Sod off, Harvey.

There is an age old question that is asked by people all over the world. That question is: "Where do the missing socks go?". It was once thought that they disappeared to a far away land of magic and wonder. A place where unicorns frolic through sugary meadows and Tootsie Rolls grow on trees. Once this sock has gone to this mystical place we must say a little prayer for the one that's left behind because there's only one place for it to go. Sock hell; the garbage can.

side note: I once found a pair of socks trying to escape together in the pouch of a fitted sheet. You know the pouch. It's the thing that tucks around the corners of your mattress and makes it mortally impossible to fold the damn sheet appropriately. (If you can fold those things so that they fit nicely in the closet, you walk among the gods.) But alas, it was not their time to go and I returned them to the drawer which they call home.

At my house, socks don't go to the land of horny horses. No. They find a fate worse than the hell their counterparts must endure. This horrid place these unfortunate souls, I mean socks, find themselves in is none other than the mouth of Harvey. He uses his sharp teeth to tear holes in their delicate little bodies and leaves them in a sopping heap of drool in the backyard to rot a slow and painful death. Dirty, clean; it doesn't matter. Harvey doesn't discriminate.

Who is this Harvey I speak of? It is none other than this beast right here:

That is the face of wasted money. That is the face of cold feet. I have only one thing to say to that face.

Sod off, Harvey.

Life with kid(S)

When I was pregnant with my second monster- I mean son- I asked the women at my baby shower for advice on how to deal with- I mean take care of- two children. I was given some good advice. Now I would like to offer some things to look forward to, if you will, to women who are preparing for their first child. Or considering a second, because that's just as terrifying as preparing for just one.

~You will get peed on. Probably pooped on too. And puked on. Basically anything that comes out of an orifice will somehow end up on your person.

~You will bare hand a turd out of the bathtub and into the toilet. At least once. It's a right of passage.

~Oh, you're trying to nurse your baby? That's cool because your toddler needs juice. Right now. This is even worse if you're bottle feeding because you have to do this weird chin prop bottle holding thing so you can barely manage to open and close containers and pour liquid with your free hand while you're hunched over the baby in your arms.

~ You have to poop- excuse me "use the restroom". I hope you don't mind an audience because more than likely that's when your child will need to tell you or show you something they think is so freaking awesome that it can't wait.

~When you take a bath alone you may see fingers appear from under the door. This may be accompanied by "Mommy!". It's really cute, I know. Do not open that door. Don't do it. They're really hard to get rid of once they get in. Kind of like bed bugs. If you're lucky like me, your child will figure out how to take off the door handle covers and barge in anyway.

~You were going to stay up after you put the baby down to catch up on that book you were reading? Or maybe you have a show to watch? Oh, your significant other wants to spend time with you? That's convenient because your baby has conveniently picked this time to cry inconsolably.

~Be careful when you choose to drink hot beverages. Right when you're about to take a sip is when your child will excited reach up causing you to spill all over or drop your cup.

The list continues but like I said, I put the baby down and thought I could do this while he was asleep before I went to bed. I can hear him whining... Now I have to run Flash Gordon style before it turns into a melt down.

New Year Intentions

This year I'm making intentions, not resolutions. I don't resolve to do anything. I can't guarantee follow through. However, I fully intend on making some changes. I'm keeping it simple this year to insure better results. My intentions are as follows:

1. Consume a maximum of two sodas a week. (I would have said one but I need to allow myself an indulgence here and there.)

2. Allow myself to be (a little bit) selfish.

• Craft more
• Read more
• Learn how to sew

That's it. Keep-It-Simple-Stupid. This should be easy, right?

Things I've Said to My Son

1. Stop licking your brother.
2. Get your hands out of your pants.
3. Don't touch my boobs. Those aren't yours.
4. Don't put that in your mouth.
5. We don't eat out of the trash can.
6. Mommy would like to keep her clothes on.
7. Stop licking my computer screen.
8. You're a good big brother, but I don't think Landon wants his hand in your mouth.
9. Please get your toys away from the dog's butt.
10. What is that smell?

I have no doubt that as both of the boys get bigger this list will get longer. And weirder.

