Friday, July 23, 2010

Worst Mom of The Year Award Goes To.......

So, we're at my company BBQ last weekend and since I didn't really know anyone (Todd was meeting me there and hadn't yet arrived) I started chatting it up with a total stranger who had a kid roughly the same age as Colt. I say roughly the same age because size-wise he's a monster, and comparing kids to him puts him somewhere around 2 years. Anyway, the lady had a little girl (tiny, tiny girl, but barely crawling so I knew they were around the same age) and as the kids were poking at each other I tried making idle chit-chat. I say tried because the outcome proved less than desirable.

It started with the unassuming "Oh, she's so cute! And crawling!" and the "Oh, she has so much hair!" (Because Colt is finally growing hair, but its still really blond and you can barely see it, so he kinda still looks bald.)

Then I say, "How old is she?" and the mom says, "She just turned 9 months. What about him?" and I say, "Oh, he just turned 9 months too!" and thinking maybe by some stroke of total luck they were born on the same day, I say, "When was she born?" and the mom says "October 15th."

And I was seriously stumped for a bit because Colt was born in September and was 9 months too. But this little girl was born in October and was 9 months old? Weird. So she says, "When was he born?" and I say, "September 18th." and then I start wondering if he really is 9 months. Maybe 10? Now I'm not so sure. She says, "Then he's 10 months old." and I say quizzically, "Yeah, maybe he is 10 months old." and she says, "Oh. So, who's baby is he?"

To that I sheepishly and rather awkwardly answer, "Oh - he's my baby. And I think he's 10 months old." And my boss's boss (who is observing the conversation from behind us) bursts out laughing and nearly shoots beer out his nose.
Because that's the kind of impression I want to make: The one where I am asserting to perfect strangers and those in high-ranking management positions that I do NOT in fact know how old my kid is. Because performing petroleum laboratory testing on a daily basis does not require basic addition skills. And neither does parenting. Obviously.

And, if that wasn't bad enough - since the party was a spontaneous after work thing I came totally unprepared without a diaper bag, change of clothes or a bottle. Thank god some Mom Of The Year came through and lent me some formula and a bottle. I tell ya.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Late. Again.

OK. A small post if not to simply push the "Chicken Water Episode" down a notch on the blog page. I was indeed late to work today. Again. I'm not always late, but remember the post about me working on the Good Friday holiday and coming in 20 minutes late only to find MY BOSS running tests? Yeah. Great. It wasn't like that at all this morning, but the scrambling around this morning has gotten me frazzled! BOTH my automatic alarm clocks failed this morning and I was forced to rely on Todd's alarm (which was set for 6am - when I normally LEAVE the house!)
  1. Alarm #1: Donkey. Normally he can be counted on for a good ol' he-haw right at 5:10 every morning. No go this morning. Sick? Tired? Sick and tired of waking me up every morning? Who knows.
  2. Alarm #2: Colt. Anywhere from 5:10-5:30 he wakes up and I hear him on the monitor. Nothing. Perhaps that 3 miles of stroller walking we did yesterday while waiting on a two hour oil change really wore him out? I woke him at 6:15 as I was shoveling things into the car in a feeble attempt to get to work on time. He arrived at my parents still wearing PJs and drinking his morning bottle, but he made it there none the less.
Good news though. I was only 5 minutes late and still beat my boss here. Close call. I'll be using my alarm clock from now on. Those barnyard animals and babies are just too unreliable.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Taking One For Team Chicken.

Scene: Our house. Saturday morning, 7:30am.

It's no secret Todd likes to sleep in on the weekends. And I am so a morning person. So, early Saturday morning, I get Colt in the backpack and we headed out for some early morning chore duty. We fed the goats, horses and cows and got on the 4-wheeler and headed to the bottom of the field to the broiler "hoop coop." Because, remember? Every good story starts with "I had the baby on my back."

  (For those of you not familiar with the hoop coop, it is a 10'x12' tarp covered, domed enclosure that the chickens live in. It has an automatic waterer fed from a five gallon bucket mounted on top and we're able to feed them through a PVC tube which extends outside the coop. We pull the coop on to fresh grass every day.)

