Mommy's Juice!: 2011   

Monday, December 19, 2011

The Work Christmas Party and a Test on the Side of the Road



Thursday night was the hubby’s Christmas party for work.  My husband works for a property management company owned by a very nice woman who LOVES Christmas, and hosts an over the top party at her home each year for the employees.  When we arrived at her house I commented to Travis that it looked just like Clark W. Griswold’s house in Christmas Vacation.  I am certain her neighbors are blinded each night when the lights come on.   Inside isn’t much different, with decorations in every direction you look.  She actually looked a little decorated herself with a short, blue, sequined dress and what I am guessing must be one of the best lifting, padded bras on the market!

Every year she puts together bags of Christmas goodies (including bonus checks!) for each employee.  Before giving the bags out, she does a long speech about the company and how much she appreciates everyone, followed by a 3-5 minute thank you to each employee as she hands them their bags.  We are talking like 25 employees here!  Oh, and quite a few don’t speak English so even more time is wasted on the translation.  By the time we got to Travis’ bag I was already texting the baby sitter to let her know we would be late.

Late we were!  After bags are handed out they start the number game for gifts.  You know, where you can take a gift someone got before you or pick a new one.  So not only did we have to wait for each and every person to open their gifts individually, we had to sit through bargain shopping as they wandered around the room deciding if they wanted to grab someone else’s. 

It was after 11pm when we left.  Driving down the road I turn and notice Travis grabbed a "roadie" which he is drinking beside me.  As I am explaining to him why that is stupid I notice a cop pass me in the opposite lane, leading me to look at my odometer, which I realize states I’m going 11 mph over the 25 mph limit. 

You guessed it, he immediately turned around and the lights started flashing.  As I’m yelling at my husband to hide his beer I know I couldn’t feel more like a teenager unless I had hair an inch off my head and was driving a dented Ford Escort.   

The officer’s first remark was to let me know I was speeding.  Of course I was, I’m paying a baby sitter $15/hour to watch my television set while the kids are sleeping, you’d be speeding too!  Noticing the multitude of tacky gifts we've just received in the car, the officer asks where we are coming from.   Just the word "party" has him sniffing like a bloodhound while I grab my registration.  “It does smell like alcohol, have you all been drinking?”  Well duh, how else was I going to get through 2 hours of gift giving?  “He has,” I reply while pointing at my husband, “it was his party so I figured he should be the one to have the fun.”   In hindsight, if I’d known how long we would be there I would have been taking shots before I left the house.

I was asked to step out of the car and then if I had been drinking too.  Uh-oh!  I know after only two beers I’m not drunk, but would a breathalyzer know that?  I admitted to having a beer an hour earlier (not exactly a lie) and was asked if I’d be willing to take the roadside test.  YIKES!  I have on heels, I can’t be trusted to walk a straight line.  And God knows I can’t say the alphabet backwards.  Luckily the test consisted of my following a light with my eyes as he moved it from side to side.  And yes, I passed with flying colors!

Back in the car he told me he would only be giving me a warning for the speeding ticket and then thanked me for being the designated driver.  I felt like I had just passed my final exams in college.  Might as well celebrate with a cocktail!  Once I get home safely of course.  Be safe out there this holiday!

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The Mix Tape of Life



I picked up the latest Jodi Picoult novel, Sing You Home, at the library last week.  I usually like her novels.  They aren’t exactly books that you often think back on, but they are usually a good read for the moment.   Sing You Home focuses on the life of a music therapist, but it isn’t the story line that I blog about today, but a segment of the book that I read last night which really got me thinking. 

The music therapist was reflecting on how the music we choose to listen to is a clear reflection of who really are.  By looking at the “mix tape” of a person’s life we can learn more about that person.   “The music we listen to may not define who we are.  But it’s a damn good start.”

Well of course I instantly put the book down and spent the next hour (of which I should have been sleeping) making my own personal mix tape based on favorite songs and songs that strike specific memories.


1.       Oh Holy Night: Johnny Mathis
2.       Dixieland Delight: Alabama
3.       Free Falling: Tom Petty
4.       Children’s Story: Slick Rick
5.       Oh, What a Night: Four Seasons
6.       Three Little Birds: Bob Marley
7.       Strong Enough: Sheryl Crow
8.       Wide Open Spaces: Dixie Chicks
9.       Fins: Jimmy Buffett
10.   She Talks to Angels: Black Crowes
11.   You Never Even Call Me By My Name: David Allen Coe
12.   Black: Pearl Jam
13.   By My Side: Ben Harper
14.   Angels Among Us: Alabama

Assuming the person reading this doesn’t know me, what would you think of me upon looking at this list?  She must be confused?  Suffering from multiple personality disorder?  Bipolar maybe?    This girl has terrible taste?

Once I had the playlist created, I went back in to see why I chose the songs that I did, and determine if an outsider looking in would learn more about who I was by listening to my chosen mix.   Take a look and see if I fit your idea.  You might be surprised, I was.


1.       After a few holiday cocktails, my Dad would play the Johnny Mathis Christmas album over and over and over again every Christmas Eve.  It reminds me of happy nights by the fire, opening the one present we were allowed to open on Christmas Eve and preparing for a sleepless night in anticipation of what Santa might bring.
2.       Riding in Camaro’s, drinking beer and singing at the top of our lungs.  Memories of small town living.
3.       Every time I hear this particular song I think of a big fight my mom and I had in her car.  I was a teenager, soon to be leaving home for college.  When the chorus came on I sang it as loud as I could while she was driving.  Free Falling to me met freedom from my parents and at the time I wanted that more than anything.
4.       Have I had a few drinks?  I must have, because I’m about to start rapping, and I think I’m really good at it.
5.       Dancing at the night club with my girlfriends.  Not a care in the world.
6.       When I was a freshman in college one of our professors asked us to bring in a song that defined us.  At the time this was the song I chose. 
7.       One of those “get me through a break-up” songs for me. 
8.       Time to leave North Carolina and head to Colorado. 
9.       All Jimmy Buffett songs remind me of happy times.  Warm times.  Friends.  The ocean.  Boat drinks.  I can’t think of one negative emotion that can be tied to a Jimmy Buffett song and I love it!  Yes, I am a dork.
10.   I’ve always loved this song and the lyrics.  I’m not sure if it reminds me of myself or if it makes me feel better about myself. 
11.   I think I’ve been drinking again.  Yes, I most certainly have.  And for some reason I have taken the microphone at the local bar karaoke night and am making a complete fool of myself.
12.   I lump this in the same category as #9. 
13.   The first dance song at my wedding.  Exactly how I felt about Travis and still do.
14.   I heard this song recently and it reminded me of what we went through with Trey’s gastroschisis surgery.  The nurses in the NICU, the surgeon, my friends and family.  I’m so very blessed and so very thankful!  

