Happy 2010 to All

A Great Deal of Whining and a Dollop of Mousse

Our attempts to get our rock star to take a midday disco nap were not successful, and so began our Halloween evening, with a great deal of whining and a dollop of mousse. As the Spiderman candy bucket filled, though, Logan perked up and by the time he got home he'd had a good time with Daddy while I stayed home with Ollie to hand out the candy. Ollie, of course, had a great time screeching when trick or treaters rang the bell.

I thought it would be a tsunami of kids with the nice weather and the weekend night. But I underestimated the swine flu impact, I think. We had one Michael Jackson, two boxers, and a lot of Transformers.

Without further ado, the pics.

Some of my props for my Bulldog Halloween costume Thursday night. AMH, KFar and I went as the Supreemz (tm), a washed-up (hence the Valium) Motown trio.



Logan tries on his rocker glasses.



Classic rocker angst.

Paparrazi shot (this is where the bad mood actually worked for us).



Getting ready to roll with Daddy.



On the road.

Spoils.

Rock Star

I haven't successfully sewn anything since affixing a Galaxy logo to a T-shirt for Logan's David Beckham costume two years ago, and AMH had to do half the work on that one. Not being able to sew does not affect my life in any way...except at Halloween, when I feel inadequate as people whip up handmade hats, Superman capes and the like. I'm just not good at the crafts.

As it turns out, Logan is at a stage where he won't wear anything that isn't comfortable, anyway. I can't see him being willing to don a cape or his cousin's hand-me-down spider outfit. So I think the costume we cooked up for him will work well. As a "rock star," he'll carry Larry's Guitar Hero guitar, don jeans and a black T-shirt that says "Less Talk. More Rock" (newly arrived today from Old Navy) and sport two studded bracelets plus a fake earring if I can get him to hold still long enough to draw it on. We've also delayed his haircut so his hair is long enough to gel into a fauxhawk. I think this will "feel" like regular clothes but still be a good enough costume to pass muster.

Last year Logan stopped traffic, literally, in his farmer outfit, which was also a simple getup that felt like regular clothes.


Oliver is staying home with me to distribute candy. He will wear a "Monster in Training" T-shirt.I will wear a feather boa and sweats.

And no...there is no such thing as No Pants Halloween.

Cruisin' and Bruisin'

I fully admit I have not been a good blogger lately. What can I say? If it's "shower" or "blog," I think we all agree I should wash my hair. Hope these recent photos make up for it.

Ollie is crawling like a madman and cruising like crazy. He's close to walking...I predict we will enter the new year with a true "toddler." His personality is definitely starting to emerge. He's friendly and very low maintenance but no pushover. We recently got a note from day care that he was plucking the pacifiers out of some of the other babies' mouths. I don't think he's being mean, I think he's trying to help them kick the habit. Later this week he'll have his 15-month well check.

Oliver eager to get into the tub.

Oliver and Sadie hanging out on the deck with some bubble fun.

Oliver and Logan playtime.

No Pants Sunday: An FAQ

I've received several inquiries about the specifics of No Pants Sunday. I can see how the Facebook activity is particularly confusing for people who are FB friends with me, but not Larry. It must seem odd to see my commentary disjointed from the primary No Pants Sunday commentary.

Thus for all on Facebook and in the blogosphere, I have provided a helpful FAQ regarding No Pants Sunday.

What is No Pants Sunday?
No Pants Sunday occurs on Sundays during football season. It is a time when the boys of the house relax with abandon. Although No Pants Sunday does sometimes involve removing ones pants to lounge in underwear/diaper and T-shirt, No Pants Sunday is best understood as a state of mind.

Can you clarify the attire?
T-shirt, underwear/diaper, socks (if desired), ballcap (Daddy), sparkly blue bowler hat (Logan). Mommy wears normal seasonal-appropriate attire.

How does this differ from Naked Sunday?
Nobody is walking around the house naked. Have we not met?

