Anatomically Correct

I realize that in writing this post, I run the risk of offending several people by the anatomically correct terms I am about to use. Until I became a mommy, I was highly bothered by these terms. Now that we have a little boy to raise, we have decided not to be cutesy with words to label his body parts. We just rip off the band aids and call each and every body part what they are when asked by Mr. Curiosity. So, now that I laid out that disclaimer, let my most embarrassing Mommy story to date begin.....

Garrett and I were at Target on Wednesday. Shocker, I know. We were doing our usual weekly grocery shopping which tends to fill up the whole buggy. Yes. We call it a buggy. I have been informed this is weird. At the beginning of each trip, Garrett rides in the buggy and eats a snack. As we approach the end of our trip, he has to get out to make room for the goods. And, at the VERY end of the trip, the buggy is really heavy and hard to push. And Garrett likes to think he is super strong and can push it himself to help dear old mom out. His newest trick is to let me hold onto the handle and push the buggy while he gets behind me and typically pushes on my lower back. It's all very technical you see. We have this technique down cold.

And pass out cold was almost what I did this week when we were in the midst of our little routine. You see, this week, for some strange reason, Garrett had his hands on my bum. One little hand on each cheek. The hands were really at the top of each cheek and he's a little guy and has no clue it's not appropriate to touch someones bum. I should have said something about that but didn't as I was really ready to get to the check-out and go home. Instead, this is how the event played out:

G: Mommy, I am helping you poosh this buggy. It is so heavy, Mommy.

M: Thanks, buddy. You are a great helper.

-Now mind you, this is all in an almost shouting voice as T-store was WAY crowded-

G: Mommy, I like pooshing you. Mommy, I hold onto you and poosh.

M: Yup. Thanks, buddy.

G: Mommy, are these your testicles?

M: (Insert long, long pause here. Maybe he'll stop talking and no one really heard his shouting T word).

G: Mommy, I said, are these your testicles? (In a screaming voice)

M: (Oh, dear Lord. What do I say? And must ALL of these people continue to stare at me?) No, buddy. That is Mommy's bottom.

G: Oh, your bottom.

And that was the end of that. Why, oh why, did someone, say the lady teaching Parenting 101 at the hospital, prepare us for this stuff? And why, oh why, did I have to label that portion of his body so anatomically correct when he first asked? I must say that Garrett is building my character. Visit by visit to Target store. I might need to go there when Daddy is home to watch him.

If you leave the country, we'll write a post just for you.....

Yes, yes. Our dear Mimi has left the country. She has migrated all the way over to Japan. And, like a good daughter, I promised her that I would blog daily with pictures of her favorite grandson (okay, he's the only, but who's counting?). I have failed her miserably. Please forgive me Mimi!


Garrett has been up to the usual. Still likes to wake up, not put on any clothes, would really like to wear his pj's all day. Even to "Taw-get st-uh". BUT. On Monday he WANTED to get dressed. Because he saw me cooking breakfast in the kitchen (yes, something more than just eggos, toast or oatmeal) and immediately shouted:

"I need my apron. It is in my closet, Mommy."

"Um, no buddy. It is in the pantry. I'll get it for you."

"No! No! NOOOOO! It is in my closet."

Bewildered, I followed him to his closet and he, while jumping up and down mind you, picked out his overalls. "MY APRON!!" he proclaimed. I laughed so hard it took me a while to correct him that these were his overalls (that he has worn once after the season I bought them to go with this super cute plaid shirt. And now the apron is too small and I really should have packed it away once the heat wave began).

So, like a good mommy who let's her son be "himself" when it comes to clothes, I helped him put on the apron and then held him up to pick out a shirt. And oh, dear Lord. Let's just say that the shirt he picked out was a really cute Easter outfit shirt that had the most adorable argyle vest to go over it. But since the vest just wouldn't really fit under the apron it caused the most country bumpkin effect I've seen in a long time. And to top the outfit off, the little man picked out his signature shoes: mismatched Crocs or "opposite shoes" as he would say. When all was said and done, I couldn't help but giggle until the cows on this farmer's farm came home:

Wasn't really planning to leave the house so it didn't matter to me. Then I remembered we DID have places to be. So, in an effort to get up and out of the house quickly, I let him stay in the farmer get-up. Before leaving we did go out to check the mail and our neighbor, Ms. Fashion herself, and her little boy were out in their yard. Perfect.

