And Then I Messed With My Theme

Now that there are two little Taters, I thought that the header should reflect it, so I started messing around with other themes.  However, I couldn’t make any of the pictures of Tater Tot and Small Fry fit the small space allotted for headers.

I clicked “activate” when I should’ve clicked “preview” when I was playing around with the available themes, and I lost the old one.  And since I lost all of my pictures when Tater Tot gave my old laptop a milk bath, the picture of him smelling cotton is gone, too.  (Well, I have the picture, but I’m too lazy right now to scan it and redo it.  Plus, the whole point of this little venture was to create a new header with both Taters, so…)

There’s the explanation for the change.  I really did have a reason this time.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t my normal blog theme ADHD.

Big Brother, Little Brother

Chalk it up to sleep deprivation or whatever, but this picture makes me all weepy.

Small Fry was having a little floor time, and Tater Tot decided he wanted to lie down close to him for a little bit.

Tater Tot stayed down there all of two minutes.  Then he heard the theme song for The Wonder Pets and he was out of there in a flash.  It was sweet of him to make the effort, though.

I’m off to bed until one of the brothers up there decides I’ve had enough sleep for the time being.

Rambling Before 7 a.m.

Oh.  Hey, blog.  I almost didn’t recognize you.  It’s not even 7 a.m., and I’m on my second cup of coffee.  I’ve been around this block before, but that was before I knew what a blog was.  In those days, the computer would find me working online crossword and sodoku puzzles.

The last time I was awake, drinking coffee IN HOT WEATHER, and watching the world go by before 7 o’clock was nearly three years ago when Tater Tot was a newborn.  It’s not like I’ve never gotten up early.  Quite the contrary.  Before Tater Tot was born, I actually had a paying job.  I taught first grade, and I had a 35-minute commute.  Since I have a slight need to be on time, driven by a unnatural fear of being late, I was up by 6:00 and always out the door no later than 7:20.  I didn’t have to be at school until 8:40, but What if I encountered a traffic problem and had to detour?  What if I had a flat tire and had to call for help?  What if I finished my diet coke before I got to school and had to stop for another one?  You have to allow for such unexpected things to pop up.  Plus, I always liked getting to my classroom early.  It gave me time to make sure I had everything ready, get the morning work out for the kiddos, drink one more diet coke before everyone arrived…

I won’t go so far as to say that I was a morning person, but once I was up, I was UP.

Then Tater Tot came, and I still woke up at 6 o’clock.  Of course, I didn’t just wake up at 6 a.m.  I’d also been up at 2 a.m. and somewhere in between for a diaper change.  It didn’t take long for me to take everyone’s advice.  When Tater Tot napped, I napped.

It’s also the first time I even thought about drinking coffee in the summer.  I love coffee, but normally I can’t drink it in hot weather.   (It’s funny how drinking a cold diet coke in cold weather doesn’t affect me in the least, isn’t it?)  At one point I was going through so much coffee that Tater Daddy bought a bag of coffee beans at Costco for me.  I doubt we were the only new parents who bought diapers, wipes, and coffee in bulk.

We may have to start doing that again because I just poured cup number three.  And I don’t drink out of cups made for sissies, either.

Can you imagine the glass I use when I drink my diet coke?

That reminds me.  I haven’t had a diet coke yet.

Blog, I love you.  But Tater Tot AND Small Fry are asleep, the coffee pot is nearly drained, and I have just enough time to down an ice cream bucket of diet coke.

Enjoy your Friday.

Home At Last

Small Fry came home late Saturday afternoon.  Since then, the two little Taters and I have been doing a lot of this:

And, yes, Duke has been trying his best to get in on the snuggling.

The Summer Home

Have you ever wanted a little place out in the country?

A place that would leave your friends speechless if you invited them to stay with you for the weekend?

I don’t want to brag, but our family has just such a place on my mother’s farm.

We call it The Summer Home.

Now you can see why I don’t like to brag.

The Summer Home has seen its better days.  When my grandfather was alive, this farm was a peach orchard.  He built this little house so he would have a place to cool off and rest in the afternoons.  My grandparents lived in town, and it wasn’t convenient to drive into town for an afternoon break.  