OMG – do I really have two Alabama songs on my playlist of life!  YIKES!!!

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Updates of a Crazy Household


Mr. Chatterbox


Some blogs just deserve an update!  

On this blog I pondered what the first word out of Trey’s mouth would be.  My biggest fear was that poop would inevitably be the one, since we have spent the last few months struggling with potty training our oldest son.  But luckily, that wasn’t the case!

The first word came across his sweet little lips last week and it was (drum roll please!) MA-MA!  That’s right, ma-ma!!!  My husband may try to tell you that a few days before the very clear MA-MA that was said as Trey pointed at me, that he happened to hear a Da-Da.  This is false information.  The child was clearly just da, da, da, da’ing.  These were incoherent sounds that weren’t directed in my husband’s direction whatsoever and therefore do not go down in the non-existent baby book as his first words. 

Now that we have that settled, let’s move on….

Here I have discussed my son’s new love of rock n’ roll that his dad has exposed him too.  Well, I hate to report, this has only gotten worse.  Much worse!  After watching a VH1 Behind the Artists episode featuring Megadeath, my husband decided to hop on Amazon and buy a few albums.  Rock n’ roll is one thing, Megadeath is entirely another.  It’s TERRIBLE, LOUD, OBNOXIOUS and not exactly appropriate listening material for a three-year old.

I was unaware of my husband’s purchase until one morning last week when he was getting the kids together to take them to daycare.  Jackson asks, “Daddy, can we listen to rock n’ roll in the truck,” followed by, “the BAD GUY rock n’ roll!”  When asked what he meant by “bad guy rock n’ roll” I was informed of what was going on.  He now requests the “BAD GUY rock n’ roll” every morning.  What a way to kick off a day of daycare!  God forbid he starts singing Megadeath lyrics to his teachers!

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Don't Be Dissing Daycare!



I recently had a meeting with another working mom who has a son around Trey’s age.  As I walked into her office I was greeted with a baby swing, pack n’ play, and toys scattered around the room.  Apparently she had been juggling the baby coming to work with her and staying home with dad for the last eleven months.  This particular day was a daddy day, so we were able to meet without distraction.  I commented on how lucky she was to be able to bring the baby to work with her, although I was actually thinking “what a freaking nightmare!”  She went on about how it had been easy at first but now that the baby was getting older it was hard for her to get anything done when he was with her.  On top of that she sensed that her boss was growing old of distractions the baby brought to the office.  She realized it was time for daycare but felt “so terrible about putting him in daycare at such a young age.”

I actually hear that comment a lot and I must admit, I don’t relate in the slightest.  I’m sure many of you will think less of me when I say this, but, I could not wait for my newborns to start daycare!  I literally was counting down the days with baby #1 who started at three months.  And although I was a little more upset when I took #2 to his first day of daycare at just 10 weeks, I got over it pretty quickly.  You know, like the second I sat down in my car to drive to work and was greeted with the sound of silence.

Maternity leave was difficult for me.  I had grown used to hectic days of multiple meetings and hundreds of emails.  Hectic days of poopy diapers, colic screams and constant feedings replaced those days, along with a feeling of being tied to my house.  Of course I made the occasional trips to the grocery store and walks around the neighborhood.  But with hourly feedings, sporadic naps, and a baby who cried more than he slept, I didn’t make it out much with Jackson.  It wasn’t very different with Trey.  Although he was a “better” baby, he was also a winter baby, so excursions outside in the early weeks were few and far between.

I admire stay at home moms.  I fully comprehend that this is a harder job than the majority of professional out-of-home careers.  For my family this was never an option (thank goodness), we need the two incomes.  However, I also fully appreciate daycare.  Not just as the entity that allows me an outlet from constant “mommyness,” but as the place that has become my boys home away from home, the place where they are making new friends and learning more than I could teach them at home.

These are the things I say to other women who “feel terrible” about having to put their kids in daycare.   How can you feel terrible about encouraging socialization in your children at a young age?  How can you feel terrible taking them to a place that will teach them critical skills for starting school?  A place they begin to look forward to going to because of all the new experiences they encounter every week.   And most importantly, a place that allows you the peace of mind to continue your career, support your family and provide your children with every opportunity possible.

Yes, I admire stay at home moms, and also admire working moms.  Working moms make the sacrifice of sharing their children with others in order to help make ends meet.  Although we know we lose many special moments with our children each day, that knowledge only makes the special moments that we do receive even that much more special.      

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Oh Happy Day!



Continuing the story of Trey’s gastroschisis diagnosis.  For details from the beginning click here.

As the date for Trey’s c-section came closer we finalized our arrangements for Jackson.  My mom flew out a few days prior to the surgery to adjust to life with a two year old.  My boys are her only grandchildren and she doesn’t get to see them often.  She would have him for a week on her own while we were in Denver for the birth and I wasn’t sure she had a clue what she was about to get herself in to!   But within minutes of her arrival, my very excited child, had her giving him his bath, making his dinner and tucking him in.  It was as if mommy was no longer in the room!

We had to drive to Denver for the delivery and because the forecast was calling for snow we decided to leave early the day prior and relax before the big day.  Although relaxing isn’t exactly the easiest thing to do when you know you are having a baby the next day and that the baby will be going into surgery immediately after he is born.  Not to mention you’ve just left your two year old behind, on the week before Christmas, and he has no understanding whatsoever about what is going on.  Oh, and let’s not forget you are also having contractions already!  Not exactly the most “relaxing” situation.  Yet, somehow I actually managed to get some sleep that night.  Not much, but some.

Early the next morning we awoke in our hotel room and checked out to go have a baby.  I had an amnio first thing so they could make sure that the babies lungs were developed enough to handle the surgery.  Piece of cake!  Then they started prepping me for my surgery.

It wasn’t really until after Trey was born that I realized I had a surgery too.  I guess I just thought of the c-section as a minor procedure with no real side effects.  I can tell you this, having had Jackson naturally and then Trey as a c-section, I’d take the natural delivery over surgery any day of the week! 

