Whitney be 6 months, y'all

(pay no attention to the date on this post, which is 2 months PAST your actual 6 month birthday...I'm lame.)


You have graced this planet and our hearts for half a year, Scout. Cue Kool & the Gang.  What's that?  Oh, that weeping you hear is just me lamenting the fact that you're growing up at lightening speed rates.  You'll hear it a lot as your grow up. 

Biggest news this month: you can sit up by you's self.  It's true.  You seem way more comfortable with life now that you can sit up.  Maybe you felt too vulnerable in horizontal mode.  Now, you have a fighting chance against any small rodents or birds; you're at their level now, which is good, because you look like you're storing nuts in your cheeks -- I keep getting the stink eye from some squirrels in our yard.  Also, my life is a lot easier with this latest milestone.  And isn't that what it's really about?  Me?  I can just sit you down outside the bathroom whilst I answer my call from nature rather than hold you whilst I take the call.  Okay, I know that sounded gross, but sometimes when a mommy has two babies, she no longer has the bladder control that she once had as a youth.  So, she has little time to put you in your crib, and she feels too uncomfortable leaving you unattended whilst your big brother is around (he means well, bless his heart, but he sometimes forgets to not step on you).  And I only did it a few times, okay...so, take it down a notch.  

Other perks of sitting on your own: you can use high chairs in restaurants, giving you a bath is easier, taking pics of you is easier,  getting you dressed is a breeze, etc.

Also, this month, we're starting you on solids.  You were doing so well with nursing, and didn't seem to be hungry after you were done nursing, so I held off until you were 6 months to add anything else to your diet.  We started with rice cereal, but then your deuces said deuces, so we switched you to oatmeal, which seems to have eased things, bm wise.  On deck: green beans.  

Finally, we've mastered the two-nap-a-day routine, and it only took us 6 months.  You are actually a pro with the naps now.  You take one an hour after you get up in the morning and then another one around 2:00 p.m. (which is usually about 2  hours after you get up from your morning nap).  It's great, too, because I've discovered that when you don't get your solid two naps in, life, she-is-a-not-fun.  

Here's a condensed version of what else has hit the air waves this last month:

•  you weigh in at 18 lbs, 6 oz
• you are a snuggle bug -- when I'm rocking you before naps, you love to nuzzle your head right under my chin.
• your brother cracks you up.
• you are now smiling for strangers...I guess that rumor that you were a snob affected you.
• you'd rather play with your brother's toys.
• your brother gets upset when you try to play with his toys.
• you're super chill in the church nursery...a-thank-you-Jesus.
• you prefer to roll only from your belly to back...and actually refuse to stay on your tummy anymore.  
• you gnaw on anything you can get into your mouth, so I've moved the batteries and poison out of arm's reach. 
• you made yourself cry with one of your farts when I was changing you once...it was simultaneously awesome and heartbreaking.  

Six months.  I feel like life is starting to get into a routine now.  I'm a little slow on the uptake.  What would take a normal, full-functioning mom 3 months to master, takes yours truly slightly longer.  Sorry.  I feel like I'm getting the hang of mom-with-two-kids thing, though.  So hopefully, you feel a little bit more at ease with me.  No more paging that stork to come back and get you.  

I try to think back on life with one kid, when I thought managing was tough, and now I could probably gold medal in it in the Olympics of parenting (coming this summer).  Which also makes me think I should take up juggling.  And, honestly, adding two has been challenging, but I cannot...CANNOT imagine life without you (I used all caps, which means I'm being sincere...and dramatic).  Your sweet little, lights up your whole face, causes you to scrunch up your shoulders smile is the nectar of the gods.  It makes my soul melt...all over everything. Your coos and screeches, while they do attract dogs from near and far, are my favorites.  There's nothing about you that I don't love and want to freeze in time.  (Come on, flux capacitor, get invented.) You complete us. (Don't roll your eyes;  Jerry Maguire is totally underrated and one of Tom Cruise's finer films.  And I don't like Tom Cruise.)


Happy 6 months!  I love you forever, my precious Scout!

6 months pics taken by the fabulous Jen Decker...let's give her a hand, folks.

Happy Easter!

