Little Ross is gettin' hitched, part 2

Perhaps you remember when Isaac's uncle Chris popped the question to his girlfriend Jean? Here is their engagement picture:


All together now...AWWWWWWW. As far as I know (and the bride- and groom-to-be are welcome to correct me on this), the big W is scheduled for next June. Guess who is on the short list for ring bearers?

I....saac loves a parade

Our little college town threw a Halloween parade this afternoon, so we decided to again take advantage of this unbelievable weather and check it out. They closed off Main St. from 2:30 till after 5 for the parade, followed by trick-or-treating at the local businesses. Here are Isaac and I waiting for the parade:



We met up with our new buddies, Art and Sarah and 8-month-old Ella, to sit together for some parade-watching. I'm sure you can guess what Ella is for Halloween:



We really had no idea what to expect from a small-town Halloween parade, nor how Isaac would feel about sitting and watching stuff for an indefinite period of time. The Newark parade? It totally rocked. It was almost an hour long, there were FOUR marching bands, lots of cute girl scouts and boy scouts, lots of baton twirling and dancing, lots of costumes and cool cars. And beauty queens. Here we are waving at some beauty queens:



And Isaac? Well, about three weeks ago he began a love-affair with watching cars and trucks go by on the street. We can spend a good twenty minutes just sitting on our street corner together, with me naming all the vehicles that go by. Turns out if you pepper a constant stream of vehicles with a few marching bands, you can easily stretch out that attention span to parade-length. In short, he dug it the whole time. Parades are apparently made solely with his entertainment needs in mind.

Trick or treat, mall style

Friday evening we all hit the mall for their 2-hour trick-or-treating event. We go there, mildly prepared for a crowd and a bunch of great costumes, but leave mostly disgusted by the kids (and not-so-kids) cutting in line to get what little candy there was for the gettin'. Argh. But aside from the candy-induced melee that frustrated myself and Dada, Isaac had a fabulous time. Here he is in full costume, sitting with Dadaw near his favorite spot, the fountain:



This was Isaac's first trick-or-treating experience, so we did our best to indoctrinate him on trick-or-treat etiquette. He didn't quite get the hang of holding his big pumpkin candy receptacle out to get the goods, but, being the perfect gentleman, he did say "thank you" for what he got. We'll perfect our routine next year, I'm sure.

Isaac's costume also has a hard hat which he would never ever keep on his head. Stubborn Dada insisted we take it along anyway, and it ended up coming in handy while we waited for Mamaw and Dadaw to grab a bite at the food court. Look at the fun one can have assaulting Dada with one's hammer!

Hiking with the boys

Here are some more pictures of the state park adventure had by Dadaw, Dada, Isaac, and myself. Mamaw, bless her heart, wanted to stay home and clean my kitchen. Who is this woman, and how can I convince her to move in with me?

We basically went to this park to hike on a trail, and then off a trail, near a beautiful and serene creek where apparently one can go trout fishin'. Over the creek at one spot is a high bridge...


...which, to Isaac, was just perfect for throwing rocks and leaves off of. I got a movie of Isaac throwing leaves into the creek. At first I thought it was pretty boring and definitely not blog-worthy, but showing the movie to Isaac elicits major giggle-fits from him every time he hears himself say "uh-oh." So if you don't like it, maybe your toddler will.

After the bridge, Dada steered us away from the manicured trail and down a short hill to the creek edge for more up-close-and-personal rock-throwing action. Here are Buster and Dadaw hiking back up the hill together:



And I got the guys to stop skipping rocks for a second to take an obligatory "three generations" picture:



What lovely weather we are having this weekend to enjoy being outside together. More more more, said the mommy.

Outside! Outside!

Just a quick teaser, then it's off to bed for my tired little (actually, huge now) butt...

Dada and another researcher did some field work in a nearby state park yesterday and made up his mind that we should visit as a family. So many great pictures, but here's the one you get for now -- three generations of O'Neal boys strolling amongst a gorgeous fall afternoon backdrop:


Much more to tell about Mamaw and Dadaw's last days in town, but we are exhausted because there is not much sleeping happening here, no thanks indeed to an otherwise angelic young towhead.

Adventures with Mamaw and Dadaw, part 2

Yesterday after Isaac and I went to playgroup and allowed Mamaw and Dadaw to frolic about a toddler-free house for a much-deserved break, it was off to our favorite destination. The orchard, of course! Because if there's anything cuter than watching your itty-bitty toddler watch itty-bitty toddler goats, it's watching Mamaw and Dadaw help said toddler feed said goats:



Though, after some practice, Farmer Isaac was perfectly capable of doing it himself:



Not that one could ever tire of feeding goats (though one could perhaps run out of quarters to purchase the feed), we did eventually move on to admire the tractors ("Frah-for!"). Dadaw and Mamaw, who really were farmers in a previous life, told Isaac all about the frah-fors and how Dada "drove one just like that when he was 10":



Surprisingly, a morning full of running around at playgroup and the orchard and then going for a bit of a car ride might just tucker a little guy out. We picked up Dada to have a family lunch, but by the time we got to Bennigan's, Isaac was dead to the world. No matter, Dada can hold him and eat at the same time. Here we are, the younger O'Neals, waiting for our grub and even having (gasp) a little grown-up time:



This morning Isaac was all about the doodling again, a desire he demonstrated by beginning his doodling session using my ink pen on our computer desk. He was subsequently whisked away to more colorful and easy-to-clean pursuits involving crayons, and, of course, the constant attention of Mamaw and Dadaw:





This afternoon I got to get out with Dada to Wal-Mart, and then to the library, all without the monkey in tow. At one point I got a phone call from Mamaw, and naturally I freaked out as I was answering, thinking about how they would get Isaac to the hospital without a carseat in their car. Mamaw on the other end said, "I just wanted to let you know you should plan on having an afternoon of leisure. Dadaw and I are cleaning the house and Isaac is helping." Such sweet words...

