Hello, my name is Cera, and I'm a reality television addict.

What is it about these reality shows that captivates our attention? I have an idea. Methinks it may be the raw emotion captured on imperfect faces without pancake makeup (my God, look at her PORES!). These people seem blissfully ignorant of the camera (it's got to be RIGHT THERE, not sure how they're missing it) and completely engrossed in whatever competition/stunt/debacle they're involved in. These people seem, as far as I can tell, very...real. They look like people I could pass by on the street. And since they are not trained actors, whatever emotion dances across their faces is absolutely enthralling. That could be me, man.

If you're like me in this regard, you'll appreciate a little tip I have for you. The BEST displays of tearful passion may be found not on Rock of Love (although that show is WONDERFUL and Bret Michaels can still work it), or Survivor (where are they this season, Siberia?), or the Biggest Loser ('nuff said), or the Bachelor, but...drumroll please...the Pickup Artist.

The Pickup Artist follows the lessons being taught some seriously socially-challenged young men. The best part isn't that they're being instructed by a scarecrow in eyeliner (somehow I'm still attracted though...he's GOOD) or that their lessons have to do with lingerie and strip clubs. The best part of this hilarity hour, bar none, is elimination time, in which each young man inevitably tears up and they all hold hands and hug and profess their love for one another. Stellar performances, boys!

Congratulations to Cosmo, by the way, for being the cutest to begin with and then winning the whole shebang. Do I sense a Pickup Artist II on the way? It is VH1, after all. Love you, VH1!

Ya know...You try your best. You think, as a mother, what can I do to protect my children.

It's about more than just teaching Stranger Danger and putting harmful chemicals up out of reach. It's about a million tiny decisions you make during the course of an average day.

For instance, I am always shocked and appalled to hear a parent BLASTING their music with their children in the car. Unreal. Those poor little eardrums...Not to mention the choice of song. Hmm, gee, I wonder where Junior picked up that foul language. It's a mystery.

So in my crusade to make smart choices to protect my children from the world at large, I've compiled some easy listening for car trips. A little Gavin DeGraw, a little Whitney Houston, a ton of Kenny Loggins. Kenny, I love you, marry me. We could sing the kids to sleep every night, think about it. Call me.

So imagine me, riding high on my horse of parental righteousness, in the grocery store with the boys yesterday evening. They were semi-behaving, and I thought we might escape the store unscathed (silly, silly Mommy), when out of nowhere, at the top of his lungs, Spencer belts out..."I wanna feel the HEAT with somebodyyy..."

Oh my. Just when you think you've got ONE area locked down, you're on top of it, you can rest easy on ONE subject...thanks a lot, Whitney. Ya floozy.

GUESS WHAT?! Julian has...drumroll please...Gone #1 on the potty!!!!

This was a fluke, don't get me wrong, I'm not signing him up for Harvard or anything (just yet), but he did indeed use the throne for its intended use this morning!

We pulled out the little Fisher-Price(TM) kiddie potty this past weekend at the pediatrician's recommendation and set it up in its old place of honor. The idea was to get Julian familiar with the concept, and gradually ease into actually using it.

But I've never been a patient woman.

So this morning, I removed his diaper and sat him on it in the hopes that the running water of Spence and I brushing our teeth would encourage a little action on his part. And what do you know, it did!

Let's sum this up. Changes in status: Julian, High Chancellor of All He Surveys, now official proud user of An Actual Throne. Mommy, Genius Toothbrush-Water-Running Extraordinaire. Spencer, Unsuspecting Bystander, Happy Clapper.

Why do the end of short weeks seem to drag on so long? Are they chronologically obligated to feel longer?? Sweet, blessed Friday, here at last. All hail Friday!

The boys are doing well, I'm happy to report. The other day at daycare pick-up, the security guard strolled over as I was buckling my brood into their car seats and asked with raised eyebrows, "Two boys?" To which I replied, "Yup!" over the din..."God bless you, ma'am," he said, shaking his head a bit, and walked away.