When we went into the room where the c-section was to take place, Travis in his scrubs, me in, well nothing from the neck down, we were greeted by a MULTITUDE of people that I must say I wasn’t expecting to be around while dressed in my birthday suit.  When Jackson was born there was Travis, my doctor and a nurse.  I specifically remember how easy it was to throw all modesty out the window.  This was different!  There was my doctor, the anesthesiologist, multiple nurses, Trey’s surgeon, and the surgeon’s nurses.  My doctor actually asked me, as I lay there for the world to see, if I would mind if one of her doctors in training sat in on the procedure.  “Why the hell not, everyone else seems to be here.”

During the c-section Travis sat on a chair by my head with a big sheet in front of us so we couldn’t see the procedure.  The anesthesiologist was on my other side, distributing drugs and giving us a play by play of the surgery.  At first I thought the drugs must not be working, but then he started telling us about cuts.  What cuts?  I couldn’t feel a thing.  In fact, the only thing I felt was a tugging of my stomach at one point which was followed by him telling Travis he could stand up and look, and that’s when Travis saw our son for the very first time.  Tears fell on both of our faces as he told me how beautiful he was.  It was as if we were in our own world all of a sudden, even with all of the nurses shuffling around getting Trey’s intestines covered to avoid infection. 

Once they had him prepped and ready to move out for his surgery they allowed Travis to go over and take another look while I got stitched up.  On their way out of the room they held Trey up for me to see.  I could only smile my biggest smile while crying tears of joy and fear.  He was beautiful, intestines and all.

Travis went with them to the surgery room and at some point I passed out.  When I woke he was beside me with news that the baby was in surgery.  Shortly after, the surgeon arrived to tell us that everything had gone perfectly.  His intestines went back in with ease, she was able to go through his belly button in order to avoid too much scarring and he was in stable condition in the NICU.  I may not have had a chance to hold my baby yet but for the first time since hearing the word gastroschisis, I knew that I would!     

Monday, November 28, 2011

The Deviled Egg Tour


As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not exactly what you would call a good cook.  In fact, I’m terrible at it.  I try to leave the majority of cooking in my husband’s hands, who is actually quite good.  But when it comes to the holiday’s I feel somewhat obligated to roll my sleeves up and put together a dish or two. 

This Thanksgiving was no different.  We always spend Thanksgiving with friends and though the exact friends may change from year to year, the dishes basically stay the same.  My husband for instance, has made broccoli casserole every Thanksgiving since I have known him.  That would be eleven broccoli casseroles and counting.  These are only made at Thanksgiving and no other time of the year.  I on the other hand, have a different trend going.  When I make a dish that actually turns out good (which isn’t often), I stick with it.  Not just for Thanksgiving, but for every event I’m ever asked to bring a dish too.  Until the inevitable BAD dish comes out.  All it takes is one bad showing and the dish of the moment is history while I begin new attempts at something edible.

I am currently on the 2010/11 Deviled Egg Tour.  I busted these tasty numbers out for a shower last year to rave reviews.  Since then my eggs have hit every holiday table, super bowl party and shower in between.  Prior to the deviled egg tour we had the sweet potato tour, spinach salad tour and a summer fill-in: the black beans and rice tour.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  And when it does break, replace it!

So off to Thanksgiving my deviled eggs, Travis’ broccoli casserole, and a store bought pecan pie went.  The dishes mingled well with the other traditional holiday fare: green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, turkey, gravy, dressing and biscuits.  And although everything was absolutely delicious, shortly after we ate I began feeling ill.  Within an hour I was in the host’s bathroom vomiting up every bite.  Luckily it wasn’t from anything I had eaten, but actually the start to a 24 hour stomach bug (just one of the lovely side effects of having kids in daycare).

I was out of commission for the rest of the night and the entire day on Friday.  Depressed I wasn’t able to truly enjoy the holiday, I tried to focus on the positive side: at least I wouldn’t have to worry about losing those extra holiday calories!  On Saturday, as I began to come back to life, I searched the refrigerator for what little leftovers might be waiting for me.  As I opened the Tupperware that made its way home with us and looked those deviled eggs in the eye, I realized their tour was coming to an end.  Though they tasted wonderful on Thanksgiving night, after their reappearance I just couldn’t stomach another.  And so I begin my search for the next “dish,” to join the Beard tour line.  Farewell deviled eggs, you had a great run!

Monday, November 21, 2011

The "Three"



On a trip to North Carolina last summer, my husband and I went to my best friend’s house for a cook-out.  As we were sitting around having a few drinks an Eminem song popped up on the radio.  At one point during the song my best friend says, “I love Eminem, he’s totally one of my three.”  Confused I have to ask, “what do you mean one of your three?”  She and another friend now begin to explain to me that the “threes” consist of the three people that you have your husband’s blessing to sleep with, should the opportunity ever arise.  My first thought: how have I never heard of this??  My second thought: really, Eminem???

Well of course my mind immediately starts running through back issues of People Magazine as I try to determine who my three lucky fella’s would be.  As I'm dreaming another friend announces that George Strait tops her list.  WHAT??  Isn’t he like, old?  And, I don’t know, old? 

As distracted as I was by this new revelation, I was still able to decide on my number one, which I was proud to announce: Johnny Depp!  Simultaneously both of my friends say, “yuck!”  Yuck?  Johnny Depp, two time People Magazine Sexiest Man Alive, gets a yuck, but Eminem and George Strait are acceptable?  I think not!  Shocked I of course demanded explanations for their stupidity.  “He’s so dirty looking,” and “he just seems scummy.”  Oh, and Eminem seems like a good choice for the clean-cut All American? 

My second choice, Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam, was met with similar disdain.  Not until my third choice, George Clooney, did I even get a “yeah, I could see that.”  Well duh, I think most of our children, parents, uncles, aunts and husband’s could see that.

I was truly baffled that three women, who have known each other since high school, who have very similar backgrounds and interests, could be that spread on our “threes.”  Hell, we’ve even dated some of the same guys, and yet when given the world’s buffet of men to choose from we range from white rapper, to a grungy actor, to a singing cowboy?