Sneak a peek at Isaac's Halloween costume

We dressed up for playgroup yesterday morning and Mamaw snapped this picture:


We're also going trick-or-treating at the mall tonight, and there's a parade and trick-or-treat event the Newark downtown businesses are putting on on Sunday, so there will be ample opportunity for more pictures of his fancy duds in action.

U.B. grows, at the expense of my internal systems

The reports are in from our triple-screen and the radiologist who looked at U.B.'s ultrasound -- everything is completely normal. Yay! Onto expanding at an exponential rate.

And on that note, while I know this is probably physiologically impossible, it feels like U.B. is stuck up in my ribs. Especially at night, I literally have to sit up straighter and push down on my ribs because they hurt so bad. And don't get me started on the nighttime heartburn, yee-yuck. At least U.B. is getting plenty of calcium from all the Tums I'm ingesting, but it is no fun for me being preggers at nighttime right now.

Mamaw and Dadaw, two days later

Suffice it to say Isaac is at the age to thoroughly enjoy the visits of grandparents. I showed him pictures of Grandma and Grandpa O'Neal (aka "Mamaw" and "Dadaw") prior to their arrival in hopes that he might remember who they are, but he didn't seem too terribly interested. Immediately upon their walking through the door, though, we've heard nothing but "Dadaw! Dadaw!" and "Mamaw! Mamaw!" all the live-long day. To say that he is loving them being here is the understatement of the century. And why wouldn't he? This is basically his life since they got here around 9-ish on Sunday, with Dadaw and he attached at the hip:



Monday we didn't do too much (that I can remember, anyways). Isaac and I went to storytime at the library together to give Mamaw and Dadaw time to wake up and get used to their surroundings. It wasn't raining later so Dadaw and Isaac went outside for a long stroll. There was napping by all, and yummy Wendy's Chili for dinner.

Yesterday it was disgusting and rainy so Mamaw, Dadaw, Isaac and I spent all day at the mall, for the sole purpose of replacing the Ever-Sprouting Toddler's outgrown cold-weather clothes. Evidently Mamaw's JC Penney card doesn't melt from excessive friction, because we not only bought Buster a whole new winter wardrobe, but she treated me to a MUCH-needed haircut at the salon while Dadaw and Isaac ran around the store. After that, Dadaw bought us lunch at the food court, where he introduced his impressionable grandchild to Cinnabon.


I protested loudly until they let me have some, too. And then, of course, it was off to KB Toys before we headed home. After about an hour of sampling all of their toddler-appropriate wares, Isaac settled on this Pull-Along Thomas the Tank Engine, which he has not parted with ever since ("Choo-choo! Where's choo-choo?"). Inspired by Brandon's mommy Carolyn, I bought Isaac Mr. Potato Head, whom Isaac was desperately convinced was The Devil and would run away from until we convinced him that it was fun to wear Mr. Potato-Head's accoutrements yourself.

We have more days of Mamaw and Dadaw to come, so stay tuned for more unbelievable stories of spoiling (and more cute pictures, of course).

The Man-Room compromise

When we lived in Seattle, before we had Isaac, we were tight buds with another couple, Jake and Niki. We hung out all the time. It was great; they were our age, had been married almost exactly as long as we had been, were into cheap beer in large quantities, served with a serious side of snark. Jake and Dada used to joke with each other that, in exchange for their good-husband behavior through the coming years like cooking and cleaning and putting the toilet seat down, they would eventually be entitled to a room of their own which women-folk would be forbidden to enter. This room, also known as the Man Room, would contain at least one piece of leather furniture (preferably a recliner) and a gigantic TV for starters, with the optional add-on Man-Room Expansion Kit of a pool table, a dart board, a well-equipped library, a small walk-in humidor, and a martini bar and/or kegerator as finances and raised wifey eyebrows would allow.

Since then, Dada has become a father to one and soon two, as well as a modestly-paid academic supporting a stay-at-home wife. Jake and Niki moved to California to be schoolteachers in the L.A. area, bought a small house, and recently found out they are expecting their first in May. The moral to the story? Both unfortunate men have chosen, for the foreseeable future, fatherhood and affordable housing over the Man Room. Poor dudes.

Recently this has plagued Dada so, being stuck in our little-bitty house in the evenings with nowhere to escape his wife and baby and no manly pursuits in sight, that he has created a compromise to the Man Room. He has designed the Man Bench, using a 10%-off Lowe's coupon we got in the mail yesterday:


He set this up in our basement and has already put it to use sawing plastic pieces for his field equipment and fixing picture frames. It would appear that his manly-man-ness is rescued by having a tiny place to put his man objects AND where he can do useful things for our household. A fitting placeholder, he says, for the dream of his eventual and glorious Man Room.

Sunday thumb-twiddling

Grandma and Grandpa O'Neal are driving out to see us today all the way from Indianapolis, meaning we needed to do some serious hanging out around the house to make our filth easier for others to wallow in. Isaac helped out as best he could, vacuuming and (maybe) picking up his toys. He also refused to eat almost everything all day and threw his food on the kitchen floor, drawing Mama's attention to the sweeping that needed to be done there. What a helper, that little man o' mine.

But perhaps his greatest talent is finding those items that we had tucked away in corners (procrastinating finding them a real home) and bringing them out in the open to be dealt with. This happens not just on cleaning days. Today he found Dada's trekking pole and even put on a demonstration for us, hiking across our dirt-strewn living room rug:


I swear upon my unborn baby's life that the rug was vacuumed immediately after this picture was taken.

As part of the food boycott, Isaac discovered the joy of spearing those dangerously tart apples at dinner. You know, instead of eating them. There was much screaming when Mama would cut up the apple in any way to make it easier to consume; there was the fishing of little pieces out of his mouth when he would dare to bite into the big thing himself. But oh, the minutes and minutes of fun he had stabbing that ferocious apple with his fork and then waving his new kill aloft with much glee:

Beef stir-fry for dinner

This one's for my mom.


Look, ma! Vegetables! Of varying colors! And I ate them!

