Happy Halloween.

Happy Halloween from me and my favorite Halloweiner to you all.

(Is that Halloweiner reference too far? Because Fe has always called it Halloweiner and that woman is a hoot, so...meh. The line stands.)

Question: Did you know that the 8th Dwarf was Drooley?

Because it most certainly was.
Or Smiley, or NoSleepy, or PickyEatey. I think we'll go with Drooley.

Chuck's mom kind of nailed it with this costume, huh? She's a gem.

We figured the hat would be on borrowed time because who wants to wear a hat and a beard all day if you aren't on Duck Dynasty? Apparently Sam Allison. Kid rocked this hat and beard ensemble for 40 minutes while 300 children (we went back to school to party) pawed all over him and he loved every second of it.

I only took the hat of because we were done with it, not because he wanted it off. But I am looking forward to tomorrow's poo. I got a feeling I might see that beard again. (Too far? Again. Dang.)

Happy Halloween! Here's a few throwback Thursday Halloween pics from some of my favorite Halloweens in the past:

the pumpkin patch was super fun.

Oh what memories were made today!

We took Sam to the Pumpkin Patch like all good parents do in October. We dressed him up in his Halloween best, I grabbed my DSLR for those oh-so-fall-perfect pictures, and we headed out to make a family memory.

Sam loved it.

He sat with the pumpkins.

Laughed with the pumpkins.

Attempted to eat the pumpkins. Red Robin french fries - fine, fine. But we do draw the line at pumpkin stems.

What a great family moment!

Just kidding.

We definitely went to QFC, picked three pumpkins in about 36 seconds, and headed home. We are nailing parenthood. NAILING IT.

what in the hostess did you do to my ding dongs?

Oh.Em.Gee. Ding Dongs are back.
RIGHT?! You were waiting for this day to. I know. I can sense your excitement. Does it look anything like this:

Because this is the face of someone who cannot handle their love for Ding Dongs and has been on Hostess Watch since Twinkies and Cupcakes came back but not the chocolate little hockey pucks wrapped in foil (which, while we are talking about them are TOTALLY different than cupcakes).

Ok. Circle of trust? We are the people who bought Hostess items from eBay when the stores ran dry. Hey hey now. Circle of trust! And also, judgy wudgy was a bear. Look. We like our Hostess. They are little pieces of childhood that you can buy every now and then for the bargain price of $2.99, sometimes $2 when the sale gods smile on you.

So, when they closed up shop last year, Chuck bought us each a box of our beloveds (me, cupcakes, him, ding dongs) and there is nothing wrong with that. Ok. A little wrong but not any more than we are used to and are totally fine with.

Cupcakes, which are way different and totally better, made their triumphant return in the summer.
Ding Dongs, finally.

Except we have a little problem here. This is not what a Ding Dong is supposed to look like. This is a disaster.



Where is the foil wrapper?! Really, new Hostess? Was it the foil wrapper that was breaking the bank? It was the foil that bankrupted the company? This is a tragedy of epic proportions. No hyperbole.

Obviously, Chuck took this change really well.
Nope. That's a lie.

But, the man is nothing if not creative, inventive...and desperate? Not sure.

Problem solved.
They taste better out of foil.

oh good. a dead bird. just what i wanted.

I woke up the other morning and found Chuck like this:


Let me back up and start again, although I'm sure you can't stop staring at his picture and I've probably already lost you. It's the gym shorts/hiking boots combo. He is an adonis.

The best part of waking up right now is not Foldger's in my cup but Chuck and Sam's morning hang out time while I sleep in. It is literally a dream. Sam's an early waker upper, his secrets are no good at 6 am (NO GOOD!), so Chuck and him hang out while Chuck gets ready for work.

So, I woke up a few mornings ago from my restful, angel like slumber and found Chuck like this: (I recognize that we just went backwards and I also recognize that I could just adjust the entire opening of this post, but then, why? I'd rather keep typing than go backwards so... you get what you get finish it, teacher friends and you don't throw a fit.).

I mean. WOWZA. As if the infertility wasn't enough birth control...?

He was trying on his new boots and breaking them in. Why new boots? Because his old boots were 10 years old and being held together with duct tape. Who would let him walk around in those? NO ONE, actually. Which is why he was given Christmas money (I have no idea how many years ago) to please by a new pair, love mom and still, nothing.

Apparently, the mood struck him right and he decided he needed new boots a-sap so at least the duct tape pair is gonezo.