I'm in love with our Easter photo.  Not because it is perfect.  To assign that adjective to this picture would mean you are a.) blind or b.) my mother.  No, no, no.  Friends, the Parkers don't do cutesy family pics.  I believe it's God gift for my writing.  Plus, who wants some dumb ol' perfect picture, really?  Who wants something she can hang on her wall in a nice frame to look at and remember fondly?  I mean, not me! Pshh.  (silently weeps)

Okay explanation.  I would just like to note that I feel our individual personalities come across perfectly in this photo.  Let's go left to right.

1.) Whitney: not looking at the camera; not in her Easter dress.  Perfect.  Whitney had a poop explosion in her Easter dress and the backup outfit I had in her diaper bag hadn't been replaced in a while and it was too small for her (as you can see by her exposed legs).  Also, Whitney doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do, so don't make her look at some stupid camera.  Don't..DO.IT!  She's also a little bit of a snob.

2. Jeanette: Smiling because she wants a perfect family photo that she can hang on the wall in a frame to look at and remember fondly.  Oh, Jeanette, stop being anal, you silly girl.

3. Ben: When I want a posed pic, Ben usually humors me out of love with a complimentary eye roll.  He hates posing for pictures unless he can have his finger up his nose or can make some sort of tortured expression.  Also, he's trying to keep Eli from bounding out of his arms. 

4. Eli: Goofball, extraordinaire. When you ask Eli to smile, this is what he does.  He shuts his eyes and screams "CHEEEEEASSSE!"


He is risen! He is risen, indeed!

Happy Birthday, Dream Boat

Happy Birthday

to the love of my life!

  Love that man of mine.

March Mustache Madness

Oh, the madness.  At the beginning of March, my husband informed me that his employer had sanctioned a mustache growing contest and he would be taking part.  The catch -- he was not allowed to trim it, groom it, nothing.  He labeled it his "nice and nasty" mustache.  Nasty, indeed.

Below is a picture of Ben sans mustache.  He's quite the looker, no?  I should tell you that finding a picture of Ben where a.) his eyes aren't closed or b.) he isn't making a ridiculous face is like trying to find Bigfoot.  You can find one if you search, but they are elusive, my friends. (The preceding statement was in no way a confirmation that I believe in the existence of Bigfoot.)

He's mine, ladies.

Now, here is a picture of Ben and his mustache about 10 days in or so. All he needed was a creepy van and a pair of binoculars, and we would have had the makings of a terrifying Lifetime movie.

Aaaaand here is Ben at the end of his contest...practicing his pose for America's Most Wanted.

Now, these pictures do not do justice to what I was faced with.  He couldn't trim it, so when we kissed it was like I was canoodling with a Brillo pad.  Also, people with children would see us and turn and run. 

And here he is after shaving it off.  And the angels rejoiced.

I'm not sure if he won the contest or not, but it was a great time to be alive.

Whitney: 0; RSV: 1 - Whitney 5 Months

 5 months

Well, your fifth month was interesting.  And by interesting, I mean ulcer-inducing.  Around the middle of the month, your brother developed this cough wherein he would hack up vital organs.  He had a fever one night, I worried about him, the next day he was back to plotting his takeover of smaller island countries -- you know, for the views.  Then you developed this cute little hack.  Oh, it was adorable.  A day later, you just didn't seem like your smiley self, so I took you to see your sage grandmother, NP and she thought you were developing a little ear infection.  Your cough was sporadic and a little more intense.  But, I wasn't that worried.

Enter the worst 48 hours of my life (and I threw up on a commuter train once...do you know what the toilet on a commuter train looks like?).

That very night your cough turned into a "Dear God, did her lung come out with that one" cough and you developed a fever and you looked like you wanted to die; you would barely open your eyes.  You were still nursing, though, so I thought maybe we had hit the worst.  I slept sitting up on the couch with you with the humidifier going.  Oh, I forgot to mention that you were clogged to the eyeballs with snot.  I had to use the aspirator thingy and saline drops almost every hour on you.

That was not the worst.

The next morning, you looked pale, you wouldn't nurse, you were coughing so hard that grey matter was coming out, you couldn't breathe due to all the phlegm, and you would barely open your eyes.  I was sure you were dying of pneumonia.  It was so quick; you turned bad so quickly.

