Next On Celebrity Death Match: The Muffin Man vs. Yankee Doodle.

Could it be true? Could I have blogged before Jessica did on any given day?

And to think, she didn't even nag me about it first!

I can see from my brother-in-law's livejournal that he now considers himself The Muffin Man. I made homemade macaroni and cheddar earlier, woohoo.

I guess that if he's "The Muffin Man", then you can just call me "Yankee Doodle".

I've been in something of a cooking and baking kick lately. I made a layered bean dip the other day, and the best husband in the world and I made North African Chicken the other night. Mmmmmmm. Tonight I think I'll bake some brownies and some snickerdoodle cookies (which are mighty good if I DO say so myself, even if they WOULD send Jessica to the hospital due to the cinnamon).

Hyper. Can you tell? At least I have a good soundtrack: Max crying, and Zoe singing a song with the one and only lyric "I am the princess of the WORRLLLDDD!"

Stick a fork in me. I think I'm done.

Ahem.

May I remind my darling sister in law that, if she had a baby AND a four year old tasmanian devil like Zoe, she might not have much time to blog either?

It would serve Mrs. NaggyPants right if I DIDN'T blog today, but I'd have to blog just to say I'm not blogging, and that kind of spoils the childishness of it all, doesn't it? And how else could I say that I might have a little present for her birthday, but maybe I haven't had a chance to mail it yet? I mean, if I needed to say that.

I'm cleaning today, and trying to keep Max happy. He is still a bit sick and cranky. His sister is cranky too, but without the excuse of illness.

Note: It's hard to keep a baby asleep while his sister is running around the apartment climbing on things and squealing. Oh, but it's days like these that I wish I had a muzzle and a leash.

Maybe a dog run would work. Outside.

So I'm sure you've guessed that there isn't much actual activity going on here. In my fantasy world the apartment is spotless and gleaming, and the kitchen is absolutely packed with tasty things to eat, and the clothes are washed and pressed and stowed away where they belong. In reality...well...not so much.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Being Sick Is A Bitch When You Can't Blow Your Nose.

Updating on request (demand?) of Mrs. Jessica Thomas. Sisters-in-law have clout with me!

As you can guess by the title, I'm sick. That's no big deal. You'll just have to excuse the lack of my normal wittiness in this entry. I'll try to be back to my regular self soon.

Max is sick, and the cold or whatever it is that he has is really hitting him hard. He's all snuffly and when he cries he's hoarse. It's so pathetic and pitiful to hear his miserable little crying, and nothing makes him feel better.

Add to list of things I have learned: Babies do NOT like nasal aspirators very much.

He still smiles much more than a sick baby should. He's such a good boy.

It's very snowy here; I believe that we have around a foot of snow outside after the blizzard conditions of last night and this morning. I was either brave/stupid enough to go to the grocery store yesterday in the thick of the storm (lest we be unable to go today due to greater accumulations) and boy was that a trial.

We'll just say that I got my exercise plowing through snowdrifts. I could probably eat several large pizzas and still be at a calorie deficit.

Oh, oh, and I have another excuse for the posting dry spell... our computer is sucking majorly at the moment. Anything done online must be planned and a large amount of time must be allotted to even minor tasks. Damn spyware! You will rue the day you ever infected our computer once we get some zip disks! *shaking my fist at the CPU*

Please Oh Please...

I've been home for several days now. It's nice to be back. Well, to be totally accurate, it's not really nice to be back in this little apartment, but it's nice to have access to my things again.

What does being home mean? It means getting to see my wonderful husband, Matthew, who promptly made us all sick. It means a big pile of bills to worry about, or, in my case, stuff into the inbox so that they can be dealt with. It means that I'm back to washing dishes in the bathtub, as the superintendant hasn't done any of the repairs that we requested and our kitchen faucet still sprays water all over the wall.

Ah, New Jersey, how I love thee (not).

The kids went to the doctor the other day, and they've both gained weight. Max is now up to 15.5 lbs., my little chunk-o-baby. He's still such a happy boy most of the time. Right now he is sitting happily in his high chair, smiling and chewing on his fists. He locks his little hands together as if he's praying to the deity of babies to give him chocolate formula instead of the regular stuff.

I can't say I blame him.

Arctic Winds. Okay, Not Arctic But Definitely Cold.