Doodling

Take a toddler subject who shows only momentary interest in crayons before hurling them to the ground or trying to snack on them. In a moment of weakness, allow him to grab your pen. Then present a pad of paper on a stain-hiding rug, and watch him busy himself doodling for TWENTY lovely minutes.

Here he is in action -- I'm guessing he's right-handed.



Here are two of his masterpieces, with each doodle assigned a name either by the artist himself or in collaboration with his mommy assistant:





In related news, I found a great website with tips on how to remove ballpoint pen ink from one's brand-new Cookie Monster PJs when one's house is lacking in Stain Devils.

Working hard or hardly working?

Yesterday Dada and his buddy Art, who is also new-fish faculty (but in the Geology Department), decided to collaborate on some field work. Dada has recently received a fancy instrument, bought with his start-up money, and wanted to field-test it. And where would they go to test this instrument, on one of the most beautiful days of the year, but Rehoboth Beach. What a bunch of slackers. You could almost hear the Urkel-like snorting between this nerdly pair as they made the drive: "Heh heh, we're getting paid to go to the beach, heh heh."

Here's our Dada, working his buns off (AKA talking to his wife on his cell phone while he works on his farmer's tan):

"You keep those O'Neal boys away from our daughters!"

We had our official ultrasound this evening, and, let me tell ya, we were spoiled at the UW Medical Center in Seattle. The lady doing our ultrasound was nice enough and tried her best to tell us what she saw when she remembered that we were even in the room. We did get to see lots of ribs; a nice, steady, strong heartbeat (152 bpm tonight); lots of vertebrae; and all toes and fingers accounted for. But look at these completely awful pictures:

Here's U.B.'s face in profile. You can see the big fat head on the right, facing up, with face bones around the lips and a nose. You may also catch a most perfectly formed left arm, replete with five-fingered hand, and a wonderful-looking spine. That's always my favorite part, looking at how incredibly many vertebrae there are that somehow arranged themselves exactly as they ought within my modest little baby cooker.


U.B.'s nose and mouth look a little weird because the lady zoomed in too far and now you are looking at the facial bones and not the tissue that makes a baby face so very cute. Thanks, lady. At one point, U.B. even turned towards us, and she and I caught a glimpse of the face, closed puffy eyelids and all. It was so precious I started crying, because I'm a mommy and I can do whatever kind of emoting I like. But then when Ms. Talented Ultrasound Tech went to take a picture of this, she again zoomed the view too far back and we get instead this ghastly vision of U.B.'s perfectly-formed skull, eye sockets and nasal openings and all:



But before all this picture-taking occurred, two rather surprising things happened.

1) The tech took all these measurements of U.B.'s body and found that U.B.'s measurements are not only highly consistent with each other but also with what would be expected for the gestational age we had been working with. This means that U.B.'s due date is probably here to stay, and Lord knows why my uterus was "measuring small" at my last appointment, because the tech today estimated U.B. to already be tipping the scales at 1 lb 2 oz.

2) Like a good tech, she stopped over the baby's rear end and said, "I can tell you the gender if you'd like to know. Would you?" "Of course," we reply. "Are you sure?" she says. "Do you want us to beat it out of you?" we reply. "Okay," she says. "It is definitely a boy." And she points out to us most clearly a frank and beans dangling between his perfectly formed legs, far far away from any umbilical business.

Dada and I were rolling. Two boys...we can train them as our rowdy minions and unleash them on the unsuspecting public when they turn teen on us! And how much cash are we gonna save on baby clothes? The only problem, and it is a BIG one, is we are completely without ideas for a boy's name. The girl's name we had down pat, and it is a great one. But for a boy? How can you beat Isaac Thomas? We sat down with our old baby name book tonight, and the very best we could come up with between the two of us was Clobbersaurus Michael O'Neal. And that's just too much of a tongue twister.

Happiness REALLY is...

...after waiting on hold for over 15 minutes with the UWMC regarding the ultra-stupid and -worrying $758 charge, speaking to a real live person named Josie. Having Josie tell me that I need to fax her statements from the insurance (which I have kept) saying they weren't going to pay the bill because they needed it itemized. Hearing Josie tell me that, because these statements prove that the insurance company received a bill in a timely fashion, the insurance is obligated to pay. Hearing Josie THEN say that if the insurance company refused to pay, I still wouldn't be liable for the bill because the hospital and the insurance company have a contract with each other and will work it out amongst themselves.

So...giddy...with...love...for...JOSIE. Note to self: put Josie on list of possible girl name choices.

Because I don't have enough to worry about on a daily basis

Tomorrow is U.B.'s full-on professional ultrasound, where they will be doing some kind of measuring hokey-pokey and (hopefully) giving us decent pictures and a confirmation that, in fact, U.B. is a lady. My O.B. said, though they order these "routine" ultrasounds for everybody, she ordered mine specifically because the ol' baby-oven is measuring a little small for U.B.'s expected age. This is not a terrible surprise to me , because I had only stopped nursing Isaac two months before U.B. was implanted, and, because Isaac (bless him) sucked all my body fat away, I had only had two periods, neither of them exactly normal. Since they calculated U.B.'s gestational age based on my last period, then, it would make sense if her due date would be a little off .

I blogged previously that I had those fancy blood screens done as a preliminary diagnostic to see if there might be anything awry with U.B., you know, just to know these things. The results are in. Well, sorta. First, I am not a carrier of cystic fibrosis, so that's good. But second, though the triple screen results are back, the nurse I talked to over the phone said they hadn't yet been signed off by a doctor, though my CF screen had been. She said what this means is that they want to make sure the gestational age is right before they issue a final report about the triple screen numbers. For those who have not had this done, the "final report" is basically a list of statistics. My statistics with Isaac were something like that there was a 1 in 80,000 chance he had trisomy 18, a 1 in 24,000 chance he had spina bifida, etc etc...with the final picture being that he was unbelievably likely to be completely normal. All these statistics are calculated based on the gestational age, meaning if the latter is off, the statistics will be wrong.

