I'm the Victem Here.

I know, I know, enough about farts already. But this is my life. And this one's important. -Or something. Anyway, as we were getting everybody ready for bed the other night, Matt let one rip that was, needless to say, quite foul. But it didn't stop there. This time it was followed by these horrific aftershocks that came in waves, like a particularly unpleasant and uninvited encore. And after that, Matt pinned me down for another round of "Hey Jesse, I'll Hold Mom While You Lick Her Face With Your Stinky Butt-Breath!" And then, as usual, Matt just had to sick Gabe on me to slime my hair all over the place, and then he himself joined in the licking. It's nasty, but I'll admit I can't help but laugh. After all, mine is a dirty job. But, as they say, somebody's gotta do it.

Speaking of Stinky...

Yesterday afternoon Jesse woke up from a nap with a very pungent poopy diaper. I laid him down to change him, and much to my surprise (and puzzlement) there was no dootie. What an unexpected and mysterious miracle. So I sent heavenward a silent prayer of gratitude, and picked up my overgrown boy so we cuddle together on the couch. (He needs help waking all the way up or he morphs into a vicious wear-wolf.) As the minutes passed, I occasionally detected a hint of some nasty funk in the air. I checked and rechecked, but nope. No poop. Very strange. So I verbally accused Jesse of being a sicko stinky fart butt, and he leaned into me, convulsing with laughter. At that moment I was bombarded with a barrage of odor bullets, aimed right at my poor, defenseless nose. And then I realized it. The source of the putrid death was Jesse's nasty breath! Heaven help me, I was repulsed by my own child. Alright now. I brush my kid's teeth. And I don't force him to provide refuge for week-old sun-baked roadkill in his mouth while he sleeps. But I'm telling you, a tic tac was just not going to do the job here. I guess that's it. Chalk another one up to stinky boys.

Check Us Out!

Mommy's defender

Pictures...

Dweeb!

Pictures For Our Biggest Fans

lasagna

my boys and their toys

Potato Face

Jesse's Alphabet

He still needs help to get the letters in order. Watch as his bashfulness starts to contort his face.

Fat Kid Crawling

Here's Gabe crawling and eating the camera. In the other videos I posted today you can see him walking with his car thing. He's better at it now than he was that night (it was the first time we showed it to him), but we have yet to record his new proficiency.

Jesse Cries

Silly

Ta Da!

Gabey took his first real steps this past Sunday, which was about a week before the 8 months mark- same age J was when he started walking. Gabe's practicing now with this car thing.

Uh-oh!

Jesse's Trucks

Brotherly Love

Jesse walked across the room and picked up Gabe, all by himself.

Gabey Loves Mashed Potatoes!

Mashed Potatoes

So, Gabey likes to eat flavored mashed potatoes. See for yourself. The whole process was lots of fun, but the cleaning up afterward was a little less than appetizing. I jumped in the bath with him (he's way too squirmy to try bathing while holding him up with one arm). By the time the spuds dissolved off his chubby little body, we were basically stewing in a giant tub of very runny potatoes. Eeew. Foggy water that smelled delicious. And to make the deal even sweeter, Gabe had been sitting in a baby thing in the bathroom that morning, eating graham crackers while I showered. One of the crackers got stepped on and I totally forgot to sweep it up, so there were crumbs everywhere. These crumbs, when mixed with foggy tub water, became a sticky graham cracker paste. What a lovely bathroom treat.

Unpleasant

(This is after most of the swelling was gone.)





So as you can see, Matt recently underwent cosmetic surgery to have his right foot and ankle tie-dyed and enlarged. He decided to go with the Red/Purple/Blue motif. He felt it expressed the periods of sadness in his life, -or as he calls them, the Dark Era. The swelling represents the bloating of his ego as he progresses through his career. OK, here's the real story.
Matt was away from home doing some things for work. He and some other fellas were running one morning and the guy next to him fell, shoving Matt off the road and into a special trap set up just for the occasion. Someone was out to injure his ankle, possibly in an effort to thwart his figure skating abilities just before the big competition. The investigation continues. Meanwhile, our boy here has come out of it all with a nicely-rolled ankle. (See pictures above. Duh.) It was too puffy to get a decent scan so he's had to just limp around strapped into a huge boot, with the assistance of some lovely crutches, until the swelling subsides and they can see what's up in there. Pardon me- that's how it should have gone. What really happened is he ditched the crutches right off the bat, and the boot was soon to follow. He's come to be quite the proficient hobbler, and can even cross long distances by hopping on one foot. He finally had to quit that business because when he rolled his right ankle he also mucked up his left knee pretty badly. Too bad it didn't turn out as pretty. Anyway the one-legged hopping strut didn't work out for too long. But he's getting around fairly well now, as a bit of time has passed. About a week and a half ago was when we welcomed home our Night in Shining Bandages. Unfortunately we didn't get around to taking these pictures till about four or five days after the actual incident, so we were unable to capture the masterpiece in its full glory. When Matt first came home and J saw his foot, Jes ran into the bathroom and found my pumice stone, and proceeded to strike the maimed foot with it. Thanks, Bud. It's much better now. And the new bruising balances quite nicely with the prior work. If only we all could think like a two year old, maybe the world would be a purpler place.