How did No Pants Sunday begin?
Its genesis was many years ago, but it began as a named event last year when Larry announced that he would "do whatever I want on Sunday, I might even not wear pants."

What is the cuisine?
Beer, juice boxes, milk, Cheetos, pureed squash, graham crackers.

Are others invited?
Oddly enough, nobody has ever asked to join us. However, others are encouraged and applauded for experiencing No Pants Sunday in their own homes. No Pants Sunday is very flexible in terms of timing, cuisine and attire. Remember: a state of mind.

How much advance planning goes into No Pants Sunday?
Typically cuisine is planned in advance in order to avoid pantsless beer runs.

Shouldn't No Pants Sunday be hyphenated?
Oh Anne Marie, give it a rest.

Where can I direct additional questions?
You may leave additional questions on this blog.

Nomads

The boys and I were nomads this weekend as the tile job that was supposed to take place Friday and Saturday took place Saturday and almost all of Sunday. Between the dust, the screeching noise of the tile cutter and our inability to use the kitchen, I tried to keep them out of the house as much as possible. We spent several hours between the homes of three friends.

Oliver, of course, went with the flow, but Logan was a wreck by Sunday. Seeing the furniture all piled in our living room freaked him out. Then spending half the day in the car took its toll. I'm pretty sure we are not welcome back at the Kolache Factory on Parmer, where he pitched an attention-grabber Sunday morning before announcing his plans to walk home to see Daddy. I'm not entirely sure we're welcome back at the home of our friends R and J, where he threw himself on the floor in the hallway and cried for 30 minutes that he wanted to "go hooooome."

All of that got me thinking a little bit about kids that are displaced from their homes for more serious reasons and longer periods of time. If Logan was an utter wreck because he spent the day visiting friends, what kind of impact does it have on a child who really does lead a nomadic life? Yeah, I know this isn't news. It doesn't take much to upset me on behalf of kids.

There's not really an appropriate transition from that to pictures of our new tile, so I won't try one. The vinyl kitchen floor that has practically sent me into therapy is gone, as is the dated entryway tile (which I kind of liked, in a retro way) and our dining room carpet (which was actually in decent shape, but you can tell the portion of it that was under Logan's high chair when he was learning to eat). We took a minor risk with a color that had some red in it and it paid off, we're really happy with it.

Entryway. The carpet where it meets the tile still needs to be finished and fastened. It's a race between the guys coming back to finish it and Cricket figuring out that it's loose.

View of the kitchen from the dining room.

Happy Coming Home Day, Oliver

A year ago today, we brought Oliver home after nine weeks in the NICU. Here are some things I remember:

• How easy our pre-departure "rooming in" was. Grammy Carol stayed overnight with Logan as Larry and I took off for the hospital at about 8 PM to spend the night in one of the family rooms with Oliver. We were nervous but somehow managed to sleep a few hours each, and Oliver did really well. Truth is, it was way less stressful than the first night with Logan (in a regular hospital room), during which we realized (well, confirmed) we had no idea what we were doing.


• The sad feeling of our rooming in across the hall from the other family room, in which we had spent our last hours in private with Avery. Did they deliberately give us a different room? I don't see how they could have remembered. And yet, as with a lot of things related to Oliver, on that last NICU night it felt to me like Avery was with us. He was definitely with us.


• Our anticlimatic, in a good way, final visit with Dr. D. He was the first neonate we met, on the night we came in with two 28-week-olds trying to kick their way out, and I was really glad he was on duty to check us out. Although Oliver was on oxygen, a huge source of anxiety, our checkout was nondramatic and really fast. He said, "He's good. Treat him like a regular newborn." I privately thought, "Oh, sure, a regular newborn with a giant tank being wheeled behind him and tubing attached to his face." But as with most things, Dr. D turned out to be right.


• Our drive home, in which the oxygen tank toppled over and hit its stand with a "clang!" and almost drove me over the edge.

And of course, this: Logan Alexander meets his baby brother.

Happy coming home day, Oliver. Couldn't love you more.