El Nino WILL NOT BE MOCKED

You like apples? How d'ya like DEM apples!

Les bons temps

I have no legitimate claim to being a Saints fan, but you know, the Superbowl rolls around and for the sake of party planning you pick a side. We decided to be Saints fans.

Partly because of a brief internship I did in Baton Rouge several years ago. Mostly because of the food.



And also because dressing my kids up like drunken Mardi Gras revelers amuses me.



We all got into the spirit.



I declared dough kneading to be my fifteen minute workout for the day.



When he saw me trying to chop onions with my eyes closed, Ryan said he would take over for the second one, then disappeared to the garage and returned with a pair of souvenir "Ford" safety goggles he got on a field project.



When they sang the National Anthem on TV Charlie ran and got our flag out of the coat closet then stood in front of the TV and waved it so fiercely he almost impaled Wes with the eagle on top. Proud little American.



Labmama and her family came over for jambalaya and King Cake before the game. Because the game was on too late for the kids. I live in the CENTRAL TIME ZONE, friends. Charlie was asleep by 6:30. Wes wasn't far behind. I got all my labs graded during the third quarter, watched the Saints wrap it up in the fourth, and still have an hour or so before I turn back into a pumpkin. A pretty good Sunday night, I'd say!

Spanish for "The Nino"

It has been raining for SIX YEARS.

We ran out of activities days ago. A situation which came to a head yesterday evening when the kids started flinging spoonfuls of yogurt at each other and I barely glanced up from my email before shrugging my shoulders, relieved that at least they were happy and not fighting.

Then they spent an hour taking a bubble bath.

Today the forecast promised drier weather and temperatures in the fifties by the afternoon. I foolishly told Charlie that we would get to go outside and play in the afternoon. He briefly stopped scratching tally marks into the living room wall with a sharpened baby carrot and smiled.

As it turns out, when I said "play outside" I meant "run from the car to the grocery store with your coat over your head while your mother mutters swear words under her breath about the El Nino."

Over the summer when I read that El Nino would bring us a cooler and wetter winter than average, I was thrilled! We had NO RAIN all summer. And all spring for that matter. No rain! And I was really missing the seasonal changes of our old town. So a cooler and wetter winter? Bring it on! I'll make soup! I'll bake! It will be so cozy and special.

It is not cozy and special. It is like being locked in a shipping container with two golden retrievers on Red Bull.

We've done playdoh, we've done Legos, we've done TV (OH SO MUCH TEEVEEEE), we've had an escalating civil war over the two square feet of carpet immediately in front of the TV, we've made art out of cotton balls, we've baked muffins, we've made stew, we've fallen off the coffee table in front of the window in the playroom after what I can only assume was a last ditch effort to not succumb to a lethal Vitamin D deficiency. We've played nine-thousand games of pig pile, taught Charlie "Go Fish," built forts, and let Wes do pretty much anything he wants that doesn't involve electricity or alcohol.

We've also been consuming more caffeine than has been deemed safe by the FDA. And by "we" I mean "me" because no matter how early Charlie gets up to sit on the potty and sing "Jesus Loves Me" at the top of his lungs, it never seems to put even the smallest dent in his boundless energy.

And now Ryan and I are GChatting the word "poop" back and forth to each other from our respective couches. It's time for the weather to start acting like Texas, is all I'm saying.

Again with the awesome wife business

Man, the "for worse" part is really being tested this week!

First it was hallucinating sleeping seven hours late in the middle of the night two nights ago and today it was an angry phone call about missing keys five minutes after he walked into his lab. And then a probably exasperating walk back to the car in the rain and then getting almost all the way home with the extra key before another, very sheepish phone call alerting him that I had found the wayward keys. And that they were in my purse.

It all started after I got both kids buckled into their seats in the car in the garage all bundled up and ready for school (Charlie's school. No matter how badly he and I both want him to go to school with Charlie they won't let Wes go until next year). I dashed back into the kitchen to grab my purse and reached inside to get my keys all the while musing whether I felt more like a breakfast taco or a latte and donut for my midmorning snack. But the keys were nowhere to be found.

I looked again. I took everything out. I searched the kitchen counter, the only other place I ever put them when I come inside because it is out of reach of the children. No keys.

I turned my purse upside down and shook it. Nothing.

