Kids say the darnedest things

Overheard while the boys were supposedly cleaning their room: "Ok, Mr. Bear, it's time for your enema. PBTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTTHTH!"

Blessings everywhere

I tell you, being 9 months pregnant elicits the nicest treatment from people. Tenants, vendors, friends are all telling me how wonderful I look, how beautiful my skin is, how impressed they are that I am going up and down the stairs. People are giving me presents and asking how I feel. They forgive my forgetfulness. Strangers smile and congratulate me.

The last 24 hours have been one long shower of blessings. It actually started Tuesday evening, when I finally managed to track down the carseat I wanted in the color I wanted (I wanted something neutral, not pink, not covered with elephants) in a Pasadena baby store. I promptly bought it over the phone, knowing I'd be on that side of town on Wednesday. I picked it up yesterday morning before heading to a board meeting for a music foundation I work for.

During the board meeting, the board members asked me to step out for a few minutes. When they called me back in, they told me they were giving me a 10% raise AND a Christmas bonus. Just as affirming, perhaps more affirming, they told me how much they appreciated my work and that they really wouldn't be able to function without me. They also presented me with baby gifts for Elizabeth and a cake topped with pink pacifiers. Oh, the love:)

This morning, the boy who pooped finally did it again, after holding things in for 3 days. I won't go in to any more detail, but I feel like we are getting closer and closer to regular bowel movements. Hurray!

A bit later this morning, Mr. M got an email from his boss, telling him the wonderful news that he had been awarded a Graduate Research Assistantship for the spring (through April). This means that Mr. M will need to work a set number of hours (but not clock in), will receive a fixed stipend AND that his tuition and health insurance will be paid. Sweet manna from heaven!

Here's another blessing, not as important in the long run, but it makes me feel good. I got a somewhat spontaneous haircut last Friday, which is nothing like I've ever had before, and I love it! It has a style! It takes about 10-15 minutes with the hair dryer in the morning. I don't know how different it looks to other people, but to me, it makes a HUGE difference. It's nice to be 9 months pregnant and still feel cute. I have included a picture, albeit a goofy one, because I know you are all DYING to see my belly and my hair.

And now, my whole calendar is clear. Today, I will tidy like a 'pidee (that's what we call spiders at our house) and count my blessings.

What am I waiting for?

What am I waiting for? There is nothing new in my inbox. I click my Google reader - nothing new there. I check Facebook - nothing new there. Sane and intelligent people are gone to bed. There is nothing in the news worth staying up for. My accounts are all updated. There are plenty of more productive things I could be doing, SLEEPING, for one. Or clearing off the table. Or studying scriptures (although I did just prepare a lesson to sub in Primary tomorrow).

Why am I here? What is it that is so compelling about a glowing screen? Am I the only one who feels this? What do you do to tear yourself away? How do you self-regulate on the computer?

I'm going to turn on my cleaning music (low volume, I know it's late) and work on my dishes. I will feel better.

Defecation celebration

*TMI Warning: Read at your own risk. This post will discuss bodily functions!

It's 8:30 pm. I'm sitting on the floor outside my bathroom, reading the grocery ads and taking notes on the sales, while trying to encourage my child to empty the contents of his bowels.

"I won't!" he declares. He has already been sitting on the porcelain throne for at least half an hour. Mr. M has confessed his fear to me that this child has more willpower than the rest of us.

"You are going to sit on this toilet all night until the poop comes out," I insist, wincing inwardly. If he sits on the toilet all night, it means that Mr. M and I will have to trade off sitting on the floor monitoring his bowel movements, or lack thereof.

"I'm holding it in!" he crows.

I counter, "Don't you know that poop is poison? All the stuff your body wants to get rid of goes in poop and you need to get it out. If you hold it in, it will hurt more tomorrow. PLUS, if you go poop tonight, you can sleep in underwear" (not the pull-ups Mr. M brought home from the store).

10 minutes pass. He pushes perfunctorily, once and again. Nothing.

Mr. M pops out of the boys' bedroom, interrupting his story to Ethan, holding a pair of tighty-whities. "If you go poop right now, you can sleep in these AND I'll tell you a long story AND you can have an ice cream cone!" He disappears back into the bedroom.

When the clock reads 8:45 pm, I say to my son, "If you push out the poop right now, you still have time to get a story from Dad before he leaves to go set up chairs at the church. And you get icecream. And you can sleep in underwear."

He weighs his options. He starts to push! His face turns red, his body contorts, and....

TRIUMPH!

"Mr. M, it's time for a poop inspect!" I call gleefully.

The deed is done! The bottom is wiped. Congratulations and general joviality all around. Ice cream, underwear, and a story for the boy who pooped.

Great news

Just found out last night that Mr. M's job has been extended. It was supposed to end this Friday, but it will now run through 12/24 for 10 hours per week! This is great news for two reasons: first, it means we will still have a little money coming in, and second, he will still have his office to go to and work on his research and writing. We are very happy.

Scott, our self-proclaimed manhole scientist, is obsessed with writing notes. He writes sweet variations on a theme of "I love you" and gives me folded up papers about 5x per day. He will occasionally write one to Dad or Ethan. My favorite, from last weekend, was a note written to Harvey, the Super Sewer-Surfing Pig (a fictitious character from the boys' bedtime stories). The note said, "Oink oink oink", which translated into English means, "Harvey, I love you." Scott rolled it up, put a rubber band around it, and left it in Harvey's mailbox, which can be located on the back of the toilet in the boys' bathroom.

I'm off to finish my violin teacher training with Cathy Lee. My delightful husband is in charge of the boys today, getting them ready for school (which he usually does anyway), and making sure they get there and get home at the right times. All on foot. Love you, Mr. M!