What upset me most about this whole transaction was that he called me "ma'am." Apparently when children are present and obviously yours, you go from "miss" to insta-ma'am. Nice. What am I, 40?

Julian, valiant contributor to above-mentioned din, seems to be toning down the royal fits we are accustomed to, and God bless him for it. It seems as he adds to his tiny vocabulary (important words like 'poo-poo,' 'uh-uh (as in, no)' and 'mine'), his frustration at the world in general lessens. You go boy!

His classmates in his new Toddler Room at daycare aren't quite so encouraging. My poor JuJuBee has come home every day looking like the world's smallest prizefighter (what's below featherweight?). It seems as the new boy in class, he's getting a lot of attention, not all of it positive. I'd be a lot more upset if I didn't remember having gone through this exact phase with Spence. The Terrible Twos are quickly approaching, dear reader(s), and we've just barely gotten past the Ornery Ones. Fantastic.

Nathaniel's expert solution was for me to inspect each and every classmate's fingernails every morning. Once I picked myself up off the floor laughing, I suggested he could do so in his own spare time, since mine is currently all booked up.

On a parting note, I'd like to say, the Air Show ROCKS. We took the kids to see it, and while Julian was less than impressed, Spence and I had a BLAST. Those Thunderbirds are kick-ass (don't tell the Blue Angels I said that) and we sincerely appreciated each and every swoop and dive and roll and maneuver they had to throw out. Friggin' awesome. I tried my best not to embarrass the kiddos, but Spence must have noticed my 12-yr-old screaming schoolgirl act, because he asked me afterwards, "You really really REALLY like dose airplanes, don't you?" Yes, yes I do.

Well I'll be gull-durned, I've been given my first blogging award!


I'd like to thank Barb over at mom2momlounge.com for her thoughtful gesture. You're a peach, Barb!

Next on the agenda is my nomination for sainthood for the trials and tribulations endured by way of 'high-maintenance' child. Cera, patron saint of nutty moms everywhere.

Barb also tagged me for some sort of blog-tag-thingy (I do believe that's the technical term) in which I post '8 Random Facts About Me.' I'm a little behind in reading dear Barbie's blog, so please forgive me while I catch up with this fun bliggity-blog stuff.

8 Random Facts About Me
* I don't know how to create bullets on Blogger. Asterisks will have to do.
* I'm a stickler for proper spelling and grammar. My friends would say 'fanatic,' to whom I would say, 'i' before 'e' or bust, bitches! Except after 'c.' Let's not get carried away.
* I may have a touch of OCD. I feel it's important to do many things in even numbers. For instance, if I had been asked to list 9 Random Facts About Me, I would have politely declined.
* I think beauty-mark-type, tiny piercings just above the lip rock.
* I will probably never get said piercing.
* Because I am a needle-phobic. I don't mind blood, I don't mind pain (not that I'm INTO pain, you freak), but there is just something about the idea of a hollow...gag...steel...retch...Ok, moving on...
* I get a huge kick out of dressing my boys alike. It's my one solace in not having had a girl.
* I'd love to write a book. A big, fat novel that demands to be read straight through and leaves you thinking for weeks afterwards, not to mention running to the bookstore to beg to be put on the waiting list for my next book. This is my dream. Until then, a-blogging I shall be.

It's high time I wrote something substantive, don't you think?

Julian is growing in leaps and bounds. He's fairly tall and thin for his age (18 months), but has this ever-expanding Buddha belly that is hilarious to behold. Especially funny when he's running around nekky, as he does most scorchingly hot summer evenings, playing in the pool and whatnot.

Every day he improves upon his limited vocabulary and social skills (alas, still lacking the word 'share' in said vocabulary). He is better able to play with Spencer and therefore spends less time residing all up in my ass (HAAALELUJAH! HAAALELUJAH!). My ass is grateful.

