How to improve an outfit that already involves last night's pajama top and yesterday's dirty shorts...

"I wanna moo-hawk, mama."

Murphy's Law as applied to the diaper bag...

Yesterday, we went to the mall because it was too hot to be outside, and Trevor wanted to see if he could find something soccer related for Banner to wear to school on Tuesday.

He brought the stroller, but made the executive decision to leave the diaper bag behind because, "We never need it anymore". 

Hello, Fate?  Are you tempted?

Trevor must have realized that he was taking a foolish risk, because he did opt to stick an extra diaper and some wipes in the back of the stroller.  But the main bag with the extra outfit, snacks and games?  Yeah, at home. 

So it should come as no surprise that Banner managed to pee through EVERYTHING while at lunch an hour later.  Trevor tried to convince me at first that Ban was wet from spilled soy sauce and water.  Which...?  No.  It was mostly definitely pee.  Trust me.  I got a real good look.

And who got to buy Banner new "emergency pants" at H&M immediately after?  All while holding the pantless (and still slightly damp) little guy who was urgently chanting, "Pants!  Pants!  No pants, mama! I HAS NO PANTS!" in a pull up, t-shirt and crocs?  Yeah, that would be me.

(Still not sure how that happened.)

In Trevor's defense, though, he had just bought us lunch.  A lunch, might I add, that was much more expensive than a $7 pair of orange shorts at H&M.  Still, it's the principle of the thing, right?  Because we are only - AT BEST - halfway through this must-have-back-up-outfit stage of life.  WE STILL NEED THAT BAG, TREVOR!

(P.S.  I love you.  Thank you for making me laugh.  Even if that means I have to buy Ban another pair of pants every now and again.)

Banner's pickle...

I can't help but post about Banner's pickle.  His class made them at school, and the little guy was SO proud.  It had to show it to everyone, and take it for a ride in his Hummer for an hour after school.  Because that is just what you do when you make a pickle with Kool Aid.  Obviously.

You also wear your pants backwards with rain boots, and
point at "alley-copters" flying overhead in the front yard.
Because: Duh.

And then he insisted on eating it for dinner, which nearly did me in because the dang thing had been basking in the back of his "coy" (car) for an hour in 90+ degree weather.  But the pickle didn't return to haunt us in the middle of the night, so I guess no harm, no foul.

Whatever makes the little guy happy.
Even if it is toxic waste green and floating in a plastic baggie.

On girls nights and boys nights and why I may never use Uber again...

I had a girl's night out, which is really saying something.  Mainly, because I don't think I've really had one (that wasn't a bachelorette party) since before Banner showed up.  I was initially excited about going, but regretted it the closer we got to the actually day.

But then I went and had a fabulous time.  With the possible exception of my first experience with Uber.  But only because the driver had self described "anger issues", kept reference pending litigation against him and had just lost his "trophy girlfriend" who, at 24, was four years younger than his own daughter.   

(Oy vey.)

Needless to say, it was a long, dark, nerve-wracking ride home.  Mostly because the driver never turned on his headlights.

But I digress.  

The girls night was fabulous and relaxing and involved chocolate and margaritas.  I'm sure there is a lesson in there somewhere.  Namely, I should go on more girls nights, and possibly avoid all male Uber drivers sporting around town in Mazda Miatas.

It was also the first daddy-son date for Trevor and Banner.  Which?...I'm not completely sure how that is possible, because Banner has been around now for almost 2.5 years.  I feel like Ban and I go on mommy-son dates all the time.  But it was the first time for my boys, and they had an equally fabulous evening drinking milkshakes and eating at Jack's Burger House.  Clearly, this was not a mother sanctioned dinner (by any means), but they had a blast together so I'm choosing to ignore the general lack of fruits and veggies shown in the photos below.  You are only a kid once, right?

To sum up, we should probably all get out more.  Just maybe not in Uber.

Gordon's song (like Elmo's song but different)...

My kid is absolutely obsessed with Gordon Lightfoot.  Specifically, the song SUNDOWN.  But, really, he will listen to an entire Gordon playlist without complaint.