After hours of analyzing this conversation in my head, I finally came to the conclusion that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.  It’s obvious that each of us is attracted to different personalities and lifestyle traits in others, but I guess I had always just assumed that good looking was good looking, no matter whose eyes are viewing.  After this conversation I realized what one person is visually attracted too can be completely different than what another person is visually attracted too.

I decided to ask my husband who his three would be.  I was anticipating answers like Giselle, Scarlett Johansson and Jennifer Lopez.  What I got was, “I don’t know, probably Drew Barrymore.” Don’t get me wrong, I think Drew Barrymore is gorgeous, but I never would have thought that would be the person my husband would choose to sleep with if given permission to sleep with any woman in the world.  Hell, she doesn’t even look like me!  Then again, as much as I love Travis, he and Johnny Depp wouldn’t exactly be confused as twins  either??? 

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Sex Education Lesson #1: Don't Grope!



I was sitting on my couch last night reading a story to Jackson, when I noticed his hand running along the side of my boob.  Hmm… I quickly moved it away and continued to read when right back to the side of my boob he went.  “Jackson, what are you doing,” I asked my three year old.  To which he replied, “what’s that?”  He then moved his hand to reach under my shirt while repeating, “what’s that under your shirt?”  By this point my husband is literally on the floor laughing his ass off as shock appears on my face and I begin to ponder exactly how to answer this question that has appeared out of nowhere. 

My initial instinct is to simply say, “these are mommy’s boobies,” but I realize that probably isn’t the best answer.  With a child in the phase of repeating everything he hears, the last word I want to expose him to is “boobies”.  Which of course leaves me with “breasts”.  I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate the word breasts.  I prefer to only use that word when letting the cashier at Kentucky Fried Chicken know what peices I want in my box.  For me it falls in the same category as “intercourse,” “bowel movement,” and God forbid: “ejaculation” (I actually get the chills just typing that one).  Some words were just meant for slang. 

Knowing I had to tell the kid something I came up with, “that’s part of mommy’s body, girls have different body parts than boys,” continuing with, “just like you and Daddy have a penis because you are boys, mommy doesn’t have a penis because she is a girl.”  At this point his hand goes directly to my crotch, elevating my husband’s laughter to a new level.  Jackson seems to be shocked not to find a penis there which I find hard to believe considering he has walked in on me in the bathroom at least three hundred times.   Our conversation now turns to why it isn’t polite to touch people in those areas. 

Yes, I'm aware there are plenty of books out there that I could read which will tell me exactly how to handle the “sex” talks from ages 3-30.  There are probably even classes I could take for $99.99 where an instructor will walk the group through the precise words to say.  But frankly, I can think of about 2.5 million other things I would like to do with my time. 

Thank goodness my husband finally came to his senses and was able to direct Jackson’s attention to another subject, relieving me momentarily from what had just happened.  Momentarily…  because today as I write this I’m sitting at my desk imagining my child walking in to daycare and immediately grabbing for his teachers crotch to determine how she pees.  

Monday, November 14, 2011

To My Friends



I spent my Saturday night hosting a Going Away Party for one of my best friends.  She, her husband and their daughter moved to a small town about two hours away on Sunday.  This is an occurrence that unfortunately happens way to often in our neck of the woods.  Living in a resort community we see friends come and go on a regular basis, and though its never easy to say goodbye, I feel very fortunate to have met so many wonderful people from all over the world in this place we call home.

Webster’s dictionary defines friend as:
1. one attached to another by affection or esteem
2. one that is not hostile
3. a favored companion

My personal definition for friend is a little more detailed.  To truly be a good friend here are just a few of the qualifications I'm looking for:

1.       One who holds your hair back from your face as  you revisit whatever that pink juice in the bathtub was at the party
2.       One who truly lets “what happened in Vegas, stay in Vegas”
3.       The person who has made you laugh so hard you’ve peed your pants
4.       One who actually assisted you in making sure your hair was as high off of your head as it could go, then switched seats so you could return the favor
5.       The person sitting beside you in the car on the way to Myrtle Beach minutes after graduating high school
6.       One who never brings up your “deep” conversations after a bottle (or three) of wine
7.       One who stops by your house supplying that wine when they know you’ve had a tough week
8.       One who had your mom as a substitute teacher but hung out with you in High School anyway
9.       The person who walks into your dorm room freshman year, right after your parents have left and you’re feeling a little scared, and invites you to go on a walk
10.   The person who remembers the stories you don’t and brings them up at just the right time to make you laugh
11.   The person who pops to mind whenever you hear the song “Oh What a Night”
12.   One who leaves with you, regardless of how much fun they are having, if you are having a bad night
13.   One who lets you know when you have food in your teeth, instead of just laughing whenever you smile
14.   The person who agrees to go to the prom with a less than ideal date (as in, yuck!), just so you’ll have a friend to double date with
15.   One who has the other half of your Best Friends Forever charm, tucked away in a jewelry box stored at their parents house
16. One who loves your children as if they were their own

I’ve been more than blessed to find so many wonderful people who meet my “definitions” of friends.  You know who you are.  Thanks for always being there.  I love you!

Thursday, November 10, 2011

A Fall of Fears



Today’s blog is the continuation of our experience with Trey’s gastroschisis diagnosis.  To read the full story click here.

It was around this time last year that we finalized the date for Trey’s delivery.  I was given the option of a vaginal birth but chose a c-section.  Gastroschisis is a condition where the baby’s intestines are actually on the outside of the body, requiring immediate surgery.  For this reason I felt the c-section was the safest option. 

Trey’s due-date was January 7th.  Our first son was two weeks early, so we knew the possibilities of Trey coming earlier were great.  Knowing he would need to be born in a hospital three hours away was also a factor in selecting the date.  If I was to go in to labor at home I’d have to be air-lifted to Denver and that wasn’t something I wanted to risk.  So we scheduled the c-section for December 20th

Adding to my anxiety about the baby around this time, was a pretty serious situation at work.  I work for a non-profit organization that had just had a difficult year.  Out of nowhere my salary was cut by 50%, and believe it or not, that was actually less of a cut than some people took.  We had no idea what the organization was going to do to get out of difficulty, much less if I would even have a job when the baby came. 

I think it was the stress of dealing with both the reality of the baby’s condition and my employment status that had me waking up on the Saturday after Thanksgiving with what I knew were contractions.  I immediately called my doctor who had me go to the hospital where my fear was confirmed.  I left with medication to stop the contractions and an appointment with the Denver doctors on Monday. 