I immediately googled every life-threatening illness I thought you could potentially have.  After I diagnosed you with whooping cough with pneumonia, I called your doctor...the second they opened.
Your pediatrician was out of town, so I had to take you to his very sweet on-call doctor.  I think I cried the entire time I was in his office.  He examined you and said, "Yes, she go to hospital for the night."  Then my heart fell into my rectum.  The what?  Then in a very rational manner, I asked the sweet Indian doctor, "Is she going to die?"  And then the sweet Indian doctor said, "Mother, you are going to be okay?"  Because, oh yeah, I was crying uncontrollably.  He assured me you were fine.  He thought you probably had RSV (a respiratory virus), but he wanted to make sure you didn't have pneumonia, as well, and he wanted to get fluids into you because you weren't nursing. 

So, I called your dad and blubbered something unintelligible to him.  He was able to glean "hospital" and "possible pneumonia" from my sobs.  It's great that you have at least one rational, level-headed parent.  Because during an emergency, I basically shut down.  He assured me it was going to be all right and that he and Eli would meet us at the hospital.  Then, I called your grandma, your grandpa, sent out a mass text asking for prayer, alerted the Vatican, and ran a red light getting you to the hospital.

So, you were given an i.v., they suctioned snot out of you (during which I was put into a straight jacket), then suctioned you again to get a sample for tests, and put you on a monitor, mainly to keep track of your oxygen levels.  A couple hours later we were taken down for a chest x-ray.  You did not move when they placed you on the x-ray table.  Normally, you would flail as if ready to take flight, but nothing.  I started crying again.  Oh, also, you did have an ear infection and were placed on antibiotics.

To recount: i.v., suctioned, suctioned some more, monitor, chest x-ray, antibiotics for ear infection, mother in dire need of sedation.

Your tests came back positive for RSV, but negative for flu and pneumonia.  And after a few hours at the hospital, you seemed to be doing much better.  You slept through the night in a crib that I can only describe as the crib where they send baby delinquents.  The next morning, though, your oxygen levels kept falling, so they...prepare yourself...put you on oxygen.  I'm sure the nurses were ready to kick me out, because I went full on Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment on them.  "Why is her monitor beeping?"  "Her heart rate monitor is beeping."  "She needs to be suctioned again."  "When will she be off oxygen?" "Let me see your licensing." "I would like to speak to the manager."  At one point, a nurse came in and said, "Why don't we just turn the monitor off.  She's fine."  And then locked the door behind her.

the saddest picture ever.

So, the nurse said you would probably stay another night.  Your dad came over to relieve me for an hour, the lovely Jen Decker came to my rescue and watched your brother for a few hours, I came home and packed a bag for the night and looked in a mirror for the first time in a 24 hour period only to discover my incessant crying had given my face a sort of Elephant man look.

When I got back to the hospital, the doctor came to check on you.  He told us that he thought you were doing much better and you could go home in a few hours.  Hooray! So, you were taken off the monitors, your i.v. was taken out, we were given a nebulizer and two prescriptions, and the nurses each cracked open a 40 in celebration of our departure.

I can't express to you how horrifying it is to see your child as sick as you were.  That feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming.  You were so sick, and all I could do was pray.  And, really, the situation was not as dire as I imagine it to have been.  Parenting is hard.  Your heart becomes so vulnerable.  I've said this before, but I cannot imagine raising children without my faith in Christ.  Because, honestly, I can't control your world (trust me, I've tried...stupid hypnotherapy).  You are essentially His, and I've been entrusted to help guide your way in this world.  Having you and your brother has helped me (a little -- I still have a long way to go) learn that He is in control, and as much as I coddle or read books or invest in child-size hazmat suits (they come in lovely shades of highlighter yellow), I can't protect you from everything. 

Okay, enough heavy.  Let's go the likes/dislikes portion of our monthly letter (a format I stole from Sara Falulah Luke).