JuJuBee is also better able to play by himself these days, I've noticed. For instance, he played perfectly quietly while I read a story to Spence the other night. A little too quietly, which should have been a trigger to me...The End, I say to Spence, and look up to see the Bee happily feeding our mail back out the mail slot and into the rainy evening. Lovely.

Spence, for his part, has been quite understanding as we tread these new waters of big brotherhood. As the Bee is better able to play with him, he strives to include him in his activities...and tries really hard not to be upset when Julian tires of the game and simply snatches all toys involved and takes off at a dead run. And here comes the worst part...Even though I SWORE I wouldn't be one of those parents, I find myself saying witty little things like, "Just GIVE it to him, PUH-LEEZE! Please, Spence, please, just give it to him...I'll buy you another one! You can watch cartoons on Mommy's TV, you can have a cookie, just please, for the love of God and eardrums, just GIVE it to him, NOW!"

I suck. I considered myself a fairly exceptional mother of one. As a mother of two, it turns out, I completely suck. Didn't see that one coming.

So we're moving right along, folks, can't say we're the Cleavers, but then again June never had to deal with a nekky toddler trying her patience, did she? Not to mention the Mother's Little Helpers that aren't around these days either. Aaahh, June, you should see us now. This world is a crazy one to be raising children in, that's for sure, so I suppose if your kids are a little nutty to begin with, that actually probably helps. As for myself, I shall be enjoying a glass or 6 of wine tonight, and hopefully getting into some very un-June-like naughtiness with the old man.

P.S. A big WHASSUP GIRRRL goes out to the lovely Tiff, who has passed her GRE with such high scores that schools are now afraid to accept her, for fear she will put their other students to shame. You go girl.

Well it's begun. The beginning of the end. Julian, my honey Bee, has started his transfer from the 'mobile infants' room at daycare to the...drumroll please...'toddler' room. For the first time, he's complacent and I feel like crying. Funny little role reversal there.

I fully realize I'm dragging my feet here, but I simply refuse to do otherwise. And you can't make me! Waahhh!!

Julian, you see, is the baby of the family, and as such will forever be My Baby. I'm sure that when his 45-year-old ass stops by to introduce his new wife, or whatever, I will still address him as My Baby. And probably glare at his old lady. Aren't I awful?

I wish I had more time to delve into the subject, dear Reader(s), but I fear the work is piling up around me, literally, so I must return to the trenches or suffer the consequences.

Wishing everyone a wonderful day! Enjoy the summer!!

Controversial Points of Common Courtesy:

You want to do the right thing. At least I hope you do. So what, pray tell, is the right thing under these circumstances...

Where to look when riding with others in an elevator. At your shoes? At the floor ticker display? At the other people in a futile effort to make friends? Or perhaps all of these, in rapid succession, because you're trying to establish a reputation as an eccentric madwoman. Success!

What ringtone to set your cell phone to, and how high to set the volume of said ringtone. If you're still attempting to confirm that don't-eff-with-me-because-I'm-effing-crazy reputation, or for the fun of annoying every other living being you encounter, feel free to select Rapper of the Moment/Britney Spears/reggae/salsa and crank that shit.

What to say to a parent who seems hell-bent on setting up a playdate with you. Sure, I'll call you? Maybe next millenium? Your kid seems Ok, but the jury's still out on your greasy ass?

Perhaps for Christmas, and for my own sanity, everyone will receive a little Miss Manners quick-reference guide in his or her stocking. Unless, of course, you're earnestly shooting for that devil-may-care attitude, in which case, rock on.

Walla walla walla, step right up and have a look-see at the amazing...Vivacity! New and improved, guaranteed results! But wait...there's more! No actually, that's about it. New format, whaddya think? A big THANK YOU to my html-savvy friends, check them out on the shiny new links found on the right-hand column.