(In fact, he just heard me find the link above and screamed, "GORDON'S SONG!  PLAY GORDON'S SONG".  Instant recognition from four seconds and maybe three chords.)

Trevor wishes Banner would give other artists a chance.  

I'm just glad it isn't Barney.

One of life's little mysteries is finally solved...

Wipsy-Woo

For YEARS I've been asking for DNA tests for my dogs for every birthday and Christmas, but no one took me seriously.  That is, until Trevor finally relented and bought me one earlier this year.

I think he was tired of listening to me beg ask.

We decided to test Gypsy Kitty, because...well, she's eleven now.  Obviously, at this point, I'm not concerned with how big Gypsy may or may not grow up to be, or how the breeds that went into the making of a Gypsy might affect her temperament, energy level or overall health.  Because, after a decade together, she's just my Woo.  She's smart.  She's needy.  She licks a lot.  She's allergic to EVERYTHING.

She's just herself.  All.the.time.

But I've always been curious, you know?  So, really, why not find out her breed lineage?

And, guess what?  The results blew my mind.

We've always thought Gypsy was some sort of lab-mix.  But were COMPLETELY wrong.  She has absolutely no lab in her.  Not even a little bit of retriever.

Also, I always assumed Gypsy was pretty mixed up, but her great grandparents were all purebreds.  The blending of breeds only took place in recent generations.  Specifically, when both sets of her purebred grandparents got together and created the first generations of mutt on either side - Gypsy's mom and dad.

So, want to know the recipe for a Gypsy?

Well, here you go:

That's right.  Gypsy is a mix of American Eskimo Dog, Rottie, Border Collie and Standard Poople.  Which explains so much.  Like why she tries so hard to be a guard dog (Rottie), and why she hardly ever sheds (Poodle).  Why she herds us (Border Collie), and why her snot is short and forehead dished (Rottie again).  It also explains why she's never been much of a water dog (Rottie be like,"erm no Dog, dont do it"), and - while she likes to play fetch on occasion - why she's never been super obsessive about the ball or frisbee.

And, her brains?  Obviously, that came from the Border Collie/Poodle side of the family.

As for the Eskie, yeah...I'm not super familiar with the breed. But THIS description on Wiki sounds a lot like her with Banner,

"American Eskimos, with their high intelligence and inquisitive nature, will love to 'investigate'. If they find something very interesting they will often want their owner, or handler, to investigate as well, and will at times, not let the 'matter' go until the person complies. You will often find this behavior when it comes to children, for instance, if a baby or child is crying, the American Eskimo will want you to see what the problem is and will not stop 'worrying' until you do. The American Eskimo being so 'tuned in' is one of the characteristics that makes them a desirable breed around children."

Because Gypsy is nothing but an epic worrier.

Does any of this change how I feel about Gypsy?  No.  Of course not.  But there is a lot of fun in knowing, and now I can't wait to test the other two.

Just to clarify...

Back to THIS POST.

Trevor is a GREAT dad and FABULOUS cook.  And cooking takes time and a lot of effort.  I know this mostly because I am a terrible cook and it STILL takes me a lot of time and effort to do it badly.  I figure if all that time and effort has to be expended anyway, Trevor should do it so at least the final product is edible.  This isn't always the case with my concoctions. 

Plus, Trevor works nowhere near where we live.  In fact, his office so far away that they have different weather patterns over there.  He once had a ferocious thunderstorm at his office in Lewisville, and it was a perfectly sunny, cloudless day at mine.

So, when I say I do the lion's share at home, it is because it takes Trevor's commute takes, on average, 60-90 minutes each way.  Mine is closer to 20 (45ish if I have to drop off or pick up Banner along the way).  Additionally, some of the things that I do daily - like pick up after the dogs - is virtually impossible for Trevor to help out with during a good part of the year (i.e. in the winter, because he leaves before the sun rises and gets home after the sun sets). 

