Santa

On Sunday, we went to our friends, Scott & Jeannie's house for a Christmas party. Mikie is great friends with their son, Connor. And, lucky for us, Scott is on a first name basis with Santa. So, Santa agreed to come to the party to visit with all the kids.

You would have thought that Mikie would have been excited to see Santa. But, before we left, Mikie told Mike that he didn't want to see Santa.

Mikie: "I don't want to see Santa."

Mike: "Why not?"

Mikie: "I'm scared he isn't going to bring me any presents."

Mike: "Why, haven't you been good?"

Mikie: "Well, mostly good. But, a little bit bad."Luckily, by the time Santa showed up, Mikie had gotten over his fear. Not only did he run up to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what he wanted, but he went back twice, interrupting other kids to thank Santa for his goodie bag and add a few other items that he forgot.

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Snow

When I was a kid, every Christmas my Granny would call and ask if we were having a white Christmas. And, every year, I had to answer "No!" Because, in southeastern Pennsylvania, Christmas was typically green and rainy. Maryland was even worse. So, we were all very excited to move back north where Christmas is white.

For the last two years, we have had snow piled outside on Christmas morning. Which, is really all I care about. For the last two weeks, it has been torture to hear about snow in Houston, Texas, California, and Las Vegas. And we have had NONE. (Ice storm excluded).

Needless to say, we were all very excited to FINALLY get some snow. And, boy, did we get snow. It is still snowing right now (8:30am Saturday morning), and we have almost a foot. Plus, we are supposed to get another storm tomorrow, although it may deposit ice instead. . .

No one is more excited about the snow than Mikie. This morning, Mike woke up to clear the driveway (since we are going to the Bruins game this afternoon). And, I jumped in the shower for exactly 10 minutes. During that time, Mikie decided that he wanted to go outside too.

By the time I got out of the shower and yelled downstairs to check on Mikie, I realized it was awfully quite. Too quiet. I looked downstairs and found the closet door ajar, and gloves and scarves scattered all over the floor. My HOPE was that Mikie was attempting to get dressed. Or, worst case, he was standing in the garage trying to get Mike's attention to bring him outside.

Nope, dressed only in his fleece PJs, snow boots, hat and mittens, Mikie had unlocked the back door and was making his way to the swing set. When I found him, he was actually on his way back inside because he realized he "forgot his coat".After showering to warm up his frozen self, we put on weather appropriate clothes and ventured outside to play. Unfortunately, the snow isn't very wet, so sledding was slower than last year. And, we couldn't build a snowman. But, Mikie had fun none the less. Here are some pictures and video:Love, The Trahans

Amusing Anecdotes

You can never say our lives are boring when Mikie is around. On Thursday morning, I was trying to get Mikie to leave early for daycare with me. The remnants of debris from the ice storm continued to make driving fun, and I was hoping to get to work on time for once. Unfortunately, Mikie wasn't in the mood to cooperate. Hiding behind the recliner, every time I called his name, I heard a small squeaky voice say "Mikie's not home right now. . . Leave a message." In hind sight, it was very amusing (especially since I don't know where he picked it up from, it isn't like he calls people and gets their voice mail). At the time, it was less so. . .

Added to my "amusement" for the day was the fish food incident. When I picked Mikie up from daycare, Mikie and I were talking about his favorite toy. To which the owner interjected, "Favorite, right behind fish food." Confused, I asked what he meant (after all, we haven't owned fish since Mike tested the "all-drains-lead-to-the-ocean" principle when we left Maryland). Evidently, one of the staff let Mikie help feed the fish before I arrived. Not unusual. . . being one of the last kids there, he has been allowed to help feed the fish in the past. This time, after adding the food to the tank, Mikie decided to LICK HIS FINGERS CLEAN. The teacher seemed so concerned that I would be upset. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop laughing, knowing that this was EXACTLY the sort of thing Mikie would do.

As if that image wasn't amusing enough, Mikie's friend, Katie, said to him, "You ate FISH FOOD?" Like this was the coolest thing anyone had ever done. To which Mikie replied nonchalantly, "Yeah."

Hopefully he didn't just start a trend. . .