While I obviously have good reason to think U.B.'s gestational age would be off, of course I am a little worried. It couldn't be THAT off, could it? The nurse over the phone told me all the results looked just fine to her naked eye for U.B.'s estimated gestational age, which relieved me somewhat, but when I asked if it was maybe routine for them to wait to sign off on this crap until one has an ultrasound, she was a little evasive. Great.

To top it all off, two days ago I got FOUR medical-bill related items in the mail. One was a statement from my insurance saying that they had paid Dr. Suck's exorbitant $95 fee, which he earned by making me wait for an hour and then talking to me for 5 minutes. Two others were from the hospital here, saying that I didn't have insurance to cover my charges from my first visit (um...yes, I do, punks). The last, and by far the most eyebrow-raising, came from the UW medical center, who is now trying to bill me $758 for the day I spent in the hospital LAST FEBRUARY when I was pregnant with Isaac and having preterm contractions. I remember this fiasco, because my insurance wouldn't pay for it without an itemized bill. I called the hospital at the time and asked them to send an itemized bill to the insurance, so what has happened I don't know. All I know is that my poor little small-stuff-sweating-self can only take so much more of this health-care monkey business before I go postal.

Recently overheard at the O'Neal household

Mom to Dad: "I am never having another child with you, because obviously your insomnia is inheritable."

Dad to Isaac: (in a perfectly calm and rational voice) "You know what happens to little boys who fuss, don't you? Their balls shrivel up and fall off."

You know you're domesticated when...

...you not only own a reuseable dish for baking pies, but have also used it to make one. Without using frozen crust.

Lemme tell ya, that hubs of mine is one lucky feller this week, cause his woman has somehow morphed into Suzie Dinnermaker. Monday night? Chicken with walnuts and apples in a pastry crust with sauteed green beans. Last night? Pot roast, baked potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Oh but tonight, baby, no more starched aprons, cause it's all about the tuna noodle casserole. Using Clayton's Mom's recipe, of course.

I promise I don't beat my child

This morning before storytime at the library, what would be the refrain from Isaac but "outside? outside?!?!?!???" Do I have a choice but to comply? It was a little chilly, and he seemed a little sleepy (having awakened at the unfriendly hour of 6:15), but other than that he seemed physically good to go.

Within the span of 10 minutes he fell down twice. Once he did a near nose-dive on our driveway and scraped up his chin a little, but really no big deal. Then, not more than a few steps later, he decided he would walk (and his mommy decided she would let him) onto a drainage grate that attaches to the curb in the street. Now, before you go judging, this part of the street is blocked off by a huge dumpster and a recycling area. I don't let him play where the cars can get him; just where he can reek of trash. To continue with the story, the spacings between the grate were just too big for his shoes to handle without being unstable (something his deadbeat mommy didn't think until it was way too late), and he tripped, fell, and landed the side of his precious cranium into the metal edge of the drainage grate. Oh yeah, the edge that was at curb height. Here is his messed up little face:



He is just fine, and hasn't seemed remotely wobbly since. He even demonstrated a brand new skill at storytime, that he can stand on one foot for about a second. Me? I am a wreck. I hate it when he bruises his beautiful face, not only because I am constantly shamed by how I probably should have paid more attention and helped there not to be a bruising in the first place, but mostly because his bruise is just so OUT THERE, saying "look at me! Please use your cell phone to dial CPS before it's too late!"

Back by popular demand

Suddenly we have Christmas shopping on the brain here, Lord knows why. And Grandma Ross only fuels the fire when she asks what Isaac wants for Christmas. Well, as it was last year, I sat still for a few minutes and made a webpage of potential Isaac Christmas gift-giving ideas for those who feel so inclined. You can get to it by clicking here or by shifting your gaze to the right under "Mommy Links". The list seems rather unimaginative at this point, but I'll try to focus more thought and energy into it in the days and weeks to come.

Sitting and chilling as a theme

In downloading pictures from this week's exploits with the camera tonight, I noticed a bit of a theme -- that of the Daddy/Isaac sit-and-chill pose. Note how it came to pass when we went mall-walking on Wednesday:



Or walking home from Starbucks this evening (Daddy's coffee this time is in the stroller):



Isaac seems to like sitting on steps in public places lately, and evidently Dada makes an excellent sitting partner.

Happiness is....

*The hubs taking Isaac, at 8 in the morning, for a spin around town in the car, and then a run around campus on his little legs, so I can catch up on the sleep I missed last night. The hubs telling me they'll be back in an hour, and then not coming back for two.

*Having a toddler who doesn't mind playing peacefully by himself with his Little People Noah's Ark while his super-filthed-up Mommy takes a loooooong hot shower. Oh, so nice.

*After dreading the inevitable fight to get him to go down for a nap, watching your newly picky eater as he scarfs down a humongous late lunch, sitting in his high chair without complaining, and then falls asleep at the table to the rhythmic chewing of an apple slice.

Daily dose of toddler cuteness

A few tidbits from today that made it all worthwhile:

*Isaac has a potty of his own in the bathroom. His use of it right now consists of being invited to sit on it while Mom or Dad do their business on the big potty. This may be TMI, but last week I caught both boys sitting on their respective johns, with Dada reading a magazine and Isaac reading Five Little Monkeys. If it wouldn't have been a picture of the hubs on the pot, it would have been so camera (and blog) worthy.

But I digress. Today I invited Isaac to come with me to the potty: "Isaac, would you like to sit on your potty while Mommy sits on hers?" to which Isaac replied enthusiastically, "I go potty!" and plopped his precious butt down on his toddler throne.

*When Isaac woke from his massive nap, he was in the mood for some heavy-duty snuggling. Dada picked him up from the crib and Isaac instantly latched onto Dada's neck, burying his head in Dada's shoulder. Dada rubbed his back and said lovingly, "Oh, Isaac." Isaac sighed, patted Dada's back and said, "Oh, Dada."