At 5 months, you like:

• your sophie giraffe.  This thing is amazing.  Perfect for gnawing, orally fixated babies (and that's why it's important to place commas correctly).  We don't leave home without it.
• your crinkle book.  Another favorite toy right now.
• your exersaucer. I put you in this last month, actually, but your love affair blossomed this month. 
• your swing...still.  I've replaced the D batteries (which aren't cheap) in that swing 8 times now.  I never had to change them with your brother.  We tried to buy cheap batteries one time only to discover a couple days in that they were leaking battery acid.  Which is cool, if you're making meth, but we are not. 
• me.  I'm not lying when I say that I will leave the room while your eyes are closed, and you'll start crying. You have this sixth sense...and it's...well, it's just terrific.  (when you're older, mommy will teach you about sarcasm.)  Don't get me wrong, darlin', I love, Love, LOVE being with you...it's just sometimes mommy needs her space.
• my nasally, high-pitched pigeon voice.  Whenever I read any of the Pigeon books (by our favorite, Mo Willems) to your brother, I use this awesome nasal, high-pitched voice for the Pigeon.  And by awesome, I mean ear splittingly annoying.  I also use this voice when I'm changing your diaper...you know, to ease the tension.  You think it's HI-larious.  Just wait until I use it when your first boyfriend comes to meet us.  That and your father holding his shotgun should make for a lovely meeting. 
• your monkey pacifier.  This thing is also amazing.  It's a pacifier attached to a little monkey.  Your LauraJean got it for you.  It's nice because if your pacifier falls out, it's easy for you to pop it back in.

At 5 months, you dislike:

• naps.  When you got sick, your sleep patterns (if you can call them that) went out the window...and we have yet to see any normalcy return.  It's a dilemma right now.  You do nap, but they're not consistent and they don't last as long as they should. And you need your sleep.
• when your swing stops.  
• rolling over.  You'll do it, but it's like watching a turtle flipped onto its shell...you do the whole airplane move, flail your limbs, and cry.  It's presh.
• Your Coldplay lullaby c.d.  It cures many a crying spell that occur whilst driving around town.

Please stop taking pictures. 

Tell her to stop.

C'mon

Not a lot of dislikes right now, but the no nap kind of makes life...difficult.  When you don't nap, life...it is-a-hard. Sleep training is a little more difficult this time around because I'm learning to balance taking care of you and your brother...and at this moment, your schedules are not aligned.   So, we'll just keep trying.  Until then, I will continue to buy Dr. Pepper in bulk.

You are lovely to me, Scout.  And even when you don't nap and my brain feels like it's going to shrivel up and die from lack of sleep, I still think you are pretty great.  Happy five months, my lovely.

Whitney: 4 Months - the abridged version...a month and a half late

At 4 Months, you like:

• your family...and that's about it.  Anyone else elicits a look of annoyance.  You're such a snob. 
• your swing...an intervention is planned soon.  It's the only place you'll nap extensively during the day.  Soooo.
• to poop.  You have at least one blowout a week...it's fun.
• your pink fuzzy blanket.  You will not sleep without it.
• your playmat.  It's so fun to watch you work at pulling the dangling animals down.
• your hand, fingers, anything that you can fit into your mouth without me taking it away from you.  I'm not sure if you're teething, but you do not go a minute without either your pacifier or your fingers in your mouth.
• your brother.  Seriously, that kid could sit on you and you would think it's hilarious.  Everything he does makes you smile. (We'll see how long that lasts.)
• your moby wrap.  You love being carried around in it. 

At 4 Months, you dislike:

• tummy time...you still hate it.  Honestly, I'm not as good at making sure you have tummy time as I was with Eli, but you do spend time on your tummy daily, and you still hate it...with a fiery passion.
• your crib.  Again, my fault.  Apparently, I didn't learn my lesson from your brother.  You sleep fine in the cradle-thingamajig next to our bed, but the second I lay you down in your crib, you act as if I just dipped you into acid.
• non-elasticized pants.  And who can blame you, girl.  You've got quite the tummy, and that cute thing needs some give and stretch comfort.
• your carseat -- at least not for extended periods.  So, traveling to Boston in a few months should be a blast.
• bottles. Eli did not breastfeed; he refused.  So, when you nursed like a pro, I wanted to make sure you would stick with it.  So, I didn't attempt a bottle until about a month and a half after you were born, at which point you were like, "woman, please".  It's fine if you never have a bottle, it just means you and I are going to be like peas and carrots for the next year or so. 

