The Adventures of Parker and Chloe

I tell ya, these girls are jet-set. This weekend they are spending time with Big Daddy and Gaddy in Kerrville, Tx. Oh yes, their Mom is there too.

They got tours of the ranch from Gaddy (background). It would appear that P found some antlers. She looks like quite the natural.

If you want to give your granddaughters extra incentive to come visit, I recommend procuring a BABY DEER! I guess it is officially being referred to as Lash. You will always be BABY DEER to me. Chloe seems to be quite the Deer Whisperer.

Parker seems a little less sure of the situation.

Endless hours were spent playing in the empty pool with cousin Ethan.

In the event Gaddy hadn't done the appropriate amount of research regarding care for a BABY DEER, Chloe brought a book on deer care and read it to him.

From Big Daddy's reports, it sounds like everyone is having a beautiful time in Kerrville. They better soak up the nice sunny weather and wildlife, because they are returning to a winter wonderland here in Missouri. Say "Hi!" to Gaddy and Lash for us!

Super Thursday-WEEK 17!!!

Looks like my grapefruit reference last week was a bit premature, because according to my trusty-dusty phone, Super is now the size of a grapefruit. It also says that Super is 6 inches, so clearly modifications in agriculture are generating monster sized fruit these days. I am also a bit confused by the weight they provide (5 ounces), which seems a little light for that size. Oh well, I don't think actual bones have started to form yet (also starts to happen this week), so that might pack on some pounds in the near future.

What also might pack on some pounds is the new layer of fat that is starting to form. Super's weight will be 2-6% fat at birth, so clearly we have a ways to go. I should start feeling some more drastic movements soon as the bones form and loud noises may also start to startle the baby. Lucky for me my family is so quiet and serene that this shouldn't be a problem over the holidays.

Bad timing

I don't recommend mixing grief and pregnancy to anyone. The lack of access to any mood altering substances during this time is a bit of a drag. I can't even exercise my way out of it because elevating my effort to anything that works up a decent sweat results in an inability to breathe. It forces you to actually face things and acknowledge what is going on in your life, and let's be real people, that's not the way we do things in this family. But I guess we don't really have much of a choice in this situation. What does seem to help is getting out of the house, so I was probably a bit over-excited about Parker's Holiday Program last night.

Parker seemed a little unsure of the situation at first. Or knowing her quality control issues, she might have been a bit nervous about the performance abilities of her fellow third graders. Or that she was underdressed compared to the girl next to her. No worries Sweet P, in this scenario, contrary to the rule which states otherwise, I think it is best to be under-dressed than over-dressed.

It was a mighty group. It's interesting to see the level of squirmy-ness decrease from the risers as these kids get older. No one fell off this year, which means it was a huge success.

Believe it or not, this is the excitement level increasing.

The 3rd Grade Class ultimately got their groove on with several songs which involved both choreography and sign language. I like to think that here, all the 3rd Graders are giving "the finger" to sadness (in reality I think they were pointing towards the north star or something equially precious).

So thanks again, P-nut, for once again raising my spirits. I know I can always count on you!

A word of advice

I get it. People are just trying to make us feel better and it's always hard to come up with the right thing to say in a situation where someone has lost someone (or something) close to them. But I'll tell ya what's not a really comforting exchange:

Person: How old was your dog?
Me: He was around 11.
Person: Well, that's pretty old for such a large dog.

WTF people? And this seems to be the more common of the comments we are getting. Imagine the human equivalent of that discussion:

Person 1: How old was your Dad?
Person 2: He was 80.
Person 1: Well, that's pretty good given the shorter life expectancy of males these days.

Just stick to the basics. Don't try to make me feel better by pointing out that he was old and big and was on borrowed time (apparently). Between this and the frequently asked, "So was this an accident?" question when we told people we were pregnant, I am becoming more and more convinced that people very rarely think before they speak.