I find myself on a mission, folks. Operation Mommy's Remote Is Not A Toy. It seems my one comfort in life, my one escape from the insanity that occasionally threatens to institutionalize me, that treasured connection to my revered reality shows and dramas, has been discovered, investigated, and shot down. No longer can I relax after a long day of work, coming home to more work, putting the kids to bed and then working some more...I am now forced to work to change the damn channels on the television in my bedroom.

I believe Spencer when he says, "I guess I don't know where your 'mote is, Mommy. I guess I sure don't." He is my angel-boy, and he won't soon forget the time I cried my heart out when he misplaced my ring.

Julian, on the other hand, is surely the spawn of Satan, sent straight from hell to deliver my pennance by way of long, slow, unmerciful torture. Ok, I may be exaggerating here a tad. He occasionally shows mercy.

But there is no mercy in sight in OMRINAT. He continues to appear completely innocent when asked, even cocking his head and batting his eyelashes. Oh, the facade, how complete it is. And the Oscar goes to...

I suppose this is merely an update, that there is no change in status in our household. Julian continues to reign with cruel whimsy, and if he deems it law that mommies must heretofor change their channels manually, so be it. So it is babbled, so shall it be done.

There are few moments of spoken words from mouths of babes that really grab your attention. Their first word, their first sentence, a cry for help, an exclamation of pride. There are just a few words that can really stop you dead in your tracks and make you take notice of what everyday static you had just been tuning out.

For instance, just the other day, young master Spence comes bounding down the stairs from the second floor, clearly excited, yelling, "Mommy, Mommy, I found Daddy's hooker!"

Just one of those moments when your heart takes a thoughtful pause before resuming its regular rhythm. Daddy's what now? I can't have heard that right.

"I saw it, I saw it, Daddy's hooker, just lying there on the floor!"

Hmmm. Aaalllll right, now we not only have a prostitute in my house, we apparently have an injured/unconscious/dead one as well. And here I thought it was just going to be another quiet evening at home. Silly, silly mommy.

Spencer continues his descent into the living room, around the landing, down the last two stairs and proudly runs over to show me a prize he's clutching in his little hand. Nathaniel's bungee cord.

"See? Daddy's hooker. I found it!"

Aaahh yes. Daddy's hooker. I've obviously wandered onto the set of Leave it to Beaver in the Twilight Zone. June, be a doll and fix me a drink, will you? I've got a pounding headache all of a sudden. {canned laughter}

So when you think you've heard some astonishing, gut-wrenching news, ladies and gentlemen, let's remember to take a moment and consider the source, shall we?

Oh my LAWD am I ever slacking on the bliggitty-blog-blog. Please forgive!

I have a piece of advice for those with husbands/significant others/baby daddies/whatnot. NEVER, under any circumstances, tell them any ingredient of any recipe you make, EVER.

Now I knew this rule, I did, it must have just slipped my mind during a recent kitchen escapade. Having misplaced (that sucker is GONE) my yellow cake recipe, I thought I'd go hunting through my cooking/baking magazines for something new, when lo & behold, there on the page was a recipe for Mayonnaise Cake! I was THRILLED. My mother didn't whip up too many things that tantalized my taste buds over the years, but her mayonnaise cake was always a hit. Absolutely superb.

So as my moist delicacy is baking itself into a chocolate decadence in the oven, I happen to relate to Nathaniel as he wanders by my elation over having found a recipe for Mayonnaise Cake. The man (& I use that term loosely) began clutching at his throat in a pantomime of an astronaut who just lost air pressure in his helmet.

"Mayonnaise? Mayonnaise CAKE? MAYONNAISE CAKE?!!"

I knew the jig was up. I knew this bakery snob would never let a morsel of my hard work past his lips. Eff him then, more for me (& my hips, & my thighs...this back-fired in SO many ways).

So as our little family sat down to a slice of heaven later that evening, he ever-so-politely cut himself a piece...and proceeded to eat every bit...of the icing. He continues to grumble under his breath about "trying to kill me" and therefore, dear reader(s), I must forewarn you...Never, ever, tell your old man what is in anything he hasn't eaten yet. Wait 'til afterwards.

