What some of you have to look forward to.

I'm sure that anyone with kids knows about this phase. Daniel started it a couple of weeks ago. The phase where you sit them down, surround them with toys, and they start happily playing. You go into the next room to try to get something done, and the baby sees you leave. And starts crying.

Did you know that with the second baby, there is a whole new dimension to this phase? Daniel also cries when his beloved big brother leaves the room. It was cute the first couple of time he did it, but the novelty wears off quick like.

And just in case anyone wants to laugh at my dumb ass, I just recently learned that Colonel is actually pronounced kernel. I'm guessing that KFC has heard that blunder before. At least I hope I'm not their dumbest customer.

Lucky me, I guess.

We had to go to the bank today, to deal with the kids RESP. Since our bank is in the ghetto, I think we are the owners of the only RESP account there. Everytime we go in, it's a gong show. When the kids get a cheque for their birthdays or whatever, it takes us three months to cash it. This is why.

It turns out that there has been no action on the account because she didn't get a photocopy of the back of my drivers license. Ummm, there is nothing on the back, but whatever. I give it to her, and she says it's no good because it is expired. Excuse me? Expired? I look at it, and it's expired alright. In November. 2004. So I've been driving around with an expired driver's license for a year and a half. No letter, no nothing. I even renewed my registration, and no one noticed. I'm lucky I didn't get pulled over, I probably would have had a heart attack.

So, my public service announcement for the day is to check your licenses, and make sure you are legit.

Poor crayfish

We bought three crayfish a few weeks ago. Two of them disappeared almost instantly, which I thought was a little strange. They are like tiny lobsters, how could they disappear? Fish can't eat shells. Or maybe they can. Anyway, the third one was fiesty. He excavated gravel like a madman, and made a huge tunnel under a log, and that was his home. He usually hid out under there, unless it was time to eat. Excuse the really bad picture of him at work.

Jeff and Jake were bonding over a car show, so I was watching the fishtank. I see the crayfish come out from underneath his log, climb over his gravel mountain, and sneak up behind a plecostomus that is easily three times his size.

He reached over with one of his little claws, and pinched the pleco right in the back. The pleco jumped like, well, like something just pinched him in the ass. The crayfish ran back over the gravel mountain and underneath the log.

It was a couple of days later that I noticed what looked like a part of the crayfish's shell floating on top of the water. No big deal, as they grow, they molt, and leave their old shell behind. So I reach in to grab it, with my bare hands. Mistake. It. was. soft. *shivers*

So I am thinking that the pleco had enough of the pinching antics, and had himself some crayfish sushi. Poor guy just wanted to have a little fun. *Sniff*

Don't hate me Daniel...

I know most of you have already heard this before, but as I sit here listening to my baby cry, I need to exorcise the guilt. I keep telling myself that I am doing the best thing for him by letting him scream his head off until he falls asleep, but my brain is having a hard time getting that message to my heart.

I've bitched before about Daniel's horrible sleeping. I did everything I could for him for the first six months of his life. Now, I just can't do it anymore. We never let Jake cry it out at all. But, with Jake, there was only Jake. I didn't have anyone else to look after. We worked on him gradually going to sleep on his own, but I know that won't work for Daniel. So we are letting him cry it out.

It sucks. Really sucks. I hear him crying, and I feel sick in the pit of my stomach. But he needs to sleep, and I need him to sleep. Walking him around in the sling for half an hour to have him wake up ten minutes after I put him down is not doing anything for him or for me. But man. Mother Nature needs to give me a break on the guilt.

Ahh, sweet silence again. He is getting better with it, but it's still tough. I'm sorry baby, Mommy loves you so much. How could I not, with such a sweet little face, chubby little popeye arms, and that gorgeous grin??

Why do I take the kids to the store?

Because if I do, I am guaranteed to forget at least half of what I was going shopping for in the first place. I guess I can't pin it all on them, because I went solo yesterday and forgot two things. So I had to drag everyone out again today to finish up. Jake, going through the hellion phase, was at his finest. He wasn't too bad in Walmart, aside from demanding a happy face sticker from the greeter, and the shameless begging for smarties at the checkout (he didn't get them).