Bird huntin' season opened last weekend, so that may have been the motivation (I hate to beat a dead horse here, but you would have thought the duct tape would have been motivation enough). Huntin' season gets the boot job done. And no, I didn't forget the "g" in huntin'. It belongs no where near that word.

Oh so excited. Happy days. I always wanted my very own dead animal.
No I didn't.

I should be used to this. It was more prevalent in college but I was also 22 and super fun as opposed to 30 and understanding of salmonella, ticks, and just an overall ick factor. In college, birds were regularly skinned in my kitchen sink and cute little bags of quail and pheasant sat next to my frozen peas and broccoli. It was totally normal.

Wait. No. I never thought that was normal, I just lived with it. And dealt with it. And moved on with my life.

LUCKILY. Nothing dead had come into my house for a few years (combination of reasons: Chuck unable to go huntin' for a few years AND bad luck weekends the last two). Until this weekend. And then my winning streak ended and I was left with this guy:

That's a pheasant. FYI.

He was skinned, defeathered and left in a ziploc in the fridge for me to cook.

Can't say he never gets me anything, I guess, but this is not what I had in mind and it smelled nothing like Nordstrom.

Only person, other than Chuck, willing to try the pheasant.

Silver lining: the kitchen has been freshly bleached and I earned A LOT of points for deep frying a leg as an "appetizer" while I slow cooked the rest of the bird in a butter cream sauce in the oven. SupposABLY it was delicious. I didn't eat it.

1. I knew what its face looked like.
2. I knew what its face looked like.

I was a-okay with skipping that meal, but I think we all could have guessed that.
And let us pray for bad weekends and busy weekends to come and may this be the only post I do this year on the dead animal that was in my kitchen.

at least it's a good show.

Well. The moving has started.
We're not moving. Sam is moving. The moving has started. Oh, lord, the end of a sweet era of inattention. Of set him anywhere. Of knowing-you-shouldn't-leave-him-on-the-bed-to-run-downstairs-but-you-do-anyways is over. I promise I'm a good mom. But maybe don't read yesterday's post, though, if you are on the fence.
Let's see, for starters, Sam is not where I left him on the center of his play mat but has rolled to his tummy against one side. He's thrilled with his life choice. Or not. We'll see if he can get himself out of this jam. I've told him it's a personal problem and he needs to work it out. He seems very receptive. Problem is he hasn't figured out how to go back the other way so he's currently trying to smother himself in our carpet.
This kind of behavior is super fun at night.
A night or so ago, he woke up at 1:30 because he's rude. That's a little harsh. He wanted to play and I can respect that. No I can't. He decided if he was up, maybe someone else in the house was up. It wasn't crying from the crib, it was for sure "MA! Wannnnna commmme plaaaaaay?!"
No Sam. I do not want to come play. I want to go back to my dream where I'm Katherine Pierce and the Salvatore brothers fight over me.
Ugh. He had unswaddled himself (never a good idea at night time) and had turned on the musical jungle that hangs on his crib - you know, the kind that looks like a TV and has lights and animals dancing around like a little baby rave. It was literally a party in there and Chuck and I were being invited. Actually VIP invited so we felt pretty cool when we got our late night dedication over the baby monitor. Nothing like waking up to monkeys, rain sounds, and baby coos.
Chuck marched in there and did the stern fatherly reswaddle (not so sure Chuck can really pull off stern...) and tried to shut the party down.
Screaming ensued (because no one likes getting a noise violation) but we were going for tough love (I know - Hells Angels better watch out) so we let it happen for a little cry it out session.
But then, the screaming changed.
We flipped on the monitor and someone had flipped themselves. Fully swaddled with no way to roll back over. He's such a helpless baby. He is so lucky he has us.
He was in full meltdown distress when I got in there so I picked him up and nursed him. I guess you can cancel the Hells Angels membership after all since I am a sucker for that boy. In my defense, he had gotten himself so worked up that he ate like it was Old Country Buffet and was sporting a Baby Lucy memorial belly when I laid him back in his crib.

He tried to fight it but, well, he can't resist the comfort of a swaddle...
Until he flipped himself again. See that little body against the crib? Face down and frozen like a beached whale?
So Chuck unswaddled just his wee baby arms and, after struggling to decide what was comfortable, he finally was out for the night.