A dear friend commenting on my last post has led me to realize...I've been spitting out the ol' blog for a year now! Good God, where has the time gone. This blog began as a way for me to begin my dream of writing, and from this platform I'm happy to say I've gone on to write a monthly column for the afore-mentioned dear friend (check out mom2momlounge.com), a weekly journal for Babycenter.com, and various articles which have actually earned me money (helium.com)! I am beyond proud to call myself a bona fide earning writer. I thank the kind people at Blogger.com who have created such an easy, affordable (read, free) website for hokey authors of nonsense such as myself to come express ourselves. And of course, for those loyal reader(s) still struggling through my rambling posts, THANK YOU.

From my last post, you will clearly see how I jinxed myself by commenting on the peaceful existence we were enjoying...I picked up Young Master Spence at daycare early yesterday after a phone call from his teacher reported a low-grade fever and persistent headache. How could I ignore the pitiful pleadings of "My bwain hurts!"? Awww, widdow boy, let's get you some ibupwofen and see if you don't feel bettew, you wascally wabbit.

So of course I pick the baby up also, who, not to be outdone, saw fit to LOSE HIS DAMN MIND. The child cried the entire drive home, through dinner, right up until bedtime. I knew I was in for it when his teacher reported only a 1/2-hour nap.

Tonight shall be spent recovering from yesterday, for all of us. And damning the Cavs for giving us such HOPE, man, it was close. So close we could all taste it, the whole city dreaming of our team making it somewhere, anywhere...It's been far too long. Happy Father's Day, LeBron, you son of a gun. You tease.

Friday, I've missed thee so. Bring on the pizza, the wings, the usual Friday fare, all things delicious and drenched in calories. Yummy, yummy calories. Let the laundry rot, let the dishes mold, it is FRIDAY and I am currently unavailable for anything resembling a chore. If you care to voice a complaint, leave your message after the beep. BEEEEP.

After much back-and-forth and a million revisions to plans, Tiff & I have in fact scheduled a meeting with my dear sister. The plan is to get to the root of her boyfriend issues, and see if she might not be happier moving back to our area, from her current residence out in North Carolina. I selfishly think it'd be nice if she lived closer (for babysitting reasons, mu-hahahaha) but I want to help her decide the right course of action for herself, period. It's hard to watch someone make mistakes or be unhappy, but all you can do is reason with them and in the end they will make their own decisions. I wish her happiness and peace.

Luckily we're going out for coffee, because I'm feeling rather droopy this afternoon. I could just lay my head down on my desk right here and make up for the sleep debt Julian so cruelly inflicted upon me this morning. Cock-a-doodle waaahhh!

In other news, Raphael, Spence's kitty, shall retain his left eye. For now. We were very concerned recently when it appeared to be dilated and protruding a bit...2 vet visits & billions of dollars later, we think it safe to assume this is either an injury or an abscess from a recent infection. All good news. My wallet thanks you, kind vet.

So the fam is doing well, I'm happy to report...We are enjoying the hell out of this sunshine with nary a runny nose in sight. Everyone's happy, everyone's healthy...And now of course I've jinxed myself by saying that & I'm sure to return home to a mess of grumpy sickies. I just haaad to be thankful for small favors, didn't I. That'll learn me.

Well dear reader(s), I must vacate this hellish deep freeze (oxymoron?) for the tropical sauna of my car & the drive home. I love that feeling of sliding behind the wheel after a posicle of a day like this one & feeling all the pores on my face open, my goosebumps finally relaxing...I'll never understand the mentality of the higher-ups with their hands on the thermostat. With all the $$$ you could save by dropping the a/c down to a comfortable level, I could collect the fat raise I desperately need! A girl can dream. Someone point me towards the suggestion box.