*At music class this morning, Dada and Isaac stopped to talk to a mommy and a fellow student on the way out. The mommy complimented Isaac, saying he had by far the most personality of anyone in the class, and that he was always a blast to watch and interact with. How cool is that?

The Isaac, how he suffers

Isaac's top canine teeth evidently did not fully push their way through when they began their descent a few weeks ago. Ever since Grandma Ross left, Isaac has been waking in the night, and then shoving his hands relentlessly in his mouth all day long. Last night was the worst in a long time. He woke up at 12:30, then at 1, then at 1:30, then at 2. Usually this pattern would make me just a little peeved, but it was obvious that he was in some extreme discomfort. Dada said he heard Isaac softly crying "Nooo..." in his fitful sleep. When he would get up, he would whimper until we came in his room, hands again rubbing around in his mouth. With our help, he would dutifully try to go back to sleep, but it just wouldn't stick. Finally I brought him in bed with me, where he chewed on my hair in his sleep until 6:30. He took an almost 3.5-hour nap to make up for it this afternoon, my poor, poor baby. He'll let me feel around in there only when Orajel application is involved, and it would appear that only one of these pesky canines has broken through. This means 3 more of these suckers to go, and then on to the second molars! And I thought the sleeplessness with newborns was bad!

Christmas musings

Yesterday I bought Isaac a little something that I *hope* I have the willpower to keep away from him until Christmas. Dada and I have already talked about spreading the joy gradually through our pocketbook in the two months to come, something we talk about every year but never seem to do, and here is my small step in the right direction. Look at me! Budgeting!

It's all actually very silly because we've all but decided on our Christmas present already. Note how I say "our" and "present" in the singular. We think it's best for us to use what cash we would spend on each other (and probably quite a bit more) to get a DVD player for the Jeep. Given that the grandmas and grandpas are now a doable 10-hour-drive away, we are thinking that a DVD player in our own vehicle would make the drive less daunting, especially after the success of Grandma and Grandpa's touring van VCR on the trip out here. However, I know virtually nothing about portable DVD players (a less expensive possibility), let alone about ones that are specifically made to be integrated into the car (a vastly more expensive possibility). Does anyone out there have any opinions, advice, or practical considerations that could be shared?

She's ours, juice stains and all

Yesterday our car-loan nerds cashed the enormous check I sent them almost two weeks ago. What does this mean, my friends? We officially own the Family Jeepster, one year ahead of schedule, and the title is on its way. What will it feel like to not make car payments anymore? I don't even know. Absolutely fabulous, I would expect.

Isaac's superior genes

I just have to gush over my beautiful son. Dada and I sit around him at night and tell each other how lucky we are to have, not just the smartest, but also the most handsome boy in the entire universe.

My favorite way to heave a big lovey sigh during the day is to think about how perfectly the Dada/Mama gene combo worked out. The boy is the spitting image of Dada in 50 gazillion ways, from the shape of his eyes to his cleft chin to his attached earlobes to his widow's peak to his square hands. But he got my best features, too -- he got my hair, which was sunny-blonde until college, my eye color, and my long luxurious monkey toes (instead of his Dada's Northern European mutant webbed toes). It's almost unbelievable how you can trace so many of his features directly back to one of us, and yet he's so much more fabulous than either of us alone.

Will you just sit still?

Dinner time has become WrestleMania at the O'Neal household. Dada and I go out of our way to sit down at the table as a family for a meal together most nights of the week. Isaac has long been okay with this tradition...until this week, anyway. First there is the fight with the kicking and screaming and pitiful "noooooo"s all the way to the table. Then once we're at the table, if the dinner is deemed worthy, he will take two, maybe three bites, and either begin screaming (if he's strapped in his high chair) or simply escape (if he's sitting in a big-boy chair). Next comes the chase, where Dada and I take turns doing laps around the kitchen to bring him back to his chair, or I give in and take him onto my lap, where he usually eats a bit more.

Oh, but tonight there was no Dada, as Dada went to frolic at a local pub with the department faculty. There was only me and my pitiful offering of yogurt (1, maybe 1.5 spoonfuls in his mouth), pizza puffs (of which he ate halves of three -- after one bite, their flavor evidently evaporates), and milk (flatly rejected, and then spilled). That he ate at all was the product of the following dance: I sat him in a big-boy chair (zero bites), then sat him on my lap (zero bites), then brought in his pint-sized Isaac table and chair and placed his dinner there (a few bites), and finally sat on the floor at his pint-sized table with him so he might stay in the chair longer (a few more bites). After that I brought him up on my lap again so I could finish eating, and he ate maybe four black beans, you know, to top himself off, before deciding that they and their accompanying corn need to be hurled to the floor, tossed at cat-brother, or better yet, rubbed in Mama's hair. At that point I was so worn out, and the place was such a mess, I decided he could continue to live off of whatever nutrients he's sucking from the atmosphere.

What's a poor mom to do? How can I get the constantly vibrating toddler-monster to sit and chill at least long enough to let me shovel enough food down my throat to appease the child-in-waiting? Or is that simply too much to ask at this juncture?

Guess I say that a lot

Isaac greatly enjoys his baby-lotion bottle. It's a flip-top number, which is clearly an invitation for him to figure out how to open it using his teeth. At first I was more than happy to let him nibble on the top while I changed his diaper since he would be relatively motionless and content for more than a half-second. This changed slightly when he did get it open; still a contented Isaac, but suddenly I had to interrupt the diapering every half-second to close the bottle. Last week I was slow on my game and Dada caught Isaac squirting a decent dollop of lotion right in the old cake-hole, so ever since then the lotion bottle has been off-limits. Whenever he grabs it, he gets the Mommy warning oft-heard around here, "No baby, not in your mouth." Usually this works pretty well, at least until he tries again two seconds later. Tonight when he was again caught with the lotion bottle between his teeth, I again said, "No baby, not in your mouth." He pulled the bottle out just long enough to retort, "I said no!" It must be hard for him to take me seriously when I'm rolling on the floor.