Remembering that I had seen my recyclable grocery bag, which is usually in my purse, on the floor of the laundry room, I surmised that some little hands had been messing around with my purse, which is a BIG NO NO. Now I was getting really annoyed.

I got on hands and knees and searched the whole laundry room, under the washer and dryer, IN THE BAG OF freaking DOG FOOD all the while making quite the angry spectacle of myself. Nothing.

I went to the car and asked in a less than patient, not at all nurturing voice if anyone had any idea where my keys might be. "Grandpa has them" said Charlie. "Why on earth would Grandpa take my keys???" I asked. He had no answer.

I called Ryan to ask if he had noticed them someplace weird in the house. He somehow managed to detect that I was angry and getting a little frantic at the prospect of losing another day of preschool (i.e. screwing around time for ME) this week. He asked if I had taken everything out of my bag. I HAD! I SHOOK IT OUT! NO KEYS! I wailed. He suggested he come home and bring me his set of keys. No no no, I said. Not necessary, I bleated out, not meaning it at all. He said he was on his way.

I crawled all over the living room floor feeling under couches and chairs. Found Thomas the Tank Engine, which has been missing for a week, a small victory, but no keys.

Finally, after I had searched the entire living room, laundry room, toy room, TV cabinet, dog food bag, under all appliances in the kitchen, I decided to look in my purse one more time.

I angrily jammed my hand inside and was feeling around when my hand slammed up against something hard and my car beeped at me from the garage.

Oh shit. OH SHIT!

They were in the side pocket. I didn't even know my purse HAD a side pocket. It is apparently a very secure side pocket as it somehow managed to hold my keys hostage despite a vigorous upside down shaking.

I called Ryan and explained that I had, uh, found my keys, in my purse. Heh heh heh. See you tonight! Love ya!

I took him a dozen donuts after I dropped Charlie off.

My Subconsious Fights Back

My two work days are Tuesday and Friday. I teach the same course on both days, and there is a new lesson and lab each week. As a result Tuesdays have emerged as the stressful, not-fun day while Fridays are lots of competent, been-there-done-that, this-is-how-it's-supposed-to-be fun. Last week my Tuesday lab ran OVER the allotted time and my Friday lab ended an hour early. Good times.

I am also having some trouble fitting in planning time over the weekend. I don't need a lot, but I do need to relearn the material and plan a short lecture. That usually falls to Monday evening, which is fine because since our TV stopped picking up Fox I no longer have anything else to do Monday nights.

I didn't think I was too stressed out by this situation until I found myself standing in our bedroom at two o'clock this morning with all the lights on yelling at Ryan.

"GET UP!!!! GETUP GETUP GETUP GETUP! WE'RE LATE!!!"

"Wha? [unintelligible] What the hell?"

"IT'S TWO O'CLOCK!!!!! GET UP!! WE'RE LATE!!!"

"Bec, it's two o'clock IN THE MORNING. Please come back to bed."

"What? Oh. OK."

Clearly my exhausted mind hadn't stopped to consider that if it was indeed two o'clock in the afternoon I wouldn't have had to turn all the lights on.

Wesley Full of Anger

After fifteen agonizing and very loud minutes trying to wrangle Wes into a clean diaper, onezie, and a pair of pants this morning and after a long breakfast where all of his favorites--his banana, cinnamon toast, and milk--were met with indignant screams and back arching then hurled to the floor, after I threatened him, exasperated, "You better pull yourself together by your eighteen month well-check or we're going to have to get you evaluated," only then did it occur to me to check his little gums for signs of new teeth. And there they were, two angry red swollen places where canines will be one day soon.

Though this particular stage doesn't stand out in my memories of Charlie's second year, I don't have to look far to find examples of him completely losing his mind for no apparent reason.

He's asleep now for his second nap after a long shopping trip where everything thrown into the cart unopened represented a crushing disappointment on the same level as would be me using his favorite blanket, which we call Smelly incidentally, to clean up my hands after changing the oil in the car. Like, "Sorry dude, we're not going to eat those dishwasher packs until we get home!"

And now Charlie is asleep. At ten till five. That is juuuust great. I hope his evening plans include writing a mini-lecture about Ohm's law because mine do.

Funk-ay

We went to a basketball game tonight and Charlie put this little number together after watching the pompom squad practice.

Another Charlie Dancing Video from charlielaughs on Vimeo.

The hair tossing is my favorite.