Oh you silly reader(s), did you think I forgot about you? Well I did. KIDDING! I've been trapped in a whirlwind, unable to do anything but cook meals & clean house & chase after little boys bent on self-destruction. The wind is dying down now...

Today is Al's birthday, & the 3rd-to-last day of school. Next year, high school, and then...the world! I cannot believe he's 15 today. I so clearly remember putting golf balls with him in his grandmother's backyard when he was a darling towhead of six. What happened??

Nathaniel's birthday is just around the corner. He's requested a little homemade cake. Wonder if he'd mind if I jumped out of it? Whatever we do, it certainly won't be a repeat of years past...I always attempt to throw a party that noone can attend (asses) or plan something, anything...The single exception to this rule was the year Tom Petty just happened to be in town exactly ON his birthday and I surprised him with his very first live concert. Freeee...free faaallin'...

I daresay I'll post tomorrow, since work has calmed down and eight legal assistants aren't calling in sick each day. Good night!

I think once you reach a certain age, your core temperature plummets out of control. Menopause, Ok, but what is a man's excuse? How is it that the powers that be have the thermostat set to "Freeze Your Tits Off" and can work perfectly comfortably in that realm all day?? Excuse the hell out of ME, but I am trying to wear summer clothes here, seeing as how it's approximately 80 degrees out today. Why a higher temperature outside equates lower and lower temperatures in the office is absolutely beyond me. At my previous employment, which was a much smaller firm and therefore subject to my unabashed silliness, I once wore a parka fastened Kenny-style and mittens to deliver their precious mail and faxes. They took the hint. They might not appreciate my subtlety here. Not that it matters; I'm pretty sure I'm frozen to my chair. Send for help.

So Sunday is Mother's Day...Wow. I've already received my first Mother's Day card, from a dear gentleman who happens to be my should-be-stepson's godfather. Very touching card, filled with his sentiments on exactly what sort of wonderful mother I am. Maybe not the best time to tell him I hit the bottle on occasion & have been known to scream, "BECAUSE I SAID SO!!"

In other news, dear JuJuBee has FINALLY begun cutting his molars on the other side of his mouth. Thank God, I see light at the end of this long dark tunnel filled with whines and cries. I'm so friggin thrilled, I want to go stand on the corner with a sandwich board proclaiming, The End Is Near!

Well dearest reader(s), wish me a fairly painless weekend. At the very least, I'll be able to control the thermostat. :)

I'm happy to report that last night's trim was a rousing success! I'm head over heels in love with my stylist, she's wonderful. She takes my incoherent babbling and turns it into exactly what I want. Beauty school must teach a course on mind reading.

I took Spencer with me because I'm an eternal optimist. I keep thinking, he won't misbehave this time. He's my angel boy. And I was mostly right, this particular outing anyways. He only scared one poor dear gentleman nearly to death by popping out from under a shampoo sink, and only said, "Watch me!" about two dozen times, physically impossible while having one's hair cut, and only spun himself off a spare swivel chair once. And I actually accomplished what I had set out to do, so...Success! Thank you, my dear boy, for the experience. Vivacity, indeed.

Just wanted to update you, in case you're wondering who that outrageously foxy lady with the new 'do is. KIDDING! I'm actually behind her and to the left, the fairly decent-looking chick in the background with the trim job. You may thank my sorceress of a stylist, that telephathic master of the mousse, the lovely Michelle.

I'm happy to report that the incomparable Mr. John Denver streamed from my kitchen speakers last night. Thank you Ebay seller of trivial crap! I think that's actually his screenname.

The baby & I danced a little jig all through 'Grandma's Feather Bed,' and you know what? His fever miraculously broke & he's been cool as a cucumber ever since. So I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that the Spirit of John Denver can, in fact, sooth the savage beast and/or bug.