Isaac's vocabulary

In belated honor of his half-birthday, I thought I'd undertake a project to make a list of the words Isaac uses. Here I say "uses" to mean words that he freely says where it is clear he knows what they mean. We can get him to say just about anything parrot-style (ala "That's a statue. Can you say 'statue'?").

Perhaps I've mentioned before that he is a psycho-chatterbox? I guess I didn't realize just how prolific his vocabulary is until I sat down to make this list. We're talking single words here, not phrases ... and it's over 80 words long. Not including animal sounds. Granted, a goodly portion of these words may be unintelligible to the layman, but if one spends about a day being indoctrinated in Isaac-ese, his dialect becomes much easier to follow. At first most of these words came in by themselves, with pointing. As in, seeing a truck on the street, he points and says "Truck!" But this single-wordery has been almost entirely replaced by phrases. As in, seeing a truck on the street, he points and says "It's truck!" or "That's a truck!" Most words appear to be acquired from reading books together (especially about animals), but we have noticed a rapid boost in Wiggles-acquired terminology. Here it is, in no particular order, the complete Isaac Dictionary as of 18 months. Rather long, but I think such length is fitting tribute to the enormous verbal accomplishments of my budding linguist:

Mama
Dada
elephant
Elmo
Big Bird
Wiggles
squirrel
school
boy
girl
animal
banana (pronounced "mee-mah". Go figure)
mango
apple (=all round fruits or vegetables)
cheese
juice (=juice or milk)
water
moon
night-night
choo-choo (=train, of course)
hat
hello (=phone)
bird
rooster
cow
no
sorry
pickle
bye-bye
ball
flower
butterfly
ear
nose
toe
shoe
sock
foot
eye
sky
fly
frog
kitty
doggy
book
hot
cookie (=cookie or Cookie Monster)
baby
duck
up
down
one
two
three
mambo (=Bear of Big Blue House fame)
block
bib
balloon
cracker
bike
circle
star
vacuum
guitar (pronounced "gee")
car
truck
fish
movie
dinosaur
potty
bubble
spoon
slide
whee
swing
more
yucky
wheel
stroller
octopus
coffee
rock
tree

And we have the following animal sounds:
lion = "rrrrroar!"
bear = "grrrr!"
cow = "moo"
duck = "quack"
bird = "tweet-tweet" or "caw"
horse = "neigh"
goat/sheep = "meh"
rooster = "doodle-oo"
chicken = "bawk"
dog = "woof"
cat = "meow"
owl = "hoo-hoo"

Phrases:
"Bye-bye, X"
"I see you" and also "I see X"
"That's X" or "It's X" and also "That's not X"
"Where's X?"
"Let's go!"

It's just unbelievable, really, how much he can say and how eager he is to learn more. And to think it was a year ago and he wasn't even crawling, much less talking.

No more shots till he's FOUR!

Isaac's 18-month check-up was today. I think the grandmas probably could have heard the screaming from Indiana. Usually he is pretty good at the doctor's, but now that everything has to be his way or the highway all the time, it went pretty much like this:
"NO I will not share that car in the waiting room!"
"NO how dare you put me on this scale, and in the buff at that!"
"NO I will not lie still so you can measure me!"
"NO she cannot put those thingys in my ears!"
"NO she needs to get that measuring tape off my head NOW!"
"NONONONONNONO with the shots! Gimme back that Big Bird band-aid!"

Including the fully-functional lungs, he is all-around a super-healthy guy. As I had suspected, he has gotten much taller relative to his previous check-up -- last time his height was in the 30th-or-so percentile, this time he's in the 55th. Weight and head fatness are also around the 50th percentile. The official tale of the tape: he weighs 26 lbs 2 oz, he's 32 1/2" tall, and his noggin is 19" around. A hefty young man to lug around, no doubt.

We only had two shots today, the pneumococcal conjugate to prevent certain types of meningitis (which he's already had two or three of) and his flu shot. I was a little worried about shots after Erin and Ben's terrible DTaP adventure, but it turns out that he already had all his required DTaP. Now, aside from flu shots if we so desire, he doesn't have to get ANY MORE SHOTS until he's four! Score!

Growth spurt or growth hormones? You decide

I have always light-heartedly poked fun at the hubs, who is 5'10", for being a "shorty". He vehemently points me towards web statistics showing that he is several inches taller than the average male, but I come from a house where boys are tall. My dad is 6', my brother is 6'2". This fun-poking naturally extends to Isaac, Dada's near-clone, for whom pants waistbands have always fit, but pants legs have always required rolling up.

Isaac has recently and clearly undergone a growth spurt. Suddenly pants that fit him to a tee a month ago are so flood-worthy that they are embarrassing to wear out in public. His socks and shoes are getting tight. His toes are threatening to spill out the top of sandals that we bought him two months ago, when you couldn't see his toes under the straps (that's more than a 1/4". Seriously). Even his top half seems to be expanding in certain directions. His sleeves are all getting shorter, but his precious buddha belly appears to be shrinking.

When Isaac started drinking whole milk around his birthday, we decided that we would fork out the little extra for him to drink organic milk. In Seattle, organic milk is freely available and not too much more expensive than normal milk. In Delaware? That stuff is for independently wealthy hippies. Approximately one month ago, my favorite grocery store, the totally ghetto one where everybody goes to redeem their food stamps, was out of organic whole milk and I bought normal, hormone-infested cow's milk for my child to drink. When he ran out, organic milk was back at the store, but 40 cents higher, for a grand total of $4.39 for a half-gallon. This is versus $3.89 for an entire gallon of hormone-infested whole milk. My frugal side took over, and he's been on the cheap stuff ever since. After a month of continued exposure to normal-people milk, my kid is sproutin'. Coincidence?

A visit from Grandma Ross

Grandma Ross has really been logging the hours at the office. So much so, it seems, that she accrued some "surprise" vacation days. And what better way to use said days than to fly out, almost at the drop of a hat, to see her only grandbaby for an extended weekend?