Placebo

This last week, I'd been feeling things that were all too familiar. Heart burn. Weird dreams. A change in sleeping patterns. After a few days of this, I realized that these things weren't going away and took a pregnancy test. At three o'clock in the morning. I knew what the result would be. Still, I was over the moon. I even woke up my husband.

I thought back to my first pregnancy. I remembered all the things that came with it; the sickness, exhaustion, dreams, heart burn, leg cramps, frequent urination. Just to name a few. I know what to expect. But I also know that every pregnancy is different. That is why, this afternoon, when I started not to feel so hot, I told myself there is no way I am sick already. Come four o'clock I was ready for bed. Again, I told myself no. You see, there is a difference between actually feeling a certain way and thinking you feel that way. I am determined to not let the stigma of pregnancy sickness get to me. Just like being in a bad mood. Take a moment, take a deep breath, and change your mindset.  

Now, If I wake up in a week with my face in the toilet, that's a different matter. I am determined to beat the sickness. Your brain can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Mind over matter, right?

Can't live with her. Can't live without her.

We finally brought my dog to our house. She's been staying at my mom's while Nick worked on the fence. The fence was fixed, so the dog made the journey. Much to my chagrin.

It was so peaceful here without her. I didn't have to worry about her needing in and out. In and out. In and out. I didn't have to make sure she ate, while also making sure Cooper didn't eat her food as well. I didn't have to make sure she didn't snap at Cooper. (Really she only snaps when provoked. If a pushy little toddler kept pulling at my feet and yanking on my hair, I think I might get a little grouchy too.) I didn't have to share my bed with my husband, sometimes son, AND a dog. I didn't have to worry about dog hair being e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. Last, but definitely not least, I didn't have to make sure her dirty little paws dug out from under the fence- like she's done so many times before. Even though she is the cause of much annoyance, she is part of the family, which brings me to yesterday's fiasco.

I let her out in the afternoon. After a while I heard her bark and figured she needed in. I finished up whatever it was I was doing at the time and opened the door to the garage. She wasn't there. I checked the back yard and called her. She didn't make a sound. It was eerily silent. Then I noticed, right there in front of me, was a hole under the fence, with little Kyla hairs stuck in the dirt. Instant dread filled my chest. We live right next to a busy entrance to a rather large mobile home park. School had just been let out, so there was quite a bit of traffic. I ran inside, texted my husband (who was out of town) and paced by the windows, hoping to see her.

Cooper and I got into the car and drove around for about 15 minutes looking for her. The whole time I'm filled with panic at the thought of finding her "sleeping" on the side of the road. My friend Chelsea and her husband came to help us search, but luckily we'd already found her. She was sitting, quite regally, in a yard behind my house, like she didn't have a care in the world. After we got back, Chelsea's husband helped me double check the fence. I locked kyla in the bathroom for a while while my heart returned to it's normal rhythm.

I guess what the moral of the story is, the dog really isn't that bad. Even though she chooses to only bark when Cooper has gone down for a nap or to bed, she really is like a second child. I'm glad she's here and that we have her back. Safely.

-If she does it again though I think her new home will be the trunk of my car.-

Settled

I feel that I can now confidently say that my house is put together enough to be classified as settled. It took a few days but I'm feeling better. Another thing I can confidently say, is that I can call myself a "housewife". I am constantly cleaning/ tidying. I even managed to get some pictures hung (with some help). I am by no means done. But getting closer every day.

My husband has also stepped into his role of home owner with pride. He's already started fixing the fence. He fixed a phone line issue for the internet. He did a minor repair in a small leak in the attic (I heard dripping on my ceiling this afternoon during a downpour) until he can get up there and do it properly.

My son has claimed the house as his. Pretty much instantly. I was impressed, I thought it would take a couple days. Then I remembered that he's a toddler and EVERYTHING is his. He even helped daddy put together the dining table last night. (He stuck a little screw driver in every hole he could find. It was quite humorous.)

Even though we are all busy bodies, we have plenty of time for each other. We eat, play, snuggle, laugh, and more together. I love being home with my boys in our humble little nest. I can't wait for the memories we are going to make.