I Worry About This One

I've just gotta pour my heart out! I'm struggling with this one. She doesn't know if she wants to be a baby or a big girl. She hit 18 months last Saturday and in my humble opinion, she is way too old to be nursing ten times a day!  I generally wean my little ones at about 15 months, but since she may be my last, I have been a little more lenient. But I'm getting pretty tired of her trying to pull my shirt up in public. (Didn't think you'd want to see a picture of that...)

She's also decided that it's OK to climb out of the high chair. I'm not OK with that one either. I know, and it's all my fault, as my kids remind me daily. When she was about 6 months old, she had a blowout in the high chair. It was so bad that it got all over the seat belts and no matter what I did, I couldn't get them clean. Finally, I took my scissors and snipped them out. I've regretted that decision every day.

This past week she thinks it's OK to sit on the bench with the big kids, but she isn't quite tall enough and I worry about her slipping off. Maybe I'm just not ready for her to grow up yet. Anybody got a time machine?

Brush with Fame Sunday Style

Sundays are difficult at our house. Even though we have 1:00 church, we can’t manage to be on time. This past week was no exception. I told the kids early in the week that Sunday would be our brush with fame because I had heard that our favorite wide receiver in the NFL was blessing his baby in our church. They were all excited about that, but to me it only meant one thing…we’d better show up early! 

We called the times down the stairs starting with "Fifty minutes!" That meant our big white bus would leave for the church in 50 minutes (really it meant 55 since my sweetie always padded it by about 5 minutes). I pulled the baby’s dress on and snapped her little shirt. Would I remember to throw a sleeper in the diaper bag this week, just in case? (Of course not, but you don’t really want to hear about another blowout!) 

"Thirty-five minutes!" I threw my boots from the balcony to the entry way floor. "Does everybody know where their shoes are?" I called. I picked up the baby and headed down the stairs. Kids were running every which way in various stages of church attire. I didn’t see a single one that was completely ready. We also take Taco and Burrito (our 4 and 6-year-old grandsons) with us to church and they were running around with everyone else. I started slicing ham for some sandwiches. 

"Twenty minutes!" my sweetie called from the office. He was gathering the lesson for the 12-year-old class. I set the sandwich makings on the counter. "Lunch if you are hungry!" I called. Kids came running from all directions. I headed into the living room to put on my boots. 

"Five minutes!" I called as I handed the baby off to Crafty so she could strap her into the car seat. I pulled Curly’s shoes on and zipped his coat. It was snowing outside. Kids started heading out the door. After everyone was buckled in we set off. Apparently we weren’t the only ones expecting a celebrity today. It was still five minutes to one and the chapel was packed! My sweetie insisted we sit in the foyer until the song and prayer were over, then he and Sport went into the gym to set up more chairs. 

We enjoyed the baby blessing from the foyer as well. Then they opened up the big doors to the gym and additional seating. The kids tromped noisily to their seats as we grabbed a row near the three-point line. It wasn’t long before hot wheels cars were zooming noisily across the floor. I had Princess quickly gather them up and we handed out the crayons. My sweetie was near the center with Curly and Burrito on the outside. I was on the other end with Scout and Baby Doll. The others were lined up in between us. Curly and 4-year-old Burrito were making a huge ruckus! 

Santa at last years Christmas party.

Finally, I stood up and tripped over kids all the way to their end of the row. I pulled Curly into my lap. I had spotted someone famous! No, it wasn’t a famous football player; he was out in the hall with his sweet little baby. I tapped Burrito on the shoulder. "Look over there," I whispered. "Santa Claus comes to our church!" Sure enough, our good friend had not yet converted back to his shorter red beard. He spent his holidays dressing up as the jolly old elf and except that today he was in a shirt and tie instead of his red suit, he looked every bit the part. "You know he is watching you two to see if you are being naughty or nice." Santa smiled and winked at the boys. Burrito’s eyes grew large and he turned around in his chair and folded his arms. Our brush with fame was complete. I looked at the clock. "Fourteen minutes!" I shouted in my brain. Maybe I’d make it after all.

Blow-out

**WARNING-  The following story contains graphic Mommy humor**

My kids are not the best-dressed kids in the neighborhood. Most of the time I let them choose their own outfits and they may or may not match. That said, when Baby Doll was born my amazingly cool and well-dressed sister-in-law gave her a darling red plaid dress with a matching Scottish-style hat from The Children’s Place. It was fully lined with a little silk slip, lace, ribbons; the works! 

Closest Bossy could find from memory

It finally fit this week and I was so excited as I dressed her for church. I started with a white turtleneck (the collar said "Broncos" but I tucked it on the inside so you couldn’t see it) and some tiny white tights. Then I pulled the beautiful fancy dress over her head and buttoned it up the back. I placed that round plaid hat on her head (she hated it, of course), and we were ready to go. She looked like one of those kids out of the portrait ads! Little did I know that I was in for no end of grief from my other kids. 

 

"Mom," the Prima Donna said, "that hat looks so silly!" 

From the Dog Walker, "You can’t wear a hat at church!" 

Even my little Curly, "She doesn’t want to wear that hat…let me wear it!" 

I ignored them all until the hat slipped down over her eyes and she began to squawk. It didn’t help that I pulled it off and threw it on the floor; she was inconsolable. So I took her out to the nursing room and gave her some milk. When she was totally sacked out I took her back in the chapel so that maybe I could hear a little bit of the meeting I was missing. She was sleeping soundly on my shoulder as I walked back in. Friends and neighbors smiled at her sleeping form, mouthing, "She’s so cute…" We headed for our traditional spot on the back row. 

As soon as we sat back down her little blue eyes popped open. I thought maybe she was looking for her hat, but no such luck. Now I’ve been around the block a few times, so I know a "blow-out" when I hear one. I frantically looked around for the diaper bag. Of course it was all the way down on the end of the row in the corner where my hubby was hibernating. By the time I got his attention, Baby Doll had gotten the attention of the entire back three rows!

I finally received the required gear and headed once more to the nursing room. If I received sympathetic looks, I didn’t see them. She was still pooping and I was walking as fast as I dared without running. I knew there wasn’t an extra outfit to change her into and I really didn’t want her to ruin this expensive little dress after wearing it for only half an hour. I laid her on the changing table and sure enough, the tights and the little turtleneck were covered. 

Not actual blow-out

I slipped the little red dress over her head in a vain attempt to keep it clean. That’s when I noticed that there appeared to be an extra piece of fabric hanging down from the back of the skirt. It was still partly attached with those little plastic hangers from the store. It’s a good thing I’m not smart enough to know that all fancy dresses come with bloomers, because wearing them as an extra layer under her skirt worked pretty well. The dress was fine, but I think the kids may have tossed the little hat in the Lost and Found when I wasn’t looking. I haven’t seen it since.