Really, the only point of contention from my last post (at least in Trevor's mind) revolves around who bathes Banner more.  Which is a stupid argument to have, because the hardest part of giving Banner a bath is GETTING Banner IN the bathtub.  For some reason, the kid is generally opposed to taking a bath.  Probably because he knows it signals the beginning of the bedtime routine.  The kid never wants to cuddle until he knows it is almost bath time, and then he is full of hugs and snuggles for his mama.  The sad thing is that it always works on me because I'm a complete sucker - AND HE KNOWS IT.  When the cuddle time doesn't work?...He starts telling me, "Mama pretty".

Kryptonite.  The kid has me wrapped around his little finger.

So, it should come as no surprise to anyone that Trevor ends up getting Banner IN the bath more than I do, because he is apparently immune to the bewitching cuddles and compliments from our adorable two year old son.

But getting the kid in the tub and actually giving him a bath are two different matters.  Take Monday, for example.  Banner is in the tub, Trevor is on lifeguard duty and I'm in the adjoining guest room folding two loads of laundry. 

Trevor:  "Hey, can you watch him for a second?  I need to run to the restroom."

Me:  "Sure."

I proceed to finish folding the clothes while watching Banner splash about from the doorway between the bath and bedroom.  When I finished, I lathered the kid up from head to toe, rinsed and conditioned his hair.  Once he was all clean, I watched him play in the water with his boats for a bit before draining the water, drying him off and wrapping him in an oversized bath towel. 

It was only then that I realized that Trevor has been gone much, much longer than "a second".  Annnnnnnnd where did I find him?  Watching TV in the living room.

In Trevor's defense, he was watching the US beat Ghana in the World Cup.

Which brings me back to my side of the argument, last week it was the Spurs in the NBA Finals.  Before that, there were the NBA and NHL playoffs.  And don't forget the Texas Rangers!  In fact, between the Mavericks, Rangers, Stars and Cowboys, there are AT LEAST 338 games a year that one of his teams is playing.  And a bunch of others that he has to watch as well because OMG, SPORTS!

In other words, stuff like this happens all the time.

But none of this in any way changes the fact that Trevor really is a great dad.  And I'm not just saying that.  He really is.  Plus, for the record (and despite the story I just told), Trevor really does bathe Banner more than I do.  It gives me an opportunity to catch up on other things (i.e. laundry, watering outdoor plants, feeding dogs, cleaning up after Banner's dinner, bill pay, etc.).

Trevor actually referred to these things last night as "my chores".

...!!!

But sometimes?  And by "sometimes" I really mean "most Saturday mornings"?  Yeah, that's Banner and Daddy time.  Because, "Shhhhhhhhh...mama sleepin'".

And, you know what?  I totally am.  I earned it.

(Because seriously, Trevor?  CHORES?!?!)

Happy weekend!

Some of the fun things we did while Trevor was in Canada (a photo blog)...

We hung out at White Rock Lake, watched the sun set and Banner got to go on his very first boat ride:

We went to the Arboretum and showed CEO all our favorite gardens:

And, finally, we went to Penn Farms at Lake Joe Pool for an afternoon of fun and exploration with Jeep:

On being a single parent (and an accidental a$$hole)...

I've been an a$$hole lately.  But mostly by accident.  I'm not sure if that makes it any better, but there you go.

Incidents of accidental a$$hole-ism have been mostly contained to the office:

1. I announced in front of a speaker and room full of participants that people interested in coming to the next program should come early because "next month's speaker is a real draw".
2. In my excitement over hosting a New York Time's Best Selling author, I told a local writer I work with from time to time that I was thrilled to have an opportunity to work with "a whole new caliber of author". 
3. While hosting said NYT author, I completely geeked out and told him how his father's book (not his) changed my life.

[HANGS HEAD IN SHAME]

To be fair, I didn't mean to be an a$$hole.

(Although, I'm not sure that makes a difference.)

For the record:

Incident #1...was meant to be a general FYI for participants who insist on calling every month to reserve a table at a free lecture series.  We have limited tables.  If you want a table, the only way to guarantee one is to come early because ALL of these lectures are very popular (not just next month's).  Of course, it didn't come out that way.