When my brother and I were little, we spent a lot of time out at the orchard, which means we spent a lot of time in the summer house.  It had a table and chairs, a TV and radio, an air conditioner, and a bed so Papa could take a little nap.  It also had the tiniest bathroom I’ve ever seen.  But the best thing in there was the refrigerator.  Papa kept it full of ice-cold Ne-Hi grape and orange sodas, Sprites, and Cokes in the tiny little bottles.  Our town had a Coca-Cola bottling plant at one time, and I remember going with him to buy wooden crates of bottled Cokes.  (Does anyone remember the “old” Cokes in the little glass bottles?  They were delicious.)

My grandfather retired from farming and finally bulldozed the last of his peach trees, except for a few down by the lake, in the fall of 1991.  He passed away just a few months later after a short illness.

The house is now used for storage, and Tater Daddy and I seem to be filling it up as fast as we can.  Remember when I unpacked our Christmas Tree last year?  It had been in the summer home for a couple of years.  However, earlier this spring, a friend of ours cleaned out the house and put rat poison and D-CON everywhere.  We hope that will help control the mouse problem, which will keep the things that eat mice far, far away.

Well, there you have it.  I’ve shown you our family’s second home.  It’s probably the most luxurious one we’ll ever have, too.  Because we’re just that fancy.

I hope you and your family have a safe and fun Memorial Day weekend.  I”ll see you around next week when I hope to be able to tell you that Small Fry is home.  Wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to celebrate the weekend?  Amen.  And amen!

Small Fry Update

Small Fry is two-and-a-half weeks old, and he’s coming right along!  We think he’ll come home sometime this weekend, and we are ready for him to be home.  

Let me say that again.  

WE ARE READY FOR HIM TO BE HOME!

The crib is ready.  His little onesies and outfits are washed and smell like Dreft!  The swing is swinging.  His bouncy seat is waiting.  The car seat is in the car.  Bottles are washed.  Tiny diapers are anxious to cover a sweet little hiney.  Tater Daddy has been advised to tune out any crankiness I may spew forth.  I am prepared not to sleep until the year 2013 or later.  Poopsie is on alert to come and love on all of us, but mainly Tater Tot.  It’s all good.

Small Fry is gaining weight!  Hooray!  He only weighed 6 pounds, 5 ounces when he was born, and he lost several ounces, so we’ve been working on getting those ounces back.  He’s almost up to seven pounds. He has had some, er, digestive issues.  Oh, y’all.  I’ve heard other mamas talk about the dreaded diaper blowouts, but (except for Tater Tot’s round with Rotavirus) I never had to deal with it.  That’s right.  Tater Tot never had a blowout.

Small Fry, on the other hand, is making up for  what I missed out on the first time I rode the mama-go-round!  Just visiting him in the NICU, I’ve been the recipient of three blowouts.  That’s okay.  I, myself, am a second child.  We’re supposed to shake things up a bit;  keep the folks hopping.  We can’t let them think they have it all figured out.  Where’s the fun in that?

Small Fry is just doing his job.

We’ll be happy when he’s doing it at home, though.

Green Acres is the Place to Be….

We made a fast trip to my mother’s farm Sunday afternoon.  While we were there, she asked Tater Tot if he’d like to ride her little garden tractor.  Within seconds, they had the thing cranked up and for the next half hour or so, they rode around on it.  I don’t know who enjoyed it more.

Here they are waiting for it to warm up.

And they’re off!  FYI…The little plot of land behind them is where my mother has planted watermelons and cantaloupes.  Have mercy!  I can’t wait!

After Tater Tot’s driving lesson, she declared that he is a pro at tractor-driving.

 I hope he continues to love coming to Poopsie’s farm, and I hope he learns to appreciate this piece of land that has meant so much to his family.  Because one day, he and his little brother will share and become stewards of it.

Land stretchin’ out so far and wide…

Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside!

He Calls It Like He Sees It

Tater Tot and I were at the grocery store the other day, and I stopped by the deli to get some turkey and ham.  We’ve eaten enough PB&J sandwiches lately to keep the makers of Jiff and Smuckers from going bankrupt anytime soon, and I decided to stir things up on the old lunch menu.  You know how we Taters like to live on the edge and all.

Tater Tot was a little on the grouchy side, even though we managed to score one of the airplane-carts.  From the deli you can see the floral/balloon department, and there was a Nemo balloon that he was convinced he needed.  When a balloon costs more than a pound of ham, Mama says no.  Yes, it will last longer than the ham, but we can’t eat it and it will only end up on the ceiling 10 minutes after bringing it home, upon which the toddler’s grouchiness will return.  Hence, no balloon, and only one round of grumpiness is endured.