Love, The Trahans

Introducing Nibbles

Don't worry. In spite of Mikie's (and to some degree, my) desire for her to come out, Nibbles has not yet been born. Which is a good thing, since Mike is still working on hanging the chair railing and pictures in the nursery. And, we have to assemble the crib, buy a new mattress, diaper pail, bottles, girl clothes, etc. Not to mention, agree on a name. The to-do list seems never ending. Somehow, I foresee a post Christmas trip to Babies 'R Us in our future. . .

We had a 28 week doctor's appointment today, complete with ultrasound and glucose screen for gestational diabetes. The glucose screen went well, considering I had to fast for four hours and drink a sugary substance that LOOKED like orange soda but tasted horrible. Not as bad as barium, but bad. I don't know what the results are (and, if I failed, I hope they don't tell me until AFTER Christmas, so I can eat freely until then). But, I consider the test a success since I didn't vomit or pass-out. Although, I was a bit woozy when I got back to work. . .

The ultrasound was fun. Based on the many looks and comments about my size, I have been fearful that I am carrying around a 13 pound baby. The doctor wanted another ultrasound (and it isn't our last, we have two more to go) to verify that she is still growing. No, this isn't common. We're lucky recipients of many ultrasounds due to all the issues with bleeding I had early on. Anyway, there appears to be no need to worry, since she weighed in at 2-lbs, 9-ozs today. Which, according to the doctor (and all the books we have) is the perfect weight for her age. And (for everyone who thinks I look like I am having twins) having gained 19-lbs, I am too.

We also discovered that she is super flexible, since she was sleeping head up on the left, feet up on the right, butt down in my pelvis, making a very nice "V". So, we don't know how long she is. But, gymnast may rank in her future.

Why the "introducing" title? Since we were stuck in the hospital for 2 hours, the ultrasound tech decided to do a 3D ultrasound. So, we have a very nice picture of Nibbles napping:For the benefit of my dad (who thought Mikie's first ultrasound was a picture from the Mars Rover), the gray matter that is exploding from the back of her head is not her brain, it's my placenta. . . she was using it as a pillow. And, if you look above her forehead, you can make out a little hand (evidently, she takes after Mike and Mikie and likes to sleep with her arm above her head).

Long story short, we're all healthy. Now, all we need is for Santa to bring us a name (although, I still think she looks like an Emma. . . )

Love, The Trahans

The Castle

As a follow-up to my previous post Santa, many people have asked if we found the castle Mikie wanted. The simple answer, yes. However, after getting over the hurdle of finding and purchasing the castle, we found a million other problems. . .

The first, the assembled dimensions of the castle weren't listed on the Toys 'R Us website. After getting the castle, we realized it was much larger than the original castle. . . quite possibly too large to fit on the train table we have.

Mike being a) male and b) and engineer, he was convinced that he could build a new train table that would fit the new castle, and have more storage for all of the train tracks we haven't been able to effectively house in the existing train table. And, try as I might to convince him that the materials plus labor would cost MORE than buying a new table, he was determined to build a table himself.

Until Saturday, when, after driving to Home Depot, he realized that the materials alone were going to run nearly $200. . .

So, I went on-line with the intention to purchase a new train table. However, we were both concerned that the new table wasn't much larger than the existing table (although it was nicer quality and had more storage). Before shelling out $210 + shipping on another train table, we decided to assemble the castle and verify that it was in fact too big.

Mikie went to bed at 8pm as usual. At 9:30, after we were sure that Mikie was asleep, Mike went upstairs to retrieve the castle.

As soon as Mike came out of the bedroom with the castle (which he didn't leave in the garbage bag I wrapped it in), Mikie popped his head out of his door to see what was going on. . . who was that castle for. . . and, could he see the picture on the box?

Luckily, Mike quickly came up with his favorite excuse: "It's a present for Arcangelo". This was enough to convince Mikie it wasn't his castle from Santa, but didn't dissuade him from wanting to see the picture. . .

Somehow, Mike convinced Mikie to return to bed without looking at the box or asking more questions. And, we assembled the castle. It does overhang the edge of the table by 1/4" on one side, but Mike plans on grabbing the jigsaw and trimming it slightly if Mikie is bothered by it.

And so continues the web of deception and lies to keep the mystery of Christmas alive. Hopefully he will forget this incident when Arcangelo opens a rocket ship, not a castle, on Christmas Eve. . .