Our errands did not consist of too much. Other than the giggles and stares. And finally we met Daddy for lunch at Chili's. As Garrett ran over to Daddy screaming his name with glee, I thought that again, Daddy just might have a fashion-induced heart attack. He did not. But he did give Mommy a few "What in the world" and "Why did you let this happen" looks. It's good for him. Daddy that is. Builds character. And prepares him for those teenage years when G-man might come home with piercings and green hair. (Alright, I give Daddy a hard time....he really doesn't mind. I don't think. He's madly in love with this little man.)

So, dear Mimi. We hope this little post on this little blog with help you get a "Garrett Fix" even though you are thousands of miles away. I'll do better over the next few days, promise!

Benadryl is NOT Our Friend

I repeat, Benadryl is NOT our friend.

Garrett has had these awful looking bug bites on the back of his legs for over a week. At first, they looked like small mosquito bites. But as the week has progressed they have tripled in size. After they started to develop rings around them, I called the pediatrician's office to make sure it was all "normal".

Let me just stop right here and give a huge shout out to Betty (real name not used to protect the innocent). Betty, you deliver every time. The monotone voice, the passive-aggressive comments and the utter lack of encouragement to a first time mom who only wants to check in and make sure her little one is safe. You got it all goin' on Betty.

If you can't tell, I just adore Betty at the pediatrician's office. (insert sarcasm here) Why she is the ONLY nurse to EVER return my calls, I do not know. I probably should start sending Betty love gifts to butter her up for the next time I call. Or I could find a new pediatrician.

Now that you know the tone of the conversation, it goes a little something like this:

B: "Well, Mrs. Wade, I don't know what to tell you. They are bug bites."

J: "Yes, I am aware they are bug bites. I am concerned about....blah, blah-blah, blah-blah"

B: "Well, Mrs. Wade. I would suggest you do x,y,z"

One of the x,y or z's was to give G Benadryl every six hours. Even though he wasn't itching. It should help the swelling she says.

First dose given at 2 pm. No problem. Second dose given at 8 pm (bedtime). Daddy leaves to go to his softball game leaving me to fend for myself. No problem.

I put Garrett to bed. Kiddo has such a happy heart. So happy it encourages him to call out "Mommy" over 100 times, splatter his whole sippy cup of juice on his sheets, pillow, somehow creating a ring around his pj shirt neck, throws every "blanky bear" across the room, listens to 2 rounds of his B-I-N-G-O CD and oh yes, call out "MOMMY" another 100 and 20 times.

I tried the sweet, Mommy will rub your back routine and the Mommy will change your sheets ad PJ's without being too upset routine. And finally, I realize. He isn't just 'not sleepy'. He is WIRED. And it's the dang Benadryl.

Darn that Betty!

At this point in the evening, I dragged him into my bed because I was going to pass out from exhaustion in his little twin bed with double guard rails. Which would have left me with lovely neck and back cramps for days. He still put up a good fight in my room. Little fella didn't fall asleep until 10:44 pm.

Darn that Betty!

So, point to that story is that Benadryl is NOT our friend because it WIRES our child. Until 10:44 pm and then only allows him to sleep for 30-40 minute increments at a time until right before 6 in the morning.

Needless to say I threw the bottle of Benadryl out as I cursed, I mean prayed for, Betty and the the lovely advice she shared.

On a brighter note, the bug bites are improving. And we now own 3 types of bug repellent. I pray one will work.

Anyone know of a Benadryl alternative?

This is the Life

So, we are driving home from church last night and as we pull into the neighborhood, Garrett does what he always does: he rolls down his window. It is his newest OCD habit. (Okay, he really doesn't have OCD but once he gets his mind fixated on something, watch out. Poppy has conveniently nick-named him Munk, Jr. I, for one, don't watch the show but from what I'm told, Munk is a bit OCD himself.) And so, he must, at all times upon driving into our neighborhood, roll down his window.

As if on cue, Garrett rolled down his window, sat back in his car seat and proclaimed, "THIS IS THE LIFE!"

Do what? Kenny and I just stared at one another. Neither one of us use this verbage. At all. Ever. So, where on God's green earth did he get this?

This is the life. Huh. Go figure. I guess it takes a two year old to remind us that yes, this IS the life, indeed.

Alo-who and Alko-what?

So, this morning, we Wade's decided that since our most coveted plan of going to the neighborhood pool was nixed due to the morning rain, we'd head on over to the mall to get some good exercise in the play area, toy store (thanks for that introduction Big H) and merry-go-round. We made it to the toy store but somehow didn't make it to the other two.

After exiting the toy store without a hitch, we began walking and came into contact with one of those little kiosk booths. That had pet crabs. That I have been eyeing, oddly so, ever since the kiosk came to the mall. For some strange and unexplainable reason, every time I see this kiosk I am intrigued.