Incident #2...wasn't meant maliciously, and it was said to someone who has worked with the museum for longer than I have (i.e. more than a decade).  She's witnessed the organization's ups and downs, and my struggles to put together programs that will draw a crowd.  She - in her own right - is a writer of local business history.  She does a fabulous job, and I meant no slight whatsoever.  If it were up to me, more books about local business history would be on the NY Times Best Sellers List.  And I mean that sincerely because I am a complete nerd.

Incident #3...I'm not even kidding when I say that the father of the NY Times Best Selling author changed my life.  I had to read his book when I was in high school.  I didn't even like history back then, but had this awesome history teacher who assigned it to the class and made the subject both relevant and interesting.  Technically, the book itself was historical fiction, but the good kind of historical fiction (i.e. the kind that wins Pulitzers).  I think it was the first time the "story" was put back into "history" for me, and I realized the subject was waaaaaay more than boring dates, battles and dead guys.  It is totally cliché, but it was an a-ha moment for me.  Which has to mean something because I have worked in the field for ten years (in September) and have my masters in the dang subject.

Anyway, the Pulitzer Prize winning author passed away in the 1980s, and his son is now continuing his father's work (and doing it fabulously because...well, the whole NY Times thing).  The son is also the first to tell you that he wouldn't be doing what he does today without his father.  Plus, he signed a copy of his latest book for me to send to that awesome high school history teacher of mine, so I think I've been forgiven.

(Fingers crossed!)

Really, most of the incidents of accidental a$$hole-ism could be best described using a photo of me with my foot in my mouth.  Because I have a tendency to not think when I'm excited about something and/or engaged in some form of public speaking.  And...well, let's face it, I'm an idiot on the best of days.

Which leads me to latest reason I'm a complete accidental a$$hole.

Earlier this month, Trevor went on an eight day trip to Canada while I stayed home and took care of Banner, the dogs and our lives in general.  Apparently, many people thought I would have a hard time with the whole single parent thing, but I wasn't one of them.  Which - in hindsight - kind of cracks me up.  After all, it doesn't seem like all that long ago that I made my mom come stay with me while Trevor partied in Vegas with my now brother-in-law.  But I guess, nearly 2.5 years of parenting has my confidence up.  I'm not perfect, by any means.  But we've got Banner on a schedule, and I had about a week's worth of Dateline specials saved up on the DVR.  The idea of eight days home alone with three dogs and a kiddo just wasn't as daunting as it once was.  In fact, it was pretty relaxing.  I'd get Banner in bed and then pile up in bed by 8:30 and watch Lester Holt narrate yet another "who done it" mystery.

(OMG, I never realized how lame that sounded until I put it in writing and read it.)

Still, upon his return, I think Trevor assumed I'd be all exhausted and worn out.  Like maybe I would hand him Banner, and go lock myself in the bedroom for the rest of the afternoon to take a nap.  But it wasn't like that at all.  So, he asked, "Was it hard at all?  You know...without me here to help with Banner?"

Me:  "No.  Not really."

Trevor:  "Why not?"

Me:  "I don't know.  I guess I realized I do a lot of the stuff by myself already, so it really wasn't all that different than normal."

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I know:  OUCH!  But - HONESTLY - I didn't mean it to sound like I do everything and...well, b*tchy.  Promise.

I missed Trevor.  Banner missed Trevor.  The dogs missed Trevor.  OF COURSE we ALL missed Trevor.  We love Trevor.  He is our guy.  But - when it comes down to the daily nitty gritty - I really DO the lion's share of the work at home.  I feed, bathe/groom and pick up after the dogs.  I do the laundry.  I take out the trash.  I water the plants, fill up the fountain and replenish the birdfeeders.  I'm in charge of paying the bills.  I almost always take Banner to school and pick him up.  I do the bulk of tidying up around the house.  I make the beds.  I bathe Banner and put him to sleep at night.

BUT that is not to say that Trevor doesn't do anything.  Au Contraire!