Love, The Trahans

Whistling

I don't remember what old movie it was, with the famous line about whistling: "you just put your lips together and blow." I remember thinking this was an oversimplified representation of a very difficult task. I mean, put your lips together too tightly, and you just end up looking like a chipmunk. Blow too hard, and you don't get anything. Then there were those people who could make blades of grass whistle. Or my friend's dad who could put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistle so loud, you could hear him down the street. . .

I personally, only whistle as an alternative to singing or humming when happy (singing at work being one of those things I try to avoid). I find it offensive when people whistle to get your attention. So, you rarely hear whistling in our house.

In spite of this, Mikie learned a new trick. . . how to whistle. Kind of. To see what I mean, click on the video below:

The first time he did it, it was incredibly amusing. The second time, it was still funny, because Mike was experiencing it for the first time.

However, when you're driving on a dark road at night and your child "whistles" because he doesn't think you heard him when he yelled "Press Play" on three separate occasions, the cuteness wears off.

And, when you're at Target, reading ingredient labels on medicine or searching for the perfect card, and your child "whistles" at you to get your attention, it becomes downright obnoxious. REALLY fast. Not to mention, people turn to look at what on earth is prompting your child to make weird yodeling type noises. And, because he is now getting A LOT of attention, he sees no reason to STOP, only making the people around you more annoyed (or amused if they have young kids too).

I can't WAIT to see what cute habit he picks up next. . .

Love, The Trahans

Disturbing Toys

Mikie has become quite the connoisseur of toys. He is quick to tells us which ones he wants, and for what occasion (Christmas, his birthday, his NEXT birthday, etc.) I think he has us covered for gift ideas through age 6. . .

He also points out what toys are "boy toys" and what toys are "girl toys". The girl toys usually stand out because they are pink or have a picture of a girl playing with them. He has already started grading these toys on whether Nibbles will like them or not.

The one toy that she definitely won't want: the baby doll that goes to the bathroom. Why, "Because it may poop on her arm." Mikie is both fascinated and disgusted by the doll he sees advertised everywhere that really goes to the bathroom. I'm sure it is like Betsy Wetsy, updated for today's tech savvy youngsters. Man, I remember Katie and I wanting a Betsy Wetsy that really wet her diapers. We never got one. Cabbage Patch Kids took over as the new rage, and Betsy Wetsy became a distant memory. Like the Easy Bake Oven we never got (man how I wanted to bake cupcakes in my own oven. . .)

But I digress. According to our resident toy expert, the baby dolls that really use the bathroom are "gross" and Nibbles will most definitely NOT want one. Although, he does seem to think that a toy toilet that really flushes is a fun idea. . .

Somehow, I doubt this was the response the marketing group anticipated when they decided to launch this toy. Then again, Mikie obviously isn't the target demographic. . .

Love, The Trahans

New Forms of Torture

Today, I discovered the most effective form of torture. . . the "Virtual Waiting Room".

The one thing I know my husband wants more than anything for Christmas is tickets to see the Red Sox. He (and the local news, the radio station, and the weekly e-mails I get from Red Sox Nation) have all been kind enough to remind me that tickets to individual games go on sale December 13th at 10am EST.

I entered the drawing to be eligible to go to Fenway and buy my tickets in person. . . Needless to say I was not a winner. . .

So, at 9am, I woke up. I dutifully researched what games would be going on sale, and made a prioritized list of the ones I thought he would prefer to attend. I researched seating, pricing, trying to guess where we should sit. Should we sit near first, behind the dugout and get to watch the guys walk off the field each inning? Or, assuming they get Teixeira, Youk might be playing third, so Mike might prefer sitting there, which would also make us closer to Jason Bay and allow us to watch Francona chew on bubble gum all evening. Oh, I thought of everything.

By 9:45, I had eaten breakfast, grabbed some juice, and settled into the office to get some tickets.

And so began my experience with the "Virtual Waiting Room". Evidently, when you try to buy tickets, you are placed in a virtual waiting room. "Patrons are selected from this virtual waiting room on a random basis for the opportunity to purchase tickets." I was excited. . . it was like Christmas Eve, watching the seconds count down from 30 to 0 before the waiting room would refresh, each time wondering "will I be selected". After an hour of watching time tick by (and trust me, I was in more than one waiting room), hysteria started to set in. I mean, I'm 7 months pregnant. Being forced to sit alone in a room with no companionship (excluding Nibbles, who felt the need to make her presence known every few minutes). My sciatic nerve shooting pain into my left butt cheek. The weight