Bitten By Busyness

As an avid blog reader, I don't usually appreciate the "I've been too busy to blog" posts on other people's blogs.

Why have a blog if you are too busy to update it?

That's what I think. Judgmental soul that I am.

And here I am, too busy to blog. 

Passing judgement usually has a way of coming around and biting me in the butt. 

I'll watch that next time.

Summer's goodness is throwing a lot at us.

We've been busy pulling socks up to knees and fastening shoes on the wrong feet.

And finally getting to a pool to try a new toy.

Oh, how this inflatable mammal has taunted us from the garage shelf since it was given to Mandy as a birthday gift in September.

Being cute and crazy.

Going swimming when all the grown-ups say "it is too cold."

Falling off inflatable mammals and waiting until later to learn how to swim.

And being rescued by Grandma.

Warming up.

And soaking up the sun.

Hope you are having a blessed summer,

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Self-tanning Ganache

My husband was humming, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

His merry tune was less to do with the cool June weather and more to do with the snowy white complexion of my legs.

I am white as a sheet these days. I look around and see tan people, I envy them, but I know they did one of three things to become bronze instead of sheet-like. (Or they aren't causation, having darker skinned ethnicity would really help).

1) Fake and bake, ya, they tell us it is horrible for you, but it gives the glo and what is more fun than laying na-ked in a spaceship-like thing? 

2) Real sun, zero days over 80 degrees in 9 months in the NW, I know they must have been on an exotic vacation. 

3) Tan in a tube, it stinks but gives the elution of darker skin, what's not to love? Oh ya, the smell and the nasty chemicals.

I've participated in the above three bronze-achieving activities in the past. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I love the look of tanned skin. I'm with my husband on this one -- I think the color white should be reserved for wedding dresses, snow, and refrigerators.

My recent lotion making adventure had me wondering if I could make a chemical-free self-tanner in a tube. With dreams of deep, dark, skin, I turned to Google for advice. They came up with the reoccurring suggestion to use cocoa powder.

What did I have to lose? 

Well, maybe my pride.

I mixed equal parts cocoa powder and vanilla spice lotion (homemade).

It was way too thick, so I added twice as much lotion.

I ended up with a ganache-like consistency that smelled delicious. 

And I was very hungry and repulsed at the same time.

I smeared it on my pasty-white leg.

I think the results are quite natural looking.

I was hoping to perform this experiment in private and then Mandy got up from her nap.

Her running dialog went something like this:

"What are you doing?

Is that frosting?

Why are you putting frosting on yer-self?

Can I put frosting on my-self?

Can I lick your leg?"

I decided the "bronze cocoa" tan was a bit much.

Just a bit.

So I wiped it all off.

I tried and tried and tried to take a non-creepy picture of my legs. Really I did. It is impossible.

The leg on the left is cocoa-ed. The leg on the right is white as snow. Do you see a subtle difference?

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas....."

The chemicals are nasty in regular self-tanners and they stink.

Yet, they work.

My review of the cocoa powder lotion?

The all-natural formula didn't actually work, took about half an hour to apply and then wipe off, and I had to shower before I went to bed because other reviewers said the un-tinted residual left on my skin would come off on my bed sheets and stain then. How ironic.

Looks like the only solution is an exotic vacation to the sun with plenty of time to lay around and eat ganache.

Exotic vacation to Mexico in November of 2009.

My skin color matches a newborn. I guess all that sun didn't help.

Because I was looking at Mexico pictures and found this.....

And suddenly I don't care any more that I'm not tan....

Or that I have Christmas songs running through my head in June....

Or that I just posted creepy pictures of my legs on the internet.

Have a beautifully pale day,

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Time flies when you are having fun.

Memories do not know the boundary of time. 

Was it just yesterday or a year ago that I labored all day and delivered our son? 8 days over-due I remember the excitement, trepidation, discomfort, and all out horrible pain so very vividly. 

I remember the feel of his slimy new body, his completely smooshed nose, the loudness of his cry, and how he only wanted to be held by me. I remember the rush of love poured over me in that instant.

It was just yesterday.

I'm sure of it.

A few things tell me I'm wrong about the passage of time. My baby doesn't want cuddling or breastfeeding. He wears 18 month clothing and sits in a high chair shoveling table food in like he may never be fed again. He loves to wrestle on the floor and stands and tackles like a big boy. He blabbers and we can hear words -- yesterday he copied the sound of a police siren. And dancing, oh, there is just nothing as hilarious as a baby's diapered butt trying to find the beat of the music.

Even though he isn't walking, he is more toddler than baby. He is in to everything!

He is all boy. He eats dirt.

Has it really been a year?

I treasure each day we've spent with our Remington James.


His sweet personality blesses our lives.