 You are growing into quite a fun little girl, and your personality is starting to come out.  One of my favorite things about you (I mean, the list is quite extensive, but...), is your smile.  When you smile, you smile with your whole body.  Seriously, your shoulders go up, your legs stretch out, your face scrunches up.  It's perfect.

I love you beyond eternity, my dear Scout.

So....

February 2.

That was the last blog entry.

I suck at life.

I haven't blogged in 2 months.

So, here's somewhat of an explanation. 

First, we have a computer from when Steve Jobs was a teenager making computers in his garage, and it moves like a 95 year old with bad knees (makes the same noises, too)...so importing photos and video takes 5 lifetimes.  Seriously, I will start the import process, go out and run some errands, make dinner, recite pi up to the millionth number and still not have my photos.  I have two wee kids, who don't manage themselves -- trust me, I've tried.  Thanks for nothing, Disney Channel.  (please know I'm kidding).  So, waiting for my computer is not something for which I have a lot of extra time.  (Please send all donations to "Buy-Ben-and-Jeanette-a-computer-because-she-quit-her-teaching-job-to-stay-at-home-with-her-kids-and-now-they-can't-afford-a-new-computer-and-are-saving-for-a-trip-to-Disney-World-for-their-kids-and-not-a-computer" fund).

Secondly, our computer is in our room, away from aforementioned wee children and their area of play.  I feel some sense of guilt when I say to them, "Come on kids, mama's gotta do some typin on the computational machine...Eli, you start the crank so I can get it a-goin'."  (I guess I turn into an Appalachian woman when I talk to my children).   So, the only time I have to type is during nap time (don't get me started about nap time) or after my kids go to sleep...and that time is reserved for my DVR and Mr. J. Daniels (again, please know I'm kidding...I honestly get tipsy from an approved dose of NyQuil...I'm pretty sure smelling Jack Daniels would necessitate a stomach pump in the ER) (Notice how I didn't say anything about the DVR not being true?).  

Thirdly, there are so many other things on my to do list, like chipping away at that mound of dirty dishes in my sink (please send donations for a fancy dish washing machine to my "Dear God, why did we buy a house without a dishwasher" fund), trying to make a dent in the ubiquitous amount of laundry in our home, paying our bills (do you feel sorry for me, yet?), trying to locate that dang smell, thinking about cleaning our room, watching TV...I mean important stuff.

Finally, I'm really not that great of a writer and I'm a bit ADD.  What takes my smarter, more talented and focused friends 15 minutes  to whip up, takes me...longer.  I think of something to say, erase it because I'm sure it will offend someone, write something else, erase it because it will land me in a meeting with CPS, write something and Google whether or not I spelled that word correctly or in the right context, then I go to People.com and read about Hillary Duff's baby boy who has a very effeminate name, then I forget that I was writing a blog entry.  Soooo.

So, I'm going to try.  It's important to me to write about my children, because they're growing up so quickly, and I want to capture the moments/events that I'm sure I won't remember due to all the Kardashian reality shows I watch.  Also, I'm pretty sure Whitney already hates me for not writing about her as much as I have with Eli.  My letters to them and my stories about them mean a lot to me, and I hope to them someday.  So, I'm posting this as an accountability thing. It's out there.  I will begin to write more.  My brain needs some sort of exercise and reading Chelsea Handler books ain't gettin' it done.  So, my goal is twice a week.  I don't think anyone but my mother reads this anymore (and maybe not even her since I have to tell her the name of my blog every time I've asked if she's read it), but I guess that doesn't matter; I just gotta dance write.

I have Eli's 3 year post to put up still (for those of you keeping track, Eli turned 3 a month and a half ago) and Whitney's 4th and 5th months posts.  So, tomorrow, I'm hoping to get Whit's letters finished and then start uploading Eli's 3 year video I made him (so that post will be done around his 4th birthday).  Then, I'll write about what ever floats into the moth ball infested recesses of my brain. 

Mmmmm...malted milk balls (see if you can trace back that line of thought).