I move the coop and realize that, although their 5 gallon bucket is full, there is no water in their automatic waterer. A definite sign of a clog. The reservoir is open on the top, so I figured a leaf dropped in there and covered the 1/2" hole for the tube which feeds the waterer. I climbed up to look. Nothing clogging up there. So, we went in to the coop (remember....10'x12', tarp covered and chocked full of 25 psycho chickens - 5 of which I'm certain are roosters). I unscrewed the tube where the reservoir attached to the waterer and sure enough - no water coming out.

And this is where it gets bad. I'm not sure exactly what possessed me to perform the following action: I stuck the tube in my mouth and started mouth syphoning the chicken water. Before I could really reflect on what a terrible decision that was, a HUGE chunk of slimy nastiness got sucked in to my mouth with a rush of equally terrible, barf-inducing chicken water. It had the consistency of a tapioca pudding ball, didn't taste good at all, and I gauge was about the size of a marble. I retched and retched and couched it out, then barfed a little. Thank goodness I hadn't eaten breakfast yet or that could have been a real mess.... Water was spewing from the line, so I put it back together and water rushed in and all the chickens gathered around for a drink. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty.

Here's what I've learned:
  1. Rule #1 when I started studying chemistry: NO MOUTH PIPETTING. This applies to real-world settings as well.
  2. Chickens can survive at least a day without water. I'm projecting they could have lived another day without it too.
  3. It pays to sleep in on the weekends. And, in case you were wondering: chickens eat barf.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

It's The Beginning Of The End People

Monday evening after putting Colt down for the night I heard on the monitor the usual "Blah blah, gahhhh, buh buh baaaaa" for about 5 minutes, then total quiet, and I assumed he was asleep. Because that's the normal chain of events. Dinner, bath, play, bottle, book and bedtime. Bedtime meaning sleeptime. Right.

So, after all noise coming from his room had ceased I crept down the hallway and into his room to check on him. He is so flippin' cute when he's sleeping and I just love peeking in on him. Plus, now he's rolling over, scooting around and trying to crawl (be it only backwards and in donut shapes so far..) and he often time manages to get himself positioned pretty precariously in his crib and needs some straightening out.

I quietly pressed open the door and instead of a beautiful sleeping baby what do I see? I completely-full-on-awake baby standing tippy-toed hanging from the crib railing with a red face that just screamed, "Oh dear God what have I gotten myself in to now?"

As soon as he caught sight of me he burst into laughter and screamed, "Muhhha muhhha" and starting violently rocking back and forth, kinda like you see angry monkeys at the zoo doing. I realized he was stuck standing up and didn't know how to lower himself back down. So, for 10 or 15 minutes he'd been hanging there, seriously contemplating the outcome of his disastrous decision making skills.

An hour later and many times through "Bubbles, Bubbles Everywhere" and "Elmo Goes to the Zoo" he managed to successfully put himself to sleep.

 And I spent all of Tuesday morning disassembling the cage, I mean crib, and lowering the mattress to its lowest position.  Good luck getting out of THAT one. Score: mom one, baby zero.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Watermelon Junky. Just Like His Mother.

Thankfully I have passed on the watermelon gene....

"I'll be taking that."

Double fisted!! Momma loves it!!

"WHAT??! No more??"

So, so very hard to crawl with Tupperware stuck to your knee!!

I am still on partial maternity leave and love spending our Tuesdays together. We took a bunch of toys and some watermelon and Colt, Griz and I spent the afternoon in the sun in the front yard!! So much fun. Griz obviously had a different idea of fun. He can not WAIT until Colt is big enough to throw the ball! For now, when Colt gets a hold of the tennis ball he just chews on it while Griz waits very patiently for him to throw it. Never seems to work out how Griz had wished....

Colt: "Hmm. This is an interesting toy."
Griz: "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Throw it little guy throw it."
Colt: "Hmm. I wonder if this will fit in my mouth."
Griz: "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Throw it little guy throw it."
Colt: "Hmm. I wonder how this tastes. This is so cool."
Griz: "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Throw it little guy throw it."

....and on and on, ad nauseum.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

New Tooth!!

You can barely see the top left tooth busting through.... match the bottom two already in!