More medication was distributed at that appointment, advice to start taking things a little slower, and the clear message that the chances of the baby’s survival if he was to arrive any earlier than our scheduled c-section date would be much, much slimmer.  He needed time for his lungs to develop to be able to make it through the immediate gastroschisis surgery needed. 

We had still only told a handful of people about Trey’s  condition so I didn’t have much of an outlet to talk about my fears, therefore I just held them all in.  At least as long as I could.  That night it all came out.  I cried hysterically while my husband sat beside me, offering whatever words of comfort he could.  I hadn’t cried like that since the initial diagnosis was told to us.  And after it was over, I didn’t cry like that again.  But at that point I needed to cry, I needed release, I needed my husband more than I had ever needed him, and he was there.  It was then that I realized how much stronger our marriage had gotten in our darkest hours.  Funny how God works like that isn’t it? 

Work became a second thought, we’d get through it.   The contractions continued, sometimes frequent, sometimes a few days apart.  By December I was having ultra sounds twice a week.  Through those frequent visits with my baby on a screen I feel like I came to know him.  He was no longer the gastroschisis baby, but my son, who I was watching go crazy in my tummy.  The nurse commented more than once, “you’re going to have your hands full.”  A year later I can tell you she was exactly right.  I do have my hands full, and I love every second of it.

More to come…  

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Dear Diary



Wow!  Have I ever been off track lately.  I can’t believe how long I have gone without posting.  Needless to say, my world has been a little crazy and time hasn’t exactly been on my side, but I still wish I had made more effort these last few weeks.  God knows I have the material, what with Halloween, a stomach bug, snow storms and a newfound infatuation with the word “idiot” (thanks so much 101 Dalmations!). 

This blog has become quite important to me.  Not just as an outlet to let the world know how crazy each day can be, but to give myself somewhere to store all of these memories that I know one day will bring me such joy. 

I have a terrible memory.  Maybe it’s the gallons upon gallons of beer I drank in college, or maybe it’s the multiple concussions suffered while pretending I was an Olympic snowboarder for years.  Either way, most of my high school/college years are forgotten.  If it weren’t for photos and my dear, Dear Diary, I’m not sure I could tell you much about what went on back then.  It’s sad, but unfortunately a reality I live with.

For years I was as dedicated to a diary as a girl could be, finally trailing off as I left college, got a real job, met my husband and began parenthood.  Hidden in the back of my closet are multiple journals filled with my youthful handwriting.  For years they were just books that I boxed up with every move, pages I knew were filled with silly stories of adolescence, first kisses, trips with girlfriends, graduations, a young girls goals for her future and more. 

Shortly after Jackson was born I pulled each of those journals out and began the journey of remembering.  It wasn’t far into the pile of words when that journey took a turn from remembrance to utter humiliation!  All this time I’d imagined all the wonderful tidbits I had collected over the years only to be face to face with memories that should have been buried with that whack to the head on Snowmass Mountain back before helmets were cool.

I literally couldn’t believe I had skipped writing about all the wonderful classes and things I had learned in college, to instead write about sneaking guys into our dorm, using fake id's to get into clubs, and many other forms of debauchery.  The memories came back alright, and I was going to make sure they didn’t make it any further. 

So black sharpie in hand I began to delete my past.  Granted there were many pages I wanted to stay intact.  I did write about my love for my grandparents, how I felt when leaving home, poems and songs about life, things I would want to be remembered for.  But as for which football player I might have gone home with after the kegger, time to write that off! 

Don’t get me wrong, I was by no means a trashy gal.  For me “hooked up” was as simple as a French kiss.  But imagine if my boys read this five years from now, when “hooked up” has more connotations than even I will probably understand.  Times are different, and so is language. 

I’m sure there will come another day I’ll pull out those journals and be angry at myself that I can’t remember the memories those black lines contain.  So I’ll fill in the holes with the good stuff, what I write here, and will continue to write, regardless of where life takes me.


Sunday, October 30, 2011

Do Fat Heads Count As Decorating?



Last year my mother-in-law got me a subscription to Better Homes & Gardens.  I found this to be an interesting selection of magazine for me.  Truth be told, I’m more of a People or US Weekly girl than the do-it-yourself homemaker.  I immediately wondered if maybe she was trying to tell me something.  Had she caught on that her daughter-in-law wasn’t exactly Susie Homemaker?  That the only thing I have done to BETTER my home since moving in was preventing my husband from purchasing the Tim Tebow Fathead he wanted to put on our son’s wall?

After skimming the first two issues I could not have been more disappointed.  It was around the third issue that I found myself completely bored one day and actually read the magazine instead of just glancing over each page.  By the end of the magazine I must admit I was quite surprised.  I had actually enjoyed my reading. 

Not an enjoyed as in, “I can’t wait to put this magazine down, run to Lowe’s and buy that fabulous new pumpkin colored paint to redo the living room.”  But enjoyed as in, “wouldn’t it be nice if I actually had the money, motivation and desire to run to Lowe’s, buy that fabulous new pumpkin colored pain and redo the living room.”  It’s not that I’m lazy, nor that I don’t care about the appearance of my home, it’s just that I honestly don’t have that …. “thing” … that some people have.  That instinct of exactly what will make their home look better.  That drive to spend hours in antique shops looking for that one perfect item that will change the entire room.   That crafty ability to take a pine cone and turn it into this holiday’s latest rave.  And yet, that doesn’t stop me from enjoying every tip and tidbit Better Homes & Garden’s gives me each month. 

I’ve found my excitement at opening the post office box to see the latest BHG issue equal to the excitement at my monthly delivery of Cooking Light (another gift from the mother-in-law, and possibly another hint).  No, I don’t cook, but I absolutely LOVE to read cooking magazines and books.  Every month I’m scanning the recipes and cutting out the ones I’d like to try.  Try eating of course, not cooking.  I collect all of these in a cute recipe box which I scan each weekend.  I usually pick out two or three and include their ingredients on that week’s grocery list.  I pull out the ingredients each night and hand the recipe over to my husband.  “I was thinking of making this chicken pot pie tonight, what do you think,” I ask him.  Nine times out of ten the response I receive is, “I’ll make it, you just watch the kids.”  I’m not 100% sure if this is his response because he’d rather cook than watch the boys, or if it’s because he realizes I will probably ruin the meal if left on my own, but either way it seems to work out for everyone.

