' the woman asked. 'Um, no. Apparently not,' I replied while Truman began to shout 'DA-DA' at the top of his lungs, gesturing to each and every male occupant on the flight. Great. Now my son has about 50 baby daddies according to him, and although everyone just melted over the cuteness of Truman I knew I was in for the long haul.

As soon as we took off I smelled It. 'It' being the most horribly rancid poop of the century wafting out of my entertaining boy's diaper. Perfect timing, of course. I tried to ignore it but the stench was making me a paranoid mama, wondering if all Truman's new found buddies would cast him aside for being the stinky, white-trash kid who poops his pants and sits in it for too long. I glanced around nervously to see if anyone was plugging their nose yet and decided that a trip to the plane bathroom was simply unavoidable. I couldn't stand it any longer so I grabbed a diaper and some wipes and bumper car'd our way back to the 'bathroom'. I swear to you I got the evil eye from the passenger next to the room as if to say, 'You aren't really going to try THAT, are you?' Oh yes. I was.

We stepped into the stall and I'm pretty sure the walls started closing in on us both. Or maybe that was just because it was the tiniest bathroom known to mankind and my arms were practically pinned to my side. I was a determined woman at this point and decided just to peek into the diaper-of-despair to assess the damage before I committed to the ordeal. I put the toilet lid down and took a seat, laying my slippery one year old on my lap as if he was a newborn (ha!). As soon as I pulled the diaper to the side I knew I had to remove the abomination from his skin or else I would certainly be guilty of child neglect. That thing was simply taking over his backside and it must.go.now.

And so, I took a deep breath and began the removal process. As soon as I got the battered diaper off Truman decided enough was enough and simply could not remain on my lap any longer---and I really don't blame him since his head was hanging off my knees and his neck was bent backwards rushing the blood to his little brain. I tried to hurry and wipe his caked crack but failed and had to surrender to his need to stand up on my lap. I'm guessing this is about the time that the poop particles rubbed against my shirt sleeve but I cannot remember the details because all I could think about was how I should not have done this at all.

'I immediately regret this decision' was seriously something I said out loud. Then I started to sweat and almost started crying as I pictured my crap-covered son returning to his seat without any diaper or pants on his little body because his mom just couldn't handle the pressure in the miniature bathroom on the plane. As I stared into Truman's adorable but poopy butt crack I knew I had to buck up and get the job done. I started to wipe as much out of the crack as I could and returned him to my lap, promising him one million dollars if he'd just sit still for mama one more time.

I unraveled toilet paper and generously offered him limitless amounts for entertainment. I started singing some deranged song hoping to calm the little poop monster. And finally once I had him semi-wiped down I allowed him to return to standing on my lap and applied a new diaper as best I could. Putting on a clean diaper while a baby is standing up on your lap, and your arms cannot move more than 2 inches to the side without banging into airplane walls is pretty much the crown jewel of motherhood if you ask me. I have walked through fire and survived and therefore I can embrace my title of 'mommy' from here on out.

After I snapped together his onesie and wrangled his pants back on, I doused my hands in sanitizer and walked through that teeny folding door with my head held high. Sure, we were in there for about 20 minutes, I looked like a tornado struck my face, and now I smelled like poop since it was smeared on my shirt but whatever. At least my baby didn't have a poopy butt and could return to his friends without the 'dirty kid' persona.

I intercepted him from licking every single surface on the plane (ooh, look! a germ-infested arm rest! Must eat now!) in order to prevent an outbreak of rabies in our home and can only hope that he didn't ingest a major debilitating disease despite my efforts. At the end of the flight I stopped swiping his hands with sani-wipes every minute and admitted defeat. There's only so much energy one mom can carry, you know?

When we finally landed I praised God for letting us survive. I informed Nate of our little bathroom escapade and explained that if he smelled a rancid stench, it must be my shirt. Then I promptly showered as soon as we entered our home and tried to scrub away the poo and the plane and sweat on my brow.

Flying alone with a one year old is no freaking joke. And never, ever attempt to change a dirty diaper in a plane bathroom. Lesson learned.

So the trip itself was a success: dad did fabulous in surgery and also in therapy at the hospital. I had to snap at least one pic of him with his PT---a kindred soul of mine and of course we traded PT stories like old chums by the end of dad's stay.


I helped him get settled in at home and he was a 'fair' patient of mine. A little non-compliant at times, always pushing the rules, but at least he was feeling good enough to give me trouble!


He is recovering even better than I expected and I'm sure he will continue to feel better and better with time. I know it's going to be hard for him to stay off the golf course until the doc clears him in about 4-6 weeks but I hope he follows orders----or his PT daughter will be back down there to kick his rear in gear! I'm sure mom can handle him from this point on, though. She was happy I was there to help ease them into the recovery process and I'm so glad we could make the trip, too.

Memaw and Pepaw came to visit a bit and T got even more spoiled with his great-grandparents there.


He was obsessed with my parents' TV, DVD player, and cable box. And with his knee socks. :)


Probably my new favorite picture ever. Note the dimple and the teeth. Cannot.stand.it!


New favorite hobby = the touchdown sign! :)


Peace, dudes.


Loves his grandma.


And is also very dramatic with his facial expressions.

So that is that. A great trip despite the eventful flight home. You have to learn as you go, I suppose!

Anyone else ever changed a baby in a plane bathroom? If so, you are my hero.

Side note: I am starting a new job tomorrow so wish me luck! Same stuff but a different company and I'm a little nervous for some reason. It will probably just be three days per week although I stayed on with my previous employer for my half day on Thursdays, too. Ideally if I could drop that half day and just do three days in a week I think I'd be completely satisfied with my career/mommy balance in life so we'll see how this works out. Either way, it's nice to have options in this economy and I really do enjoy my career part of life. End of side note. Carry on.