Those of you who are tired of seeing me peer out from beneath this mop will be happy to learn I've got a haircut scheduled this evening. The Muppet look is so last year. I'm thisclose to pulling a Britney & shaving the whole damn thing off. It's so irritating! While I do enjoy my short 'do, I am not used to having to keep up with the constant trims that a cut like this requires. I'll never be accused of being a high-maintenance bizznitch. Nathaniel may beg to differ, but he lives in an alternate plane of reality in which I am a "nag" and he is "obsessed with cleaning." LMAO!!!! Slays me every time I hear him say that. You're right, darling, my body language does count as nagging and the tantrums in which you throw everything in your path down the basement stairs count as cleaning. Right on.

How did this turn into me ranting about my old man? Hmm. Curious.

So wish me luck tonight, as I venture off to my fairly-new stylist (she's wonderful) and leave the children with Mr. Clean. Wish us all luck.

I'm hopping on to report that we did, in fact, thoroughly enjoy our weather last weekend. It was everything the weatherman promised it would be & more. Beyond beautiful.

And as I write this, the dark clouds are rushing to gather overtop our little building here, threatening their inevitable downpour & depressing the hell out of me. I feel like that X-Men character Storm, so affected am I by the slightest change in weather. If I lived in California I'd be so damn bubbly I couldn't stand myself! Like, Oh my gosh!

I'll simply continue to curl up to my steaming cup of coffee, content to at least be inside & out of the trenches of our damnable Cleveland "spring." If I keep my coffee warm & focus on work, I won't even notice the depressing weather, right? At the very least, I won't notice the time dragging by until I can go get my boysies. Even with the baby at his moodiest, snuggling on the couch is infinitely preferred to plodding along here, without even the faintest hint of sunshine in my window. Spring, you tease, where have you gone?

I am THRILLED to report that the weather forecast is looking SUBLIME for this weekend. My patience has been truly tested with the recent unseasonal snow, and the five of us (did I mention my brothers moved out?) under each other's feet the whole damnable winter long. I think when Friday afternoon rolls around, we will spill out of the house like one of those practical joke cannisters of worms popping open. POW!

I'm convinced my girlfriend Tiff & I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, provided such a disorder does in fact exist. If so, we are definitely under its oppresive thumb. There is just such a marked change in the air when it gets above 60, something almost tangible. The scent of new blossoms in the air, warm sun on your face, animals humping each other senseless...What's not to love about spring? Bliss.

So slather on your sunscreen, break out your tank tops, & let's do the darn thing!

I just want to document something that I'm thinking I might forget in the future. I'm sure I'll look back on this time in our lives and clearly remember Julian's distinct knack for driving us all crazy, his ability to whine ceaselessly, his irritation made evident over every little obstacle, but I may not remember the sweet things. Okay, thing.

At the end of the day, when the fussing has dissipated and bedtime draws near, I perch said Crankmaster on my hip & begin our little nighttime ritual. We head to the kitchen, where I make his bottle & we discuss what sort of day we had. I use the term "discuss" loosely, seeing as how Julian has one vocabulary word, "uh-oh," which usually serves to describe his day anyway.

When the microwave dings, & the baba is ready, I hold it steady while Julian places the nipple on top. This child may be a Sir Fussalot, but he is clearly headed for some career in engineering. He loves nothing more than to screw lids on bottles, or jugs, or whatever fascinating container begs to be capped.

So he places the nipple, with ring, on the baba, and I say, "Yay! You did it! You put the lid on!" (This is my script, I dare not deviate from it.) At which point (here it is, my favorite part of the day), he grins, ear to ear, pride spelled across his little face, & then squeezes my arm sooo tightly, then releases. Just a squeeze, just a smile, but they mean the world to me. My heart melts, & whatever havoc yon bebe has wreaked during the course of the day falls to the wayside, forgotten, forgiven, as we share this moment.

I felt the need to jump on here, my little time capsule of a blog, and record the fact that Julian does have his endearing points, even if the majority of the time he's gunning for the World's Highest Maintenance Baby record. Love you, JuJuBee.