Can't. Keep. My. Eyes. Open. . .

This is what I like to call a Twangover.

It's what one gets when they stay up until three thirty in the morning downing Cherry Coke and Charleston Chews with 25 friends while doing this:

I know this is a polarizing topic. Either you love it, or you hate it. But I, for one, absolutely love it. And last night was the first night in a really long time that I felt like a human again. Albeit a human who loves vampires. And um, after last night . . . a human who REALLY loves werewolves. Just sayin'.

ps. I'd like to thank The Hubby and a really good breast pump for making this night possible. Oh, and Rob and Taylor too.

Do You See It?

Here they are . . . my go-to baby entertainers doing their jobs while I get dinner ready. There's something in this picture that puts the wind in my sails. Do you see it?

It's not the Bumbo chair - although it might possibly be one of the greatest baby inventions ever {and should never be put on an elevated surface - I'm a bad Dragonfly}.

It's not the laughing baby - although the sound of that boy giggling is most definitely one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard.

I know it's hard, but I'm gonna ask you to stop looking at the baby. Now turn your attention to the other two. Do you see it?

It's written all over their faces. That this little boy name Ollie has brought such joy, love, devotion and selfless service into the lives of my children is something I could have never fully anticipated.

And it is just. simply. the. best.

ps. CryFest Update: We moved the baby back into his crib and put RedDog on our floor. It just made sense to have the non-crying child sleeping nearest to us. Ollie slept from 10:30 until 5:40 WITHOUT crying! Hallelujah!

CryFest 2009 . . .

My infant child is like Harry Potter, sleeping in a closet and being neglected by his closest blood relatives.

Here's the report on CryFest 2009:

I fed him at 10:30. I got in bed at 11:00. He started crying at 11:15. I whimpered and thought out loud, "He is ALREADY crying?" Heaven help us, it's going to be a LONG night." The Hubby {bless his dear soul} answered with soft snoring. For the next few minutes I coveted his gift of sleeping through the pain and then I felt relief as I realized the crying had stopped. Then I cautiously drifted off to sleep.

The next thing I knew, it was 1:02 and the crying was loud and constant and heart wrenching. I had to fight my impulse to jump out of bed and go to my baby. The cry would escalate and Ollie was speaking to me - "Mom, aren't you going to come and snuggle me and nourish me?" Then the cry would change, becoming more intense as if he were saying, "Have your forgotten me? Abandoned me? Where are you?" I lay there in the bed feeling helpless and miserable. I am not good at this {which is why none of my children have slept through the night before nine months}.

The Hubby awoke and asked me a two word question: "How long?" My reply was three words: "Only six minutes." But everyone knows that in sleep training time that is about an hour. He continued to cry for 23 minutes {STT = almost 4 hours}. He stopped at about the same time as a tear slipped out of my eye and rolled down my cheek onto my pillow. After a few minutes of silence, he started again, but this time for only 10 minutes. He was not heard from again.

The alarm woke us at 6:45 and the Hubby brought my little Owl to me. He was grinning from ear to ear and I loved all over him in the happy realization that he was okay and Oh! how I had missed him. The only guilt I am feeling this morning comes from the fact that his little hands were like ice cubes on my warm body.

CryFest Part II tomorrow!

You Should Be Worried. Very Worried.

This is the face of a boy whose momma just whispered in his ear, "Happy Four Month Birthday Little Owl. Today you will be weighed and measured and get shots in your chubby legs. "

While I know the shots won't be fun, we have bigger fish to fry at this appointment with our pediatrician. Ollie needs to sleep. And Ollie needs to poop. And Ollie's little tummy needs to not be so rumbly every time he eats. Basically, Ollie isn't super happy a lot of the time and we want to know why so we can help him feel better and be the cheerful boy we get glorious glimpses of.

So wish us luck! {and pray that our doctor has a solution to take care of the DARK circles under my eyes and maybe even gives me the green light on dairy because I cannot get the good stuff out of my bloomin' mind.}

Update: Per our pediatrician's advice, we are going to try putting Ollie on probiotics to help his "gut" get to a better place. If that does not work, we will begin exploring the lactose intolerance side of things. Otherwise, our check up was great. Ollie is healthy, growing and even giggled for the doctor after he drooled down her cleavage. Tonight all joy will end as we put him in our walk in closet and let him cry. Patience and earplugs, my friends. Patience and ear plugs.

You Do The Math . . .

When great report cards came home last week the Hubby offered to take the kids out for celebratory ice cream. On the way he offered up a choice: go to Cold Stone for a $5 cone or go to the new Wegmans grocery store where each kid could get an entire 1/2 gallon for less than $5.

You see what they chose. And yes, all three kiddoes got an A in Math! Delicious dividends aren't hard to figure out.

Pausing and Breathing . . .

{Me and little Ollie having some rest together.}

I'm going on a self proclaimed computer hiatus. I'm feeling the need for a little less blogging and a little more sleeping. I want to spend more time with my family and less time pining for comments. I have things that need doing and the chime {or lack thereof} of mail in my inbox is preventing me from doing them. And I feel that I need to recharge my creative juices so I can be less critical of myself and the posts I've been putting out there for all to read. I'm going to take time off to be a better me in hopes that I can make life better for everyone involved in this little blog.

Hopefully I'll be back next week. Thanks for sticking with me.