So I'm here in the great snowy north, working on my third week in Canada, and my second week away from Matthew. It's cold, I'm itchy, Max is beginning the long and arduous journey that is teething, and I miss my husband.

My husband who will have to get up with the cute little toothless rascal for quite a while to make up for the sleep I have lost waking up with Mr. Max.

Ahem.

Fortunately I don't have to worry about Zoe getting up earlier than I do, as my mother-in-law kindly wrangles her in the early morning.

What have I been doing? Not much, and also quite a lot... more on that later. I've been trying to soothe Crabbypants (who smiles and giggles frequently enough between the outbursts to still have me wrapped around his little finger), cooing over my adorable little niece, and feeling a bit dazed from lack of proper sleep.

I'll be back in New Jersey sometime next week. More reports soon to follow.

Doctors, Doctors, and More Doctors.

It's Sunday night (technically very early Monday morning, I suppose) and I am awake once again. I'm doing mounds of laundry in preparation for our holiday trip to Canada later this morning.

We are either very brave or very stupid to drive all day with a four year old and a baby in the backseat. The jury is still out.

Things have been interesting here, and we are falling into a strange pattern of late. Several times Max has had restless nights; he sleeps for a brief while only to wake up fussy. Several nights Zoe has woken up crying and confused, and only goes back to sleep after much coaxing, coddling, and comforting. As of this moment, she is snoring away on my side of the bed, snuggled in under our new flannel sheets. She has no inkling that she will be displaced when I come to bed.

The kids went to the pediatrician on Thursday. Max was healthy and happy as always (at least, until he got two shots in his chubby little legs). He weighed 13 lbs, 9 oz and was 23.75 inches tall. 75th% and 60th%, respectively, about the same percentile wise as he was last time. The ped. says he's neither thin nor fat, and is a little taller than average, so he's doing just fine. He laughed when she palpated his stomach and legs, thinking she was playing a game with him. He's a good boy.

Zoe, who was such a trooper when she last got shots, had time to reconsider and she decided that she didn't like them so much anymore. It's hard to be a parent, listening to your child begging you, trying to bargain...just ONE shot, I ALREADY HAD ONE, please, please, no more shots! She was crying and squirming, and it took both Matthew and I to hold her down. For a thin little thing she is surprisingly strong when needles are involved. I'll be glad when she is older, and her shots are few and far between. Who likes pain when they can't understand that it is necessary?

On Thursday, I went to the doctor as well. I came home that night, $75 poorer due to 3 physician co-pays and two prescriptions --one for an antibiotic for me, what a surprise!; thank goodness for prescription plans because my antibiotic would have been $120 alone-- but hopefully I will be clearing up this bronchial thing soon. It's really exhausting me. I am not sleeping well, and I am constantly worried that I'll pass it on to the kids.

Stupid husband! Anytime I get sick, it's something that has worked its way from patrons at the library on to him, and sweet giving man that he is, he can't resist passing viruses on to me because he knows I love them so!

He's lucky he's such a cool guy, and that I love him so much, because otherwise I would be pretty pissed off about now.

Well, I'm signing off now. The laundry is calling me from its dryer den, and I have packing to do. I'm not sure when I will be back from Canada; it will probably not be before the very end of the month. I'll update when I return.

Happy Holidays.

Blog Envy

I'm up late at night (early in the morning?) NOT to deal with Max (who woke recently, was fed, and duly returned to his bed) but to cook and bake goodies for Matthew's holiday party at work tomorrow.

Do I get to partake in the merriment? Why, of course not!

And as I wait for the brownies to cool, I sit here and cough until I am sure I lost a lung somewhere. I cough (drowning out the sound of John Mayer singing "Daughters" on VH1's Insomniac Music Theater), and I check out the blogs on Matthew's page, and I wish that I had half the ability to code and design that some of these people had.

Mad skillz. I'm tellin' you.

Do I have Mad Skillz? Mad Baby-changing and Feeding Skillz. Mad Poetic Skillz, maybe. Mad Skillz with the chili casserole. Go me!

Mad Blogging Skillz? Not so much.

Of course, I could attempt to learn these things in the few moments of free time I actually have, but I fear that I also lack the Mad Patience Skillz.

Meh.

The brownies are out of the oven, the aforementioned casserole that Matthew loves (and therefore must share with his co-workers) is in the fridge, the Nanaimo bars are chilling... and I am tired and hyper at the same time.

I want to learn twelve new things, but I want to learn them in my sleep.