(Love you Little Man. Love, Mom)

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Faded

I was changing Rem out of his PJ’s this morning as I normally do after breakfast and play time. I usually do a quick diaper change, put on some clothes and then it’s time for his morning nap. A familiar routine that usually passes without much thought. Yet as my fingers touched his skin, a feeling came over me like a lovely scent that I couldn’t quite place. I looked at the baby squirming about on the changing table. Memories of similar scenes tickled my mind. There were two other babies who left strong impressions, whose soft skin my fingers frequently touched. Things I thought I would never forget were now vague and fleeting as I tried to pinpoint the exact time and place of those common moments. My girls were once this size, once this squirmy, once this soft and sweet, but they grew without asking. Crawling on to the next stage in life.

In an attempt to capture the moment, I sat with my diapered baby in his room. I tickled and blew zerbits on his tummy. His laugh was throaty and his blue eyes seemed to reach into my soul. He crawled over me like a perfect play structure. For an active, almost 9 month old, what could be better than someone to climb on and snuggle with at the same time? He nuzzled his face into my neck as his feet found a perfect perch on my rock hard squishy stomach. Absorbing and loving on this baby was better than any of the luxuries this world has to offer. I’m sure of it.

The girls were entertained in their room with Polly Pockets, an amazing grandma-garage-sale find. But even Polly doesn't keep them for long. They found Rem and me after awhile and I got the camera. I didn’t attempt to wipe anyone’s faces or say, “Sit right here while I take your picture.” I just caught the children doing what they normally do; wrestle and play, squirm and squeel. Being my children, they still found the camera for a cheesy smile every now and then.

Like a warm bath that I would eventually have to get out of, the blessings comforted me to my toes. Time is fleeting and I know that a perfect memory of one particular morning won’t exist. It will fade and be replaced with other things in our ever changing daily life.  But for just right then, it was perfect.

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Rem update: 7 months

Where does the time go? It becomes a rather redundant phrase with little ones. Rem was born 7 months ago today and it seems like just yesterday. 

Time for an update... before I forget the details.

He has not gained any weight this month, not surprising since he turbo crawls through his waking hours. My floor would be cleaner for it with all his dust moping if he didn't spit-up all over the place and then crawl through it with his belly. Gross.

He weighs a bit over 17 pounds, in the 17th percentile.

This is the month for "7"s because Rem's head is also 17," in the 17th percentile. His head doesn't look crazy small. It must be all that chin-chub that deceives the eye.

He's grown 2 and a half inches since last month putting him in the 75th percentile for height.

(I know you wanted to do that too)

We can't resist him and Rem gets at least a zillion kisses a day on those chubby cheeks. He gives back with open mouth kisses and snugly hugs.

Rem is a good eater and doesn't complain about anything I feed him. He's tried all sorts of things in the fruit and veggie categories. He can also pick-up and eat small foods which is a huge help to me as I'm trying to cook for other members of the family or, heaven forbid, actually eat something myself.

He still takes 3 naps a day. If he skips an evening nap, he goes to bed at 7:30pm, but I've noticed he prefers to get a short nap in around 6pm and then stay up later playing with Daddy after the girls go to bed.

Rem is all smiles and happiness. I am constantly floored, my socks knocked off, and completely blessed by his sweet personality. Thank you, thank you God!

He has lived through 2 rounds of shots and a new tooth without more than a grumpy hour here and there. As a mom to 2 babies before him who were far more demanding and loud, I know this is unusual and simply count my blessings.

The girls still pester Rem relentlessly, even after his letter to them. I see him crawling into the fray, steeling toys, and knocking over towers, so he's not too innocent.

We just keep enjoying our sweet little guy more every day.

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A letter to his sisters....

Dear Emma and Mandy,




First I want to say how much I appreciate you welcoming me so wholeheartedly since my arrival. Your unconditional love is a huge part of what makes me enjoy it so much here. I can't imagine more devoted sisters.


You are also very tolerant. I've repeatedly puked on both of you and you don't carry on for very long about how disgusting it is. It is kind of you to understand my limitations. When I pee in the bath, you don't freak out. Emma, thanks for bringing it up in your Sunday School prayer time. I can use all the help I can get with my problems.


You are my best friends and will be until I gain some independence and make other friends. A lock on my bedroom door will also change things, but that won't be for awhile unfortunately. 


I love you so much and that's why I'm writing this. My cries and screams don't seem to be making the point. This has been weighing on me physically, mentally, and spiritually for sometime now: I need more space.

You treat me a like a baby doll, but that needs to change. I don't appreciate being dressed up like a girl or wearing fur hats. Last time I checked you had 8  real dolls ready and willing to play dress up. They miss you.


Although my manliness isn't always apparent, there will be a day when I am bigger and stronger than you. I will be tough and burly and have hair on my chest. Let me be a man. Sometimes I need time to myself to do manly things. Legos = good. Tea parties and My Little Pony = not my idea of a good time.

Our interaction is fun and all, but we need some boundaries. The kissing and hugging, tickling, and being hauled around can go too far. I've felt smothered and in physical danger on more than one occasion.

(This picture pretty much sums it up)

Please remember I'm saying these things in love. Thank you for taking my feelings to heart.






Affectionately,


Remington Read More.. Read More..

Remington. Remington James.

At your service.


More pictures of my suave little man in black at AlysunPetersPhoto.com.



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