He is the cook and the main reason I existed on popcorn and cereal in is absence (Banner ate better, no worries.  I was just too tired to care about me after he was down for the count each night).  And Trevor always assists with the bedtime routine when he is home.  In fact, he's usually the one to read Banner his bedtime story, while I feed the dogs and clean up after Banner in the kitchen.  I've always kind of thought of it as their "guy time".

Plus, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't exhausting not having that extra fatherly pair of hands, eyes, etc. to help out with the little tyke - especially on the weekends.  And doing certain things - like going to the gym or for a quick run - were definitely not going to happen while Trevor was away.  I think those were the times I missed Trev the most.  Because, let's face it, every now and again it is nice to have five minutes to yourself.  Especially in the bathroom.  With Trevor gone, I had a pint sized chaperone every single time I needed to pee between 7 AM and 8 PM.

(Note:  I generally have a pint sized chaperone when I have to pee even when Trevor IS around.  Because peeing is a BIG deal when you are two and interested in all things potty and flushing.  It is just that every so often, if I am suuuuuper quiet about it, I can sneak to the potty without anyone noticing if Trev is home.  Soooooo not the case when he is away.  Because, OMG!  Where IS mommy?!)

So, yes.  I missed Trevor.  But was eight days without him horrible?  No.  Not at all.  It was mostly business as usual, except I had unlimited control of the remote control and the WHOLE bed to myself for a change.  Which?...SO AWESOME.

Hi, babe!  Love you and glad you are home, okay?
xoxo
P.S.  Sorry for being an a$$hole.  Again.

Another milestone...

On Wednesday, Banner pooped in the potty for the first time.

On Thursday, Banner peed in the potty for the first time.

It is now Monday, and Banner has refused to repeat either except in his diaper.

I'm sort of convinced he did both last week to prove he could.  As in:  he came, he saw, he conquered.  And now?...He is done with the potty.  Pull-ups FOREVER.

Happy Father's Day!!!

To the best daddy in the world!

Dear Trevor,

Sorry I misplaced your card, and had to buy a new one while you waited in the car at Tom Thumb.

#spousefail

At least I didn't lose Banner's!

P.S.  I love you!

And to MY father,

Thank you for being such a loving Paw-Paw Mint to little Ban Man.  We love you very much.

XOXO

Anniversaries and Milestones...

June 11th was the 12th anniversary of my first date with Trevor.

It was also the day that Banner chose to poop in the potty for the first time.

Part of me is thrilled that we are making headway in the whole toilet training department, and the other part is worried that Banner was making commentary about my relationship with his father.

Thoughts? ;P

Banner shorts, Take II...

Me:  "What do you want for dinner?"

Banner:  "Food."

Me:  "Okay.  What kind of food?"

Banner:  "The kind in my mouth."

The BEST part of this conversation is that he opens his mouth and points inside, like I'm unfamiliar with the whole eating process.  Then he laughs and walks away as if he is in middle school or something and he just said the funniest thing ever.

Not even 30 months old, and already a smarta$$.

(No idea where he gets THAT from.)

Me:  "Ready to take a bath?"

Banner:  "No.  I wanna ride Haskell."

Me:  "No.  We don't ride Haskell."

Banner:  "Gypsy?"

Me:  "No.  We don't ride Gypsy either."

Banner:  {frustrated sigh}

Speaking of the dogs, Banner periodically blames them for things.  My favorite was when I served him carrots the other day, and he fed them to the Haskell (who LOVES raw carrots, by the way).  When I caught Banner in the act, he looked at me with these big, blue eyes and proceeded to tell me that Haskell STOLE the carrots off his plate.  He even turned to Haskell and said, "Give back, A$$ Cow!  Now!".

Stinker.

Because it happens ALL.THE.TIME...

Remember THIS POST?

Well, I see that car EVERYWHERE.  And it is ALWAYS passing me.  She's zipped around me in the library parking lot.  She's zoomed by on Northwest Highway.  She even honked at me once because I was (apparently) going too slow.

I'm not sure if I should be ashamed of myself for so rigidly adhering to speed limits or impressed by her for being so completely awesome.

Rock on, Granny.  Rock on.