When I asked for the turkey, Tater Tot said, “Mama I don’t want turkey.”  I told him that he didn’t have to eat the turkey; I would eat it.  When I asked for the ham, he said, “Mama, I don’t want ham,” so I said that Daddy would eat the ham.  And then I may or may not have whispered a couple of things in his ear about being a littler nicer, because the cheerful toddler I’m used to reappeared before my very eyes.

As the sweet lady behind the counter was hamming it up, so to speak, Tater Tot said, “I want the chocwit ham.”

Excuse me?  Chocolate ham?

“Mama, I want it.  I want the chocwit ham!  The chocwit ham, Mama!”  

I could not figure out what in the world he was talking about.  I pointed to the ham and asked if he wanted that.  That wasn’t it.  I pointed to another kind of ham.  “No, Mama.  The chocwit ham!”

Finally, I started going down the line, and at last he said, “Yes! That!  I want the chocwit ham!”

It was the roast beef.

Dear Sara Lee,

Here’s a marketing tip.  Change the name of your deli roast beef to “chocolate ham” and see if sales pick up.  I think it looks like chocolate ham, so I’m calling it chocolate ham.  I think I’m eating chocolate ham, and I love it.  I want my Mama to buy more of it, and she noticed that it is almost a dollar higher per pound than regular ham.  But she’ll buy it because she’s really sick of PB&J sandwiches.  If the idea catches on, I would very much like a job in your marketing department in about 22 years, after which I will have my MBA.  (My Mama made me write that part.)

Sincerely,

Tater Tot

See y’all at the deli counter.

Poopsie Time

Small Fry’s stay in the NICU is going on a little longer than we had expected.  He’s coming right along, and things are going very well.  It’s just taking a while to get him up to speed, which is okay.  Like I said earlier, nothing is life-threatening and he’s right where he needs to be.  Right now he just needs a little help that his Daddy and I can’t give him at home, so he has the best nurses, and some mighty fine doctors, taking care of him and keeping a very close watch over him.

We all thought he’d be home by now, and Poopsie just couldn’t hold out any longer, so she came for the day Wednesday.

She checked out his feet, because grandmothers have to do that.

We decided he was kind of like E.T., only his foot lights up instead of his finger.

Small Fry snoozed the whole time Poopsie was holding him, which suited her just fine.

After we left the hospital, we went to pick up Tater Tot from Parent’s Day Out, and Poopsie’s being there was a complete surprise.  When he spotted her from across the playground, he ran toward her with reckless abandon and practically tackled her, yelling her name the whole time!  She was equally thrilled to see him.  Those two are as thick as thieves.

On the way home we stopped for ice cream, and when we got to the house, we sat and ate it on the front porch.  Tater Tot showed Poopsie some of his new books, and then he showed her his new sandbox.  He showed her the flowers that were growing in the flower beds.  He was simply happy to have her here.

After we’d worn her completely out, it was time for her to leave.  Tater Tot gave her a hug and a kiss, and then he hung that sweet little head and told her bye-bye.

It’s a good thing we only live an hour away from her.

Because Poopsie Time does us all good.

And the Heat is On

You know what’s alarming?

Looking out your back door and seeing smoke floating across the deck, knowing that it’s coming from your air conditioning unit.

Take a wild guess how I know this.

Right.

So I called our nice air conditioning repair people, described the scene, and in a little while, my new BFF Corey showed up at our door.

“I think your unit is possessed by a demon,” he said when I opened the door.  I couldn’t help but agree.

After inspecting the unit, Corey pronounced it a goner, and called the time of death 2:45 p.m.  Apparently the fan blade broke, severed the coils, and killed the unit.  The smoke I saw washing across the deck was actually freon.  The house was not in danger of burning down, but he didn’t accuse me of being crazy for thinking that could have been a possibility.

Fortunately, we bought the unit from Corey’s dad about five years ago, and the whole thing is still under warranty.  In a few days all the parts will be here, Corey will install them, and it will be as good as new.

It will be like performing our own little air conditioning exorcism, I suppose.

Until then we have our little fans going like crazy, and Tater Daddy put in a little window unit in one of the bedrooms.  Because summer has come to Memphis, and the heat is on.