Be honest. That's the most adorable sleeping pose you've ever seen? I know.
The good news in all of this is that at least I have the screen shots of our adventures at bedtime because our monitor goes to an app on our phones so thankfully I could document all his behaviors. And do so at pretty much every nap or when he does something cute. So pretty much every nap.
So, that's become our nightly normal now. He sleeps until he flips. But when will he learn to flip back or just live peacefully with his decision?!
Oh and I think he may have figured out where the monitor is or at least that it's something fun to look at. What'do'ya'think?

#1 Mom sounds about right.

If you read last Thursday's post, then you know my life was a bit of a disaster that day and I was winning the award for Best Hot Mess in the Seattle Area. PS. does that award exist? It should.  I will get right on that during the next nap.

Recap from Thursday, shall we? We shall:

1. I fell holding Sam and popped my toe nail and stabbed myself with a metal laundry basket in the fall. I'm still not wearing shoes. I hurt.
2. I got puked on.
3. Jack peed on things.
4. And (worst of all) I went out in public in an outfit that screams NEW MOM so loud it was deafening. My former self, in a pencil skirt and pointy heels, died last Thursday.

I blogged this all around lunch time, laughing about what a miserable day it'd been. and wondered what else could go wrong.

A lot actually, but just little things. And I mean REALLY LITTLE THINGS. But on a day like that, it's the little things that end up making you wonder about jumping off the 520 bridge, am I right?

And I mean really stupid things like the meat for dinner didn't defrost in time so I had to use the microwave to finish the job (which is death in my mind) and the curtains coated in Jack's love didn't get vacuumed before company came over (have we talked lately about how I'm taking this stay-at-home thing a little too seriously?). Yikes, I know. I wasn't at all going over board or down any sort of rabbit hole... These are real life, first world, "I stay at home" problems.

Oh and then, gotta love me, icing on the cake, I walked away from Sam in his Johnny Jump-Up and when the screaming started, I raced to find him dangling upside down in a handstand position. He.Loved.It.


Bloody murder. Turd in punch bowl. These are things that come to mind.

That was the moment I called it. I was doing a great job at life and was obviously up for Mother of the Year. It was one of those comically bad days where breaking your toes sounds about right.

So my friend Jessica texted me with a picture of my prize for my day.

She made me a button.
Which I totally deserved.

Then she forgot to bring said button over when she came for dinner that night and I didn't get my major award until yesterday.

And that is why I have brought you here today.

Didn't that take a million years to get to? I know. I'm sorry. Sometimes a good nap time just makes me want to write and take an ungodly amount of time to tell a story that could  have been summed up in about five lines, like this:

Jessica made me a button because Thursday was crappy.

I wore said button on our Costco Adventure yesterday because it was a gift and I earned that bad boy. Sometime between picking out her Christmas wrapping paper and sampling pumpkin bread, we lost track of time (and seasons apparently) and the boys had been awake 2 1/2 hours which basically means they were like undead zombie creatures, which is like most people by the end of a Costco trip.

I popped Sam out the the front pack to snuggle him/keep him off the ledge/buy us some time to get through the line and most importantly to the hot dogs, which we now know to start the trip with, not end with.

Then I screamed because his mouth was purple and HOW THE HECK DID THAT HAPPEN?

Oh wait. I'm wearing my button. I think the five month old was burying his face in the button. Oh, I am #1 Mom through and through.

The look on his face is either from the extreme exhaustion OR the washable marker that certainly isn't organic or all natural seeping into his veins. I'll have to check but I'm reasonably sure non-toxic markers is not on the list of foods that he's supposed to try between 4-6 months. I could be wrong.

The irony is literally oozing from my dripping wet #1 Mom button.

This is me as a parent.
I think we all expected this.

the five month post.

 Oh Sammy.

How do we love thee?
Let me count the ways.

The way you make fart noises with your mouth
The way you refuse evening naps if Dad is around.
The way you always pee on yourself in the bath.
The way you taste test every item in the house but have yet to write a single Yelp review on your findings.
The way you love to be swaddled, but hate being swaddled, but love being swaddled.
The way you growl.
The way you giggle.
The way you play smother the baby at night when you roll over.
(Please learn to roll back over ASAP so your Mom can stop staring at the monitor all night. It's getting old. Fast.)
The way we are so thankful we have you, each day, every day.

Happy 5 months, Big Boy.
Your 5 month photo dump...


Let's just say neither boy was super impressed with the new baby.

I could've helped him or I could take a picture.
He was thrilled with my choice.

Monday morning play mat board meeting.

In case we forget his name...
He is new in town.

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