Sad

Some things are so sad that you don't want to write them down, because then they become a part of your history. They become real. And I don't want this to be real, but I guess there's no changing the facts. We had to put our sweet Bexar/Bear down yesterday. When the time came, there wasn't really any denying what had to be done, and I know he wasn't really there any more, which made the decision easy. I am trying to focus on the Bexar that would knock you over for his leash and then proceed to walk himself with his leash in his mouth for a mile. The Bexar that would lean into your legs in a loving "leg hug" until you thought your knees would snap. The Bexar that could maneuver his cold biscuit nose under your arm so your hand was perfectly positioned for head scratches at his will. There are so many wonderful memories, and it's impossible to pick a favorite. He will always be a huge part of our family's history as our biggest "lap dog" (maxing out at 109 pounds at his heaviest), the first dog to live in four houses, and essentially giving Rick and me a trial run at parenthood.

Thank you buddy, for being a faithful and loving companion for the past 11 or so years. You taught us that getting slobbery just means you are sharing the love and that massive amounts of fur equals an excellent cuddle buddy on cold winter days (and makes all that sweeping well worth it). We will all miss you. Go lay down now.

16 WEEKS!!!

While I hate Tuesdays, I luurve Thursdays, because that means our dear Super is one week older! Super is now the size of a large orange (can't they just say grapefruit?) and weighs approximately 3.5 ounces. Looks like I am not the only one who put on a little weight at Thanksgiving!

Toenails are starting to form (hopefully Super won't click-click-click his/her toenails all over the house like someone else we know) and primitive hearing starts now but won't be able to hear fully until 24 weeks. Looks like now might be a good time to start easing up on the f and s-bombs. I am looking at you GB...

And what I have feared the most, hiccuping often starts at this point but is "infrequent". Why would a grown adult be afraid of hiccups, you might ask? Well, as the only adult I know that gets hiccups a minimum of once a day, this is the one trait that I am hoping I have not passed along to my child. If my own hiccups often get up enough momentum to make me feel like I am going to barf, I can only imagine the sensation of "in stereo" hiccups coming from both my own diaphragm and my womb...

Have I mentioned that I hate Tuesdays?

For whatever reason, Tuesdays are always especially difficult for the b-dog. And as a result, they are very difficult for the other two non-canine residents of this home. B started to act a little funny yesterday afternoon (after a long day of sleeping) and it just seemed to go downhill over the course of the evening. In honor of the recently departed Leslie Nielsen, I felt this clip aptly depicts how I felt long about 4:00 this morning (the good times travelled into Wednesday):





So I should start with the good news that he slept from around 8:30 in the evening to 2:30 in the morning. Then he started crying. I went down, helped him up, and got him some snacks. I also let him outside for a potty break and then got him to lay back down. That didn't last long. I should mention here that the acoustics in our house are phenomenal. Probably has something to do with the size. Either way, when he's up and walking, all you hear is a constant creaking and clicking of the claws. I am thinking of shipping him to Guantanamo as a torture device. All you hear is click/scrape...scrape/click...nonstop. Until he stops. Then you worry why he stopped. So I got up and checked and sure enough, christmas came early in the form of an accident on our newly steam cleaned kitchen tile floors (FYI, grout is a like a sponge for pee. now you know. though this was not pee). Clean that up and lay on the couch while he circles me like a furry, clicking landshark. Finally he lays down and I head upstairs, circa 3:15. It's then that the heartburn sets in. So I pop some tums, lay back down and I guess he fell asleep because I didn't hear any movement until around 4-ish, when I heard the click, click, scrape, pee noise. I then sent Ricker down, because I was beginning to lose my mind at this point. While I was listening to my dutiful husband clean up the pee, I rubbed my eyes in preparation for sleep when I must have gotten something lodged back by my optic nerve. I then had to get up and flush my eye out while Rick remained downstairs.

I finally drifted off to sleep around 5:30, only to be startled back awake by what can only be described as the squirrel version of WWE right outside our window. That kept up to varying degrees until I decided to just give up and get on with the day. I will spend the remainder of today avoiding bear traps and wet paint and hoping things improve tonight.