Now I just have to figure out a way to take my new Better Homes & Garden’s tips and work them into my husband’s to do list.  Come to think of it, maybe this was his mom’s plan all along….  Hmmm, smart lady!  

Thursday, October 20, 2011

WTF Mom!



Whether it’s a high-pitched scream or a series of ah, ah, ah’s, it’s evident that the baby is ready to talk!  Trey, who turned ten months old today, is clearly trying to tell us something.  I hear the poor guy scream out incoherent noises to me all day while I try to decipher exactly what it is he wants to express.  For now I just have to guess at what’s on his little mind.  Thus far here’s what I’ve come up with:

When:
watching others eat: “WTF, where’s mine?”

being pushed around by his big brother: “you know I’m going to kick your ass one day.”

in the tub splashing water all over the bathroom: “might as well do it while you still think it’s cute.”

waking up in the middle of the night: “get your lazy ass up and feed me!”

having a diaper change: “this is so degrading.”

left with the baby sitter: “not this bitch again”

asked to ooh and ah on the phone to Grandparents: “you better be sending me a kick-ass Christmas present for this.”

moved away from the dog bowl he’s almost reached: “damn it, I was thirsty.”

crawling around the living room: “don’t you people own a vacuum cleaner?”

caught doing something he shouldn’t: “obviously I’m entirely too cute for you to actually punish me.”

getting sloppy kisses from the dog: “weren’t you just licking your ass with that thing?”

strangers get right in his face at the store: “if I smile will you please get that ugly mug away from me?”

all the young girls all want to play with him: "patience ladies, there's plenty to go around."

dressed in his cute pastel overalls: “you do realize that I have a penis right?” 

Monday, October 17, 2011

Rock n' Roll Baby!



Tonight as I was driving home with Jackson, our 3-year old, in the backseat, he screams over the Justin Timberlake song on the radio, “I want rock n’ roll.”  Um, excuse me??

I’ve never been that mom that puts the kid’s music on in the car.  I give them the cartoons in the morning, I eat the kid friendly dinners, I even catch myself coloring from time to time, but no way was I giving up my music!

My music tastes have always been quite eclectic.  When my ipod is on shuffle you can hear an Eminem song, followed by Green Day, into Jimmy Buffett, into the Allman Brothers, straight to Jay Z, over to Toby Keith and rounding out with a little Harry Connick Jr..  Aside from classical (and kids) music most genres are represented.

My husband on the other hand is what I would call a music “snob.”  He likes what he likes, which is almost entirely classic rock, and as far as he is concerned the rest is all trash.  He actually has this same mentality on a lot of issues:
-          Skiing is the ONLY winter sport, snowboarding is a waste of time
-          Fly fishing is the ONLY way to fish, all other forms of fishing are elementary
-          Budweiser is the ONLY beer worthy of drinking, all other beers pale in comparison

You get the point.  I, being an open-minded person, want to teach the boys to be open to all art forms, sports, and of course alcohol.  When Jackson was only a month old and I was bored off my rocker on maternity leave, we spent an entire afternoon watching VH1 count down the top 100 songs of all time.  I offered my young, impressionable infant, my feedback on each of their choices, along with a list of albums that we need to make sure would be in his future library of music.  The seed had been planted, I was ahead of the game.  Or at least I thought, until tonight.

When I asked him, “why rock n’ roll,” he replied that in Daddy’s truck they always listen to rock n’ roll.  Well in Mommy’s car we listen to all types of music.  At this he says, “but I just like rock n’ roll.” 
As if that didn’t hurt enough the next words he spoke were, “maybe when you grow up you can get a big truck like Daddy’s and you can listen to rock n’ roll too.”   

Maybe I should just go ahead and start shopping for ski gear and fly fishing rods now.  At least I still have time to convince him that Budweiser stinks!

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

And How Did the Hershey Bar Get There?




You know how you have some stories that just never get old?  Ones you tell your friends over and over and they continually ask you to repeat at parties?  At some point I think you get tired of hearing yourself tell them.  I’m totally over throwing out all the details on how I got the head cheerleader kicked-off the squad in high school.  I’d rather talk about politics than have to tell the story of how I was “banned for life” from a certain nightclub for my not-so-nice behavior.  And please don’t ask me about the time my mom yelled at me while I was in jail, everyone has certainly heard that enough times.

Another story that my friends find quite humorous took place shortly after my husband and I started dating.  Today I will share this one with you, but from here on out it too will enter the vault of “enough already.”  At some point people are going to start thinking I make this stuff up!

When my husband Travis and I first started dating, I was working as the Front Desk Supervisor at an athletic club.  A few days a week my shift would actually start at 5:30am in the morning.  For me it might as well have been 4am, anything before the sun is up is completely unreasonable.

Travis conveniently lived about a mile from the athletic club, while I lived fifteen minutes away.  When you have to get up that early you try to save as much time as you can, so I often stayed at his place to allow myself those twelve extra glorious minutes of sleep.  My wake-up routine consisted of putting on my clothes, throwing my hair in a pony tail, brushing my teeth and walking out of the door.  Showers, make-up and the rest could wait. 

Living in a studio apartment at the time, Travis’ place was equipped with only the very basics.  There was no separate living room so we would hang out on his bed.  When I would go to sleep early to get as many winks as I could, he would stay up beside me watching television until he fell asleep.  As I said, we hadn’t been dating that long when I decided to stay one night to save myself a little time, so we were really still in the “getting to know you” phase.  One of the things I had gotten to know thus far was that Travis had a HUGE sweet tooth.  He would literally sit down after dinner and eat an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s, often with extra candy thrown in for fun.  On this particular night it was a Hershey bar that had caught his attention as I started to drift off.

When I woke to the alarm at around 5:22am the next morning, approximately eight minutes before I had to open the club, I ran to the bathroom to start my routine.  With eyes barely opened I ran the brush through my hair.  Well, partially through my hair.  I immediately hit what must have been the biggest tangle in history.  I pulled to no avail and finally opened my eyes up enough to see: a giant Hershey Bar melted to the side of my head!

Apparently Travis had passed out in the night, Hershey bar in hand, hand on top of the side of my head.  What could I do?  There was no time for a shower, no time for a haircut.  I had no choice but to put on my uniform, rush to work, and sit there like I just got in from Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  I’m sure you can imagine the faces of these health nuts, arriving to the sight (and smell) of my new hair accessory. 