We went to the library, which is where it all went downhill. He wasn't bad until we were waiting in line. He decided that breakdancing on the nasty library carpet would be a good way to pass the time. I got him to stand back up, and put my hand on his shoulder. I got the ole' "DON"T TOUCH ME!". It's phrases like that (another is DON'T TALK TO ME MOM!) that have visions of spankings dancing through my head. I had to renew my card, which sparked an intense begging for money session. I got him out of there, and to the car, where he tried to escape my grasp on his hand. I had heavy Daniel (who was sleeping, but woke up for the rousing version of "Mommy, give me some money") in the sling around my neck, a bag full of heavy books, and a thirty odd pound three year old trying to make a run for it. I resisted the urge to leave him in the parking lot, picked him up by the back of his shirt, and put him in the car. With so many shining moments in my motherhood career, I am wondering which will be the one that stands out enough to clinch the mother of the year award. It will be tough, I'm sure.

It is days like today that make me want to lock them in the house until they are whatever age it is that they become more manageable. But every tantrum filled outing makes my skin just a little thicker. Plus, I don't look around when my kid is acting like that. Kind of an if-I-can't-see-them-they-can't-see-me philosophy. Whatever works, right?

Some pictures...

He's driving me nuts.

God help me. I love him, but he is making me crazy. Jake, that is. It seems like he goes through hellion spurts, and we are in the midst of one now. He is not so bad at home, but if you bring him anywhere, prepared to be stared at and judged.

We took him to the Stampede again. Again, big mistake on my part. Once is enough. We are almost ready to go home, just trying to use up the last of our ride tickets. Jake starts whining about how he wants to go on the rainbow slide (again, a slide is the bane of our existence). I explained to him earlier that he wasn't quite big enough yet, and he would have to wait until next year. So he starts freaking out. I'm sure the heat and the fact that it is almost lunch and nap time are coming into play as well. So I tell him if he can't calm himself down, we are going home. He couldn't calm himself down. So poor Jeff had to pretty much drag him, kicking, screaming, spitting, and pulling his own hair, to our car which was not parked nearly close enough.

One of the bystanders says, "Awww, he hasn't had enough?" I made a mental note to never say anything to anyone involved in a tantrum situation. You can't say anything to make the situation any better, so just be quiet. Please.

Then he was a maniac at my parent's house yesterday too. Which I am sure is just sweet, sweet justice to my parents, because I was a maniac as a child as well. The only difference is that they spanked me. We have decided not to spank Jake, but man, I sure spank him in my mind sometimes.

But it isn't all bad. He comes up to me this morning, holding three balls. He gives them to me and tells me to "jungle". I'm about as graceful as a drunken hippo, so it's safe to say juggling isn't one of the things on my talent list. But I was flattered that he thought I could.

I love this part...

Daniel's first babbles.

Here we go again...

Sorry about the brief hiatus. I am happy to be back to bore. It's funny how many ideas you can have to post about when you aren't blogging. And then when you sit down in front of the screen, nothing happens. My mind is a traitor.

We decided to go to the Stampede today. It was my bright idea. First we went to the zoo, and I thought it would be more fun to go to the Stampede instead. Jeff knew it wasn't going to be pretty down there, but he humored me. We drove down, and found out it was $15 to park. So I came up with my second bright idea of the day, which was to take the train. Jeff also humored me on this too. Jake had never been on the train before, so I thought it would be fun for him. It cost us $9 for both our fares round trip. It definitely would have been worth the extra $6 for the convienence of having the car. As much as I like getting crushed by strangers when I am already hot, sweaty, tired and cranky. No more public transportation for us.

Aside from the train debaucle, it wasn't too bad. Really busy, and really hot. Plus I had Daniel in the sling, and he is hot too. I think I burned about a thousand calories sweating my ass off on the pavement. At least I wasn't hauling Jake around too, since he was refusing to walk. Luckily, Daddy gave him the deluxe shoulder ride. It must be nice to be three. We can't win with him. If we would have dragged the stroller along, he would have wanted to walk, and we'd be pushing along an empty stroller, annoying the masses. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't.

Jeff pointed out just how dirty the carnies really are. Well, I guess maybe it isn't the carnies fault, but the people who design the games. Anyway, that game where you play basketball, and get the ball in the hoop? If you look at the net from the front, it looks fine. If you look at it from the side, the hoop is an oval. Really, really oval. I couldn't see how you could even get a ball to go in there. Dirtbags.