Unfortunately, Grandma brought some hellacious rain with her. She got in on Thursday night and the Rain of Biblical Proportions came Friday and Saturday. Being the wise old bird she is (HA!), she brought along new toys and new books to keep Isaac happy while being trapped indoors. During our inside-time, we learned of an important talent that Grandma has kept hidden -- she is a certifiable Play-Doh genius. I was coming at the Play-Doh experience with my lame balls and snakes and pretzels. Not Grandma, who whips out trees and lakes and bowls and eyeglasses and (I kid you not) a mini-Play-Doh croquet game, right there on the table. And I'm not even sure that was her A-game.



Isaac took to Grandma very quickly, and was even giving up hugs and kisses upon request. Grandma, Isaac, and I spent all day Friday together at home getting reacquainted, though I stepped out for 1.5 h to join Dada at a lecture! Like a real grown-up! Then Saturday night Grandma babysat for a couple of hours so Dada and I could go to a homecoming party! Like a real married couple! Sunday the rain finally broke for a time, and we braved the mistiness and the chilliness to take Grandma to our favorite orchard. She snapped this one of our little pumpkin amidst all those big pumpkins:



We visited our faves, the goats, and this time Isaac was able to be convinced to feed the goats himself. With the help of Grandma, of course:



We ALL had so much fun with Grandma. I don't even remember everything we did, but whatever we were doing seemed so much easier because there was always a second pair of eyes to follow He Who Just Learned How To Run Really Fast. Also, she insisted I take a load off, and let me sleep in an extra hour every day in the morning and at naptime. I didn't have to cook once because she insisted on blowing her fat wad of cash on Bob Evans, Arby's, Mickey-D's, Chinese food... you name it. And she baked us a huge plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. Is it any wonder I gained 3 pounds while she was here?

Learning from our arguments

You may recall, from a month ago, Isaac's insistence that the sun is, in fact, the moon. It would seem now that stars are also "the moon." For the past week, as we leaf through Goodnight Moon, he continually points at the stars in the windows and says "That's the moon!" To which I say, "No, Buddy, that's not the moon. Those are stars." Over and over we do this routine, but it never seems to sink in. It's almost like he enjoys his "lines" too much to say what I tell him he should.

Tonight he and Dada were snuggling up, watching some of The Incredibles before bed. It gets to a scene where it's night on the island, and there are lots of stars in the animated sky, but no moon. From the other room, I hear Isaac say, completely without prompting, a gigantic sentence of his very own:

"That's not the moon, that's the stars."

At the O.B. -- a sneak-peek at U.B.'s "business end"

Today was our first REAL appointment, where I wasn't just interviewed. I found out my pee from Wednesday was clean, meaning no more Group B Strep, though the O.B. said they would be giving me I.V. antibiotics once we get to the delivery room as a precaution. Also, I don't have tuberculosis. Yay! I got scolded a bit because I had gained three whole pounds since Wednesday. That's three pounds in five days -- perhaps I should become a boxer?. Don't blame me; I had the perfect excuse. Grandma Ross was in town all weekend, and she force-fed me those many oatmeal raisin cookies she made, I swear. My fundal height (how big my uterus is) measured 19 cm, which the doc said was on the small end of normal for being 21 weeks, but I have protested all along that my due date is probably later than what has been calculated. U.B.'s heart beat was strong and ~150 beats per minute. U.B. kept moving around and kicking while the doc was trying to pick out the heartbeat, prompting her to say, "This is one active baby."

The N.P. from Wednesday suggested that, if I brought Grandma Ross along, she could come in with the Isaac-monster and everybody could hear the heartbeat. The doc today did her one better and decided to wheel the portable ultrasound machine in for an impromptu, unofficial peek at U.B., with Grandma and Isaac presiding. In short, everything looked GREAT -- we could see 10 beautiful toes, a happy, healthy heart, ribs, vertebra, even a full bladder. Of course we are going in for our official ultrasound soon, but this was an awesome preview. We even got pictures...

Here's is a great one of U.B. all curled up in the snug little cave. You can see the head on the left and two perfectly formed, crossed legs on the right:



The doc kept trying to get a face shot of U.B., but this is the best you get: a profile of the head, pointed upwards, on the left, with an arm punching through just below the chin:



And here's U.B.'s hiney. Cheeks are pointed to the right, with thighs going off to the left:


Kind of hard to tell from this angle, but after the typical spiel (blah blah, don't paint your nursery yet, blah blah), what we saw today was fun enough for me to announce, as my mommy-senses had suspected all along...

U.B. is a girl.

Yay! U.B. goes to the "doctor"!

Yesterday was U.B.’s first real prenatal care appointment. Unfortunately, it was one of those “introductory” appointments with a nurse practitioner and not an actual doctor. This meant I handed over my enormous packet of info recorded by our visit to the O.B. in Seattle at 6-ish weeks pregnant, and, while she read it, she suggested Isaac and I go hang out in the pediatrics’ waiting room where Isaac could run amok and make fish lips at the enormous tank of tropical fish. I got to pee in a cup to see if the Group B strep infection I had at 6-ish weeks had gone away after the round of antibiotics I was prescribed; I got shot in the arm with a test to see if I have tuberculosis.

Upon my request, I am also less 3 vials of blood, some for the “quad screen”, which I had done when I was pregnant with Isaac, and some for a cystic fibrosis carrier screen, which I had not had previously done. For those not in the know, the quad screen detects blood serum levels of certain hormones and proteins. Comparing these levels with levels that would be expected for your baby’s gestational age can reveal that your baby is more likely (but not guaranteed) to have certain developmental or genetic disorders, meaning amniocentesis would be recommended to pinpoint what, if anything, is going on. The cystic fibrosis carrier screen looks at a piece of my DNA to see if I have a mutated gene that would cause cystic fibrosis – if I don’t, then there is virtually no way I can have a child with CF. The nurse practitioner suggested I have the CF screen at the same time as the quad screen.