Oddly enough, I didn’t break up with Travis like I had imagined doing that entire morning at work.  We have laughed about that story so many times it’s actually made the embarrassment of the situation totally worth it.  So go ahead, have a laugh at my expense, I’m retiring the story anyway.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Accepting the Facts



Today’s blog continues the journey of the birth of our second son Trey, who was diagnosed with a very rare disorder called gastroschisis at our second ultrasound.  To follow the full story please visit On A Serious Note.

After the first trip to Denver to meet with the high risk pregnancy doctors there were three things that I was having a hard time grasping.  One: that upon Trey’s birth he would have to go immediately into surgery and we wouldn’t have a chance to actually hold him.  Two: that Jackson, our two year old, wouldn’t be able to see the baby until he was released from the hospital because siblings were not allowed in the NICU.  And three: that Trey’s hospital stay could range anywhere from three to twelve weeks. 

I remember the lady that does my hair demanding that I come in within two months of my delivery date with both boys so she could touch up my roots.  Her point being that all pictures of newborn babies show the mom holding the baby and looking down, with roots in full view.  She didn’t want the reputation as the hairdresser whose clients had bad roots.  For some reason this continually popped in my head as I realized I wasn’t going to get that picture with Trey, because he was going to be rushed off immediately into a surgery that we could only pray was successful.

The fact that Jackson wasn’t going to be able to see Trey for weeks after he was born, along with the knowledge that there was a risk of complications with the birth and surgery, all be them low, made me very hesitant to even talk about a new brother while I was pregnant.  Most families spend this nine month period bracing the oldest for what was about to happen.  I spent it bracing myself and shielding Jackson from the difficulty that lay ahead. 

Not having friends or family in Denver, the thought of an extended stay there while Trey recovered was quite daunting.  There was no possibility that we would be able to afford a hotel room for that long so the hospital had suggested I visit the Ronald McDonald House.  Not having any previous experience with Ronald McDonald House Charities, I must admit, this didn’t seem like a very appealing option to me.  I feared this was a place of minimum amenities for low income families.  The realization of what Ronald McDonald Houses really are was both shocking and one of the most positive outcomes of this entire experience. 

I visited the Denver Ronald McDonald House while in town for my second visit with the high risk pregnancy office.  Not only was I completely surprised by what I saw, I left knowing that things might just be okay.  For a “suggested” donation of $20/per night we would be able to stay in a warm, clean, comfortable place, with an outdoor playground for Jackson, two indoor play areas, computer room, full kitchen with all appliances, free laundry and so much more.  We could stay there with our son, our mom’s, whatever we needed.  And we would be in a place with people going through similar situations as our own, which was a blessing to us all.  Volunteers of the Ronald McDonald House provide meals throughout each week.  In a four week stay there were only 2-3 nights that we had to worry about providing dinner on our own.  Volunteers were also on hand to provide much needed massages for troubled mothers, donations of tickets to area attractions (including the zoo which was HUGE with a little one), cleaning, and so much more.  I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, next time you are at McDonalds and you see the change box for the Ronald McDonald House, don’t hesitate to give.  This is an amazing organization doing so much good for so many!

On that second visit to Denver I also met with the pediatric surgeon that would be doing Trey’s gastroschisis surgery.  When she walked in the room my heart dropped.  She must have been at least five years younger than myself.  To think that someone of that age would have my newborn’s life in her hands scared me to death.  On the drive back home that day I had to grasp this fact, accept it and realize she wouldn’t be where she was if she didn’t deserve it.  In the end, I was exactly right!

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Friday Funnies #9

Happy Friday Everyone!  Hope your weekend forecast is looking better than mine. Guess we'll be headed to the movies!
Oh, and be sure to check out my guest post this week on a great site: At Home with Rebecka



We took the boys on a long camping trip to Moab, Utah last weekend.  Moab is about 3 and half hours from our house.  About three minutes in to the drive my son asks, “are we here yet?”  This continued every 2-3 miles for pretty much the entire trip.

Our campsite had a small sandy “beach” that led up to still river water.  As soon as we arrived our 3-year old ripped off all of his clothes and slid down the “beach” butt first.  I’m sure you can imagine where the sand went. 

I believe I have mentioned before how much I despise grocery store “car” carts.  We went to a new store last week where the car portion is on the front so you can’t see what the kids are up too.  At one point Jackson got out leaving his 9-month old brother strapped in.  As I was walking up to the line and lady runs up screaming to the cart.  Apparently Trey had fallen over and was just kind of hanging there.  I should really get a mother of the year award.

Jackson started swimming lessons on Monday.  I came fully dressed to watch.  I was soaking wet 10 minutes into the “lesson” as I continually had to push my screaming child in to the pool.  A friend of my husband's happened to be there with his kids and took it upon himself to video my pain and send it to Travis for a good laugh.  Guess who'll be taking Jackson to swim lesson's next week?

I read an article this week bashing the likes of Jennifer Anniston and Kate Middleton for “recycling” their outfits. If I had to wear a new outfit everyday to keep from being criticized I’d have to turn my children into Chinese sweat laborers sewing from dusk ‘til dawn.  Luckily, I'm able to wear the same pair of jeans three days in a row with not a soul noticing.

After a stressful morning I ordered a Bloody Mary while having lunch with the family.  When the waiter dropped it off and Jackson asked what it was I said, “tomato juice.”  The waiter walked away in hysterics why I explained that tomato juice is very spicy and therefore not for little boys.  He came back to check on us later and asked behind a huge smile, “may I get you another tomato juice?”   I just love it when everyone plays along!



Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Suck This!



I like to think of myself as an advice giver.  Make that a good advice giver.  I am asked for my opinion from friends and co-workers frequently and always give honest feedback, regardless of whether or not it is what I think they are looking for. For instance, if you ask me to tell you if your husband is being irrational when he tells you he’s not going to your parents for Christmas the answer is probably going to be yes.  But you may not expect, “yes, he’s being irrational and for that reason I would invite your parents to come to your house instead.” 

I gave my sister very sound advice the day she walked up to the bus stop with her head gear on and I told her to go inside and take it off.   Being the goody-goody that she is she told me, “no, the orthodontist told me to wear it as much as possible.”  I’m just going to take a guess that she wished she had listened to me when we got on the bus to roars of laughter and unpleasant new nicknames.  Being the good sister I am I of course took a punch at the girl down the street which calmed things down a bit.  By the time we rolled up to the school my advice had been taken.