I never had pet hermit crabs as a kid. I did have two dogs at all times. So don't even feel sad for me. My parents were/are the best. But I always wanted some little creatures. And my grandmother, Gran, was oh-so-good at taking me to the pet store when I went to visit her but never let me take home the hamster, rabbit or gerbil. I think she must have known my mama would have had a stroke. Or my daddy. Not sure which one. But anyway, I kept thinking that Garrett would see these crabs and throw a fit of all fits to have them. Not once in all of our trips to the mall has he done this.

Today he was intrigued by them. He watched them silently in some sort of awe. Not sure what kind but some kind. So, being the, um, what did Kenny call me, oh right, being the "projector of my childhood" I enthusiastically asked G-man if he wanted to pick out some pet crabs to take home.

"Okay, Mommy."

I am not sure who was more excited. Me or the kiddo. Wait. Yes I do. It was me.

Garrett picked out a lovely blue little tank/box thingy to keep them in and picked out green sand as their padding. He then took his sweet time picking out TWO little hermit crabs. A fine yellow one and a fine green. Both neon-esque.

I paid, Garrett sat down in his stroller and we were off. I stopped at one point to ask him what the crabs should be named. He said, "Al-oh-wee and Al-koh-wee".

Uh-huh. I repeated those names over and over again just to make sure I had the pronunciation correct. Yuppers. That's really their names. Apparently Garrett is French. Or Hawaiin. Or something other than American. Poor kiddo kept looking at me like, "Duh, Mom. I've told you their names like 100 times. Why do you keep asking?"

So, we trekked Alohwee and Alkohwee through the mall, into the car and home into G's bedroom to watch him while he sleeps. I've been sitting here typing and listening to the monitor to make sure he doesn't try to sneak them into his bed. I am not real sure putting them in his room was the best choice. We'll soon know.

So, now that you have been enlightened by the oh-so-exciting tales of hermit crabs, don't judge me. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. I do know, however, that Kenny will be right there waiting to tell me "I told you so" whenever this little experiment fails. So you experienced mamas, no need to leave me one of those comments.

Tidy, Tidy

"Tidy, tidy Mommy!"

"Huh, buddy?"

"You sneeze and I say tidy, tidy, Mommy."

"Huh? Who taught you to say tidy, tidy?"

"DeeDee. I sneeze and she say tidy, tidy."

Apparently "tidy, tidy" is toddler code for "gesundheit".

I love little phrases that he comes up with like this one. Thought someone, say a grandparent, might, too.

Swim Lessons 2007

So, it's Swim Season 2007 and in an effort to give the little man every opportunity to shine as a swimmer, I signed him up for swim lessons. With the same swim instructor as last year. The swim instructor who has been teaching swim lessons for over 10 years and I'm sure has never experienced what the Wade Family brought to the table - or pool - this year. The swim instructor who, thank goodness, is a good friend of mine and has a toddler about the same age and will just laugh it off with me.

I say thank goodness because this is the second year in a row that my child has not participated during the lessons. Just splashing. Blowing bubbles. A little kick here or there. But no real interest in doing anything new. And last year I was very okay with this. I got to chit-chat with Ms. Swim Instructor each day, catch up on all the latest news, etc. I paid her for her time and moved on. No worries. He wasn't even two yet.


But this year I just knew, KNEW, he would turn into a star swimmer. We even signed up to take the private lesson with best buddy's kiddo who is a bit older and whom Garrett thinks can walk on water -- she's just that cool to him. So, I thought, if ever Garrett doesn't want to do something, say, get in, he'd be totally motivated by the big girl swimmer.


Yeah. Um. No. Kiddo loves the water. Just doesn't want to be told what to do in the water.


I cannot count how many times Ms. Swim Instructor and I have heard "I do not want to do that. No-no-no. I do not tink so. I just stay on the white part (shelf area with a fountain)" all the while with a sweet little voice. I finally gave up. I didn't even try to get in the water for motivation today, the last day.


Poor Ms. Swim Instructor. She felt so sorry for us that she wouldn't even accept our money this year. Ms. Swim Instructor will know better next year and take our money up front. We'll definitely have to take her out to eat or pay for a cool, hip entrance to some kiddy water park for her and her daughter. Something. Geez. I really feel bad.

And so, I'll leave you with a picture that will forever be burned into my memory of Swim Lessons 2007:

Uh-huh. That would be Garrett not swimming and even fleeing the pool with Ms. Swim Instructor behind him teaching best buddy's kiddo - who cooperated ever so nicely.