I wrestled with whether or not to have the quad screen test done when I was pregnant with Isaac, but I did it and when the results all came back as negative as humanly possible I found myself immensely reassured. Like any expectant parent, I ache to learn almost anything I can about the little tyke cooking inside me (but draw the line at tests that are unnecessarily invasive). If my baby is doing super, I want to know that. But if there is something wrong with my baby, I also want to know that so we can start preparing our family for raising a special-needs child. Either way, these tests can help shed a little light on that.

Isaac falls in love

Since he could focus his eyes, it's been obvious that my son is a ladies' man. He regularly embarrasses himself now that we live next to the freshman dorms, literally chasing after any young female who so much as gives him a passing glance. "Hey, baby! Squirrel? You want to look for squirrels with me?"

But today Isaac met a girl and fell for her, hard. Her name is Meghan, and she's a Junior photography major. She's the babysitter, and she came over today for a trial run, during which she spent two hours following HIM around and hanging on his every word. You should have heard the guy. It was all "Look at this cool toy! Read this book to me! Listen to all my words; I'm so smart! You like smart guys, right? Let's play peekaboo! Let's go outside! Oh, you're so funny; listen to my infectious giggle!" And she was all over it. She is definitely a keeper.

Someday I'll break his poor heart and tell him I pay her by the hour to fawn all over him.

From Dada: The Clean Gene

I am growing less averse to housework, especially now that it's part of my job description, but up until a year ago I was 100% classifiable as a messy person. When Dada and I were first married, there were several times where I actually cried my way out of doing household chores because they made me so unhappy.

Thank God, but evidently this messiness did not transfer genetically from me to my son. Case in point: the vacuum cleaner. Since Grandma and Grandpa Ross and Uncle Chrissy taught him how to say "vacuum", he has been obsessed with the thing. Now that we are home together, he is thoroughly entertained to go room-to-room with me and just stand there, watching, occasionally pointing out to me "Hey, did you know that's the vacuum?" Today we were vacuuming the kitchen floor (in preparation for mopping when the babysitter comes! That's how un-messy I am now!), and he gestured to me that he would like to try his hand at cleaning with the attachment. Boy, did he go to town. Here he is, vacuuming his high chair (COMPLETELY his idea):



He's small, right? So I asked him if to crawl under the table for me and get at all the nasties there. He happily obliged:



Think this is all too cute to be true? Check out the video footage I got of him vacuuming the rest of the kitchen floor all by himself. To download it, click here, and make sure you turn your sound way down or even off. Because the vacuum's running, of course.

And no, he's not for hire. I'm thinking, with my inborn disposition to messiness, I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Help arrives

I love staying home with Isaac, I really do. It is so much simpler than trying to work and be a mom at the same time. I get to set the deadlines (Bedtime at 9! Why? Cause I'm the Mama!). The drama is minimal (Tacos for dinner? Oh NO! We have no sour cream! The HORROR!). The boss is literally a big softie. Most of the time.

But the hours? Oh, man. With a boy who is never guaranteed to sleep through the night, one is basically on the clock 24 hours a day. It was hard to live in Seattle, over 2000 miles from our families, but we did get to pawn him off on his daycare ladies for 6 hours a day so I could get some grown-up time to myself. Now we live closer to the grandmas and grandpas, but they are still a prohibitive 10-hour drive away. We are in a new place and know no one, Michael is in a new job and is working like crazy, so the boy and I are alone together a lot. Of course this is what I signed up for and of course I sort of knew what I was getting in to. But, if you are following along, this pretty much means I haven't had a decent break from my mommy responsibilities (not counting weekend naps) since Grandma and Grandpa O'Neal left almost 2 months ago. I'm going crazy. Wait.."going"? Heck. I'm already certifiable, I'm sure.

Lucky for my boys, help is suddenly just around the corner. Grandma Ross found out that she has earned some vacation for her massive O/T efforts and is coming out for an extended weekend, arriving this Thursday. The week after or thereabouts, Grandma and Grandpa O'Neal are driving out, along with Dada's Great-Aunt Midge, to stay for about a week. Grandma and Grandpa Ross, and possibly Uncle Chris and soon-to-be-officially Aunt Jean, are coming out for Thanksgiving. And the boys and I are going home for at least a month at Christmas time. We will have extra pairs of hands galore for the foreseeable future.

But aside from that, this weekend I did what I should have done looooong ago: I interviewed a babysitter. A new girlfriend of mine with an 8-month-old of her own found a great college-girl babysitter through the University's online classifieds. I looked there, found an ad placed by a nice Junior named Meghan who is CPR and first-aid certified and has extensive toddler-sitting experience. I asked her to come over this Tuesday to meet Isaac and hang out with him while I scour the house in preparation for Grandma Ross's arrival. We already know from our many campus walks that Isaac loves him some college honeys, so I think this will be a match made in heaven.

U.B. grows -- 19 w 5 d

Almost halfway done cooking! You think we're big now ... the REAL expansion has only just begun.

Pre-bedtime book bonanza

Right before bed each night, Isaac gets 30+ minutes of unadulterated mommy-buddy cuddle time as we sit in the rocker in his room and read whatever books he wants. It's great for Isaac because he is a major bookworm and loves pointing out things that he knows (for a rooster: "It's doodle-y-doo!") and doesn't know ("What's that?"). It's great for me because I get to squeeze his squooshy body as much as I like and bury my nose in his precious spun-gold hair, fresh from a bath. Dada snapped a cute picture of us tonight in the middle of "Goodnight Moon":

U.B. says, "Hi, Daddy"

I have been able to feel U.B. squirming around in the belly for some time now, but the movement is pretty faint and infrequent. Last night as I was lying in bed he/she was having a Dance Party of One in there. Dada wanted a chance to feel U.B. move, and as soon as he put his hands on my belly he/she kicked him as hard as I had ever felt. Hi to you, too, U.B. Can't wait to hear your heartbeat at our "first" doctor's appointment this week!