Although my husband rarely listens, I have offered him many pieces of sound advice over the years.  Like the day he walked out of his job while telling his boss to f*** off exactly one month before our first child was due.  My advice, “don’t come home.” 

But today, I ask for advice.  I’m looking for a solution to the “thumb-sucking” issue.  Our three year old son Jackson started sucking his thumb at around two months.  At the time I remember thinking it was the greatest miracle to ever happen.  I had no idea how to make this tiny monster stop his continuous crying myself so it was truly a blessing when he figured it out on his own.  I just assumed this was a habit he would grow out of after a few months.  I assumed wrong.

In fact, not only has the thumb sucking continued, it has increased.  Initially he sucked to calm himself down or to help him fall asleep.  Now he sucks all day long.  I pick him up from school to find him sucking his thumb on the playground, looking in my rearview mirror I almost always get a shot of him sucking in the backseat, just yesterday at his swim lesson he was holding on to the floaty with one hand and sucking with the other.

We’ve tried to verbally remind him to remove his thumb from his mouth over and over but with no luck.  I’ve tried bribery but lately I have to save that card to ensure potty training continues.  So where to go next?  Hot sauce, gloves, amputation??  I am open to any and all suggestions so please send them my way.  Otherwise I might have a four-fingered, Mexican, OJ Simpson on my hands!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

My Wordless Wednesday Wish



I’ve noticed the blogging trend of “Wordless Wednesday” as I hop around and visit friends.  As I’ve said before, I think this is a great idea however as the girl voted Most Talkative of the class of 1993 at Northeast Guilford High School, one that I don’t feel I could participate in.  That said, today I would like to focus on a different kind of wordless Wednesday, one in which I am able to enjoy complete silence from my three-year olds constant chatter.  

I suppose I can blame myself for this non-stop noise, I am the one with the chatty gene in the family.  But hey, I take breaks for a breath here and there.  This kid can literally talk for hours on end with absolutely no break whatsoever.  Take for example our trip to the grocery store on Monday.  The stars had aligned and there was exactly one car cart available (I so hate those things) that Jackson ran too and begged to use.  I put him and Trey in the front and off we went.  Here is just a sample of conversation from one aisle, where Jackson spoke to every single person we came in contact with:

“This is my little brother, his name is Trey, Trey’s driving, do you know my little brother?”

(in regards to the Halloween decorations) “We just saw a witch, did you see the witch, the witch is over there, go see the witch, she's for Halloween, you know what, I saw that witch for Halloween.”

(holding up a box of macaroni) “Look what I got, I got this, you know what, this is for dinner, will you have mac & cheese for dinner, I like mac & cheese, do you like mac & cheese?”

“That is my mommy, where is your mommy, do you know my mommy, you know what, her name is Andrea.”  Yes it is son, and Andrea is about to go insane!

Later that day as we were driving to the park my husband calls, “how’s everything going?”  "Well," I explained, “Jackson hasn’t shut up since opening his eyes this morning.”  This fact was confirmed as Jackson could be overheard in the backseat:

“Look mommy a deer, I saw a deer, did you see the deer, where did the deer go, find the deer mommy.”

My husband was laughing hysterically while commenting, “he’s so cute.”  Really?  I'd like to see how cute Daddy thinks he is when he’s the one stuck in the car with Mr. Motor Mouth.

Which is exactly what happened the next day as we were all in the car!  After a continuous twenty minutes of chatter from the backseat my husband yells, “Jackson, please be quiet.”  And there it was, it may have been brief, but a moment of silence had finally arrived, followed by an earth rattling cry with the words, “BUT I WANT TO TALK!!!!!”  And so he did, and does, and does, and does.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

He Said What?


It’s amazing how much quicker our second son is picking things up.  He sat up sooner than our first, crawled sooner than our first, laughed sooner than our first, and the list just continues to grow.  I have no doubt in my mind I’ll turn around in a few weeks and see him walking towards me.  I assume this is all due to the constant observance of his older brother and the desire to do whatever it is he is doing.

This weekend I sat and listened to him try so hard to form a word that actually made sense to the world.  Jackson and I repeated every nonsense phrase he was babbling and laughed out loud at each one.  This got me thinking that we were probably quite close to hearing that first word come out, and wondering what exactly it would be.

Jackson’s first word was “Boone,” the name of our chocolate lab. This didn’t surprise me in the slightest because it was probably the word that he had heard most often in his short life.  We were constantly yelling at Boone:
“Get away from the baby Boone”
“Boone, quit licking the babies bowl”
“Boone, quit barking or you’ll wake the baby”
“Off the baby’s blanket Boone”
“That’s the babies toy Boone”

So now I ponder, what will Trey’s first word be?  It won’t be Boone for two reasons:
1.       Boone has already been through the drill of a baby in the house and doesn’t need as much instruction anymore
2.       Needless to say the attention the dog is getting is considerably less these days

I spent Sunday carefully listening for the words most often being used in our house to try and get an idea of what that memorable moment might entail.  The results?  Well not exactly what I was expecting:

1.       Jackson: quite obvious of course.  Both my husband and I probably use our first son’s name more times in a day than a grocery store bagger says “paper or plastic?”  However, I don’t think Jackson will make the first word status only due to the fact that it’s two syllables.
2.       Stop: as in:
“Stop hitting your brother”
“Stop crying”
“Stop spitting”
“Stop pulling the dog’s tail”
“Stop opening the refrigerator”
“Stop talking”
You get the point.  This word very well has a good chance of being the first, though I would hate to have to record that.
3.       Poop: yep, this is probably the next most popular word in our home and the one that I pray doesn’t get placed in the baby book as Trey’s first.  I didn’t realize until listening to us closely on Sunday just how popular of a word this is in our home.  Not only do we ask Jackson about 20 times per day, “Do you need to go poop,” we also ask Trey multiple times “did you just have a poop,” and the dog, “do you need to go outside and poop?”  Aside from asking each other about our bowel movements, I’m not sure how many additional times this word can come out of our mouths.  I just hope it doesn't come out of Trey's too soon. 

Knowing this memorable occasion of a first word is just around the corner, I’ll be sure to keep you posted on what comes out.  Out of the mouth that is, you’ve already heard enough about what’s coming out other ends.