Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

Here it is! This, again, is courtesy of Sara via Whispering Writer. That's right. I finally did my homework on this and am giving credit to all the places it is supposed to go.

Hey, It's Okay . . .

. . . to want to be Tina Fey when I am forty. (Forty is also known as, "When I grow up.")

. . . to not really care if people don't understand why you don't have a strong desire to go places and be awesome (especially on three-day weekends).

. . . to recognize that happiness pivots on how we handle not having things "our way." (I know. That was probably a bit more complex than you were hoping for on this fine Tuesday. I've been visiting that line of thought a lot with my toddler/preschooler.)

. . . to have a secret crush (or not so secret crush—sorry, Willi) on Jon Hamm because he can be the scathing, mysterious Donald Draper and be hilarious on SNL and 30 Rock. That is neat.

. . . to not understand the fascination with the phrase, "hot mess." (It sounds like diarrhea, people. Think about it.)

. . . to be the only person that can prevent your kid's tantrums because you understand her weird OCD tendency to need her penguin to sit properly atop a pair of pink Crocs in plain sight of the dinner table just prior to dinner. I'm pretty sure that's the whole "first born" and "functional first born" thing. (Oh, yes. I am still reading about birth order.)

. . . to love your kid, but really, really, really wish that he'd sleep more than just a couple of hours at a time during the night.

. . . to love your kid, but really, really, really wish that he'd at least take a legitimate nap during the day, too.

. . . to want to make a page on Facebook for people to "like" that is called, "I like to 'like' things." I bet I could more people to "like" it than they like that pickle (which is more than Nickleback, apparently). Unfortunately, this page probably already exists, absurd as it would be.

Photos from Today

We're goofy. Here's how I know:


Peeper.


He was laughing.


Look at those teeth.


Chuckling. Hard.


We decided to try to capture our goofiness together.


We made multiple attempts.


I'm not very good at the whole "self portrait" thing.


We were getting better. If only I had, like, done my hair or something.
Or, at the very least, washed it. And, maybe put on some makeup.


She gets it.


Whoa!


She was incorporating the ball. Very creative.


I think that one was the winner.


No, wait. THAT one is the winner.

The end!

Sara, Sophia, and Clare—Oh, My!

My fellow VCD, Graphic Designer, and PMO friend (although we were not in PMO at the same time), Sara, came to visit me this week with her two babies. Her two girls are very close to my kids' ages. Sophia is a month older than Nora, and Claire is about two months older than Henry. You'd think we planned it.

We got a chance to catch up, let the kids run wild, and vent about work and life. It was everything we hoped it could be. Here are some photos of that lovely visit:

Sophia knew what to do. I'm not sure what was up with Nora and the whole
"not removing the finger from her mouth" thing.


Henry was all, "I don't know how I feel about all these ladies, Mom."
Sara made him that bib! Isn't it cute?


Sara and Claire. Roomba, Alfred, is photo bombing in the background.


Claire and Henry.


He thought about crawling because she did.


C'mon, little buddy!


Stinkin' sweet.


"Oh, hey!"


Doesn't this melt your heart?


This is obviously going to have to happen again.


Two babies in my lap!


So fun!

Thanks for coming, Sara! We had a ball! Next time we do this, we'll have to get Angie over here with her kids, too!

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

You know the drill.

Hey, It's Okay . . .

. . . to pick up chunks of cat and dog hair on the fly instead of lugging out your vacuum cleaner.

. . . to have your toddler/preschooler pick up chunks of cat and dog hair on the fly (and teach her how to dispose of said chunks in the trash can while saying, "Eeeeeww!") instead of lugging out your vacuum cleaner.

. . . to think it's both creepy and funny that any time you mention "Christmas," your toddler/preschool busts into song with, "Baby Jesus is coming to town!"

. . . to want a hand-pulled lawn roller. For real.

. . . to want to squeeze this guy's cheeks:

Automatic Shower Cleaner

I have an automatic shower cleaner in our downstairs shower. I actually do think it helps keep it clean. I still have to clean the shower now and then by hand (I can actually go about two months between cleanings with this thing), and I don't think it's nearly as arduous as it typically would be if I didn't use that thing and waited even one month before cleaning the shower.

However, the thing I struggle with most is chucking out the money to go buy refills every two weeks. (I'm sure Willis loves that, too.)

So, I made a discovery today (and I had been meaning to make this discovery every single time I look at this thing in the shower—I just always forget to do the research). Here is what I found.

I'll be trying that. You betcha.

My favorite part is that it doesn't have bleach or vinegar in the ingredients (vinegar dissolves grout, and bleach is, well, bleach—it ruins everything). So, that's pretty cool. I have all this stuff in my house, too.

I thought I'd share.

Henry, My Wonky Wonk

We took Henry to the ophthalmic consultation today. The appointment was at 8:15 a.m. Eastern Time. For those on the home team, that's at 7:15 a.m. moi time. We were up at 5:15 a.m. in Lafayette (Eastern). I'm not even going to do the math and say out loud what time that was Central Time. Mmkay?

So, anyway, we went to Riley in Indy. We got there just in the nick of time—there was construction and traffic and all sorts of nutsness. We didn't have to wait at all, which was awesome. I also had pre-filled out the paperwork, so I didn't have to deal with that, either.

The doctor examined a silly, cheerful Henry, and informed us that he has congenital ptosis (a droopy eyelid). She said that it takes a kid up to the age of eight to develop his vision, and she strongly encouraged us to wait until he's at least four years old to do the surgical procedure that would correct the lazy muscle in his eyelid. Here were her reasons:

• His vision is fine right now.
• His friends won't notice it for a long time (until he's probably at least four years old).
• If we wait longer to do this fairly simple, outpatient procedure, it apparently becomes easier to avoid scarring (cosmetically speaking).

She does want to see him in nine months (and probably every nine months until we make a decision around the age of four—unless we have to do something about it sooner). So, we've made an appointment for February 3^rd to do this bizness again. I'm okay with that. I like the idea of not having to do this procedure right now, but I also like that they're going to keep an "eye" on it. Heh. Get it? Eye. Yes. I went there.

So, Henry's okay. He's got a wonky eye, and I love him. We'll probably address it when he's around four years old unless they determine that his eyelid is causing issues.

She did reiterate that this droopiness will not go away on its own. I always ask that. Call me nutty.

Okay. I'm really tired.

I was all disoriented last night at the Brown (Scott and Mary's) house because I thought I was at my house, and I woke up in the middle of the night all sweaty and confused and yelling for Nora. I woke up Henry and Willis in the process. It wasn't pretty.

I don't even know what the dream was. I just remember wondering why our closet light was on (and it wasn't our closet light—it was the hall light at the Brown house).

Sleep, please! Thanks! Bye!

Hilarity

Just now, I said to Nora, "Hey, Nora. Can I take off your diaper and put you in pants and panties so we can go outside?"

She said (while holding a little music player that Nana gave her), "No. I'm too busy dancing."

Well, okay, then.

Also, when Willis puts Nora to bed, she always yells to him as he leaves the room, "Be a good girl, Daddy!"