Wanna Hear Something Gross?

I'm still nursing Gabe, so I go through more water than you'd believe. Because of this, I keep a water glass on the edge of the high bar counter top across from the fridge, for easy access. The other day I was dying of dehydration so I hurriedly grabbed my cup and filled it, and gulped it down. It wasn't till I was sucking those last few drops out of the glass that I saw what was in the bottom of my cup. This, astonishingly, was the same moment I detected a funky, unnatural taste in my mouth. I noticed the bottom of the glass was not translucent for some reason. I spat the little water that was in my mouth back into the cup, and naturally, held up the glass for further inspection. I soon determined that the bottom of the cup was coated with about a two-millimeter-thick layer of old, sour, very gloppy and somewhat hardened milk- the leftover of what I'd poured for Jesse the night before.
Perhaps y'all can learn this lesson the easy way, from my mistake. Savor this wisdom: When you realize you've ingested something unintended and undesirable, suppress the urge to satisfy your curiosity. Do not examine the source. There are things worse than ignorance.

So Darn Cute

Daddy's hat and fire pager

I had the coffee table tipped over so I could vacuum and by the time I went to tip it back up, it looked like this.

Bath time


Concentrate...

Couch Time

Awwww...

Weirdos.

The Tunnel

Nice.

Cool hair, Dude.



"More Food!"

Boobies!

About four years ago I bought a stick-on bra thing to wear with my gown to the Marine Corps Ball. It was packed away with a bunch of old crap I was sifting through the other day and Jesse got a hold of it, stuck it on himself, and declared, "Boobies!"

Here's an Old One.

I began this a while back and never finished, so it's not exactly a masterpiece, but here you go anyway.

That Jesse...One of our favorite latest vocabulary additions is, "n'joo" (juice- well, Gatorade, technically), which he requests almost constantly. He's also into any and all foods of the pudding variety, which loosely extends as far as yogurt (much to our relief). He's also speaking in more complex sentences these days. Just a couple weeks ago we found novelty in his use of, "Move, Daddy. Move!" to get under the water from the shower head. These days he's dazzling us with lengthy stories about the violent movies Daddy lets him watch while Mommy's sleeping. I get to hear all about it, "And the plane, and then bang-bang, and then shoot, all the guys, and the bomb, and then BOOM! and then truck..." He's got lots to share on the subject, as this experience has happened more than once. He's also manifesting his interest in all things violent through playful expression. I was recently in the kitchen when I heard quiet sound effects coming from the living room where, quite contently, my son (not yet two at the time) was using my resin Willowtree figure and my porcelin angel as ruthless fighters from opposing Armies. It was moving, really. It wasn't long after that I was trying to escape up the stairs without being followed, when an angry and uninvited Jesse stormed off at my refusal to let him pass, and quickly returned with an empty water gun. He pointed it directly at my face and angrily yelled, "Bang-bang, Mama!" I know. It's extremely disturbing. But mothers of boys throughout the continental United States continue to assure me that he will not, in fact, grow up to be an evil mass murderer. There's something to pray about tonight.

Gabey, now six months old, is sitting up very well, and even beginning to crawl. His Grandma and Papa Watkins came out for a really fun visit, and Gabe pulled off his first crawl for them the night before they left. We're now all in a state of withdrawal from one another. Gabriel also continues to be the happiest, smiley-faced boy in the history of mankind. He even keeps a chipper mood after the rudest of awakenings (often brought on by his brother), which, for those of you who know anything about Jesse, is a stark contrast to any post-sleep experience with our first born.

Hey Y'all.

So, the kids are being really good right now so I'm taking the opportunity to write again, what luck!
Lately Jesse's been picking up new words like he picks up germs. The untrained ear may not be able to crack the code, but I'm getting pretty good at it. He's constantly finding excuses to wear a "banna,"(bandaid), his latest kick. And in the last 48 hours he's made me fa (fold) my arms so he can pay (pray) and thank Fa (Heavenly Father) for "Feet" (his Happy Feet DVD), and then for "Piss" (Pig- referring to Charlot's Web). Something else he does (or, doesn't do, really) that I get guilty pleasure from is that, no matter what, he will not apologize to another child. Under any circumstances. Period. He would gladly endure Chinese water torture to avoid the word "sorry" after he's done something wrong. Seriously- he'd rather retire in "time out." Apparently if you're a grown up that's one thing, but he is so obviously superior to other toddlers that he would never ever stoop to such a level. He's also recently developed a problem with the word "please." But that one's pretty easy; he just doesn't get what he wants until he says it- (though I'm usually forced to accept a pitiful, whispered version.)
Matt came home today from his trip. Two days early. Details (and pictures) on that later, in case you haven't heard the story. But it's dinnertime now, so you'll have to wait!

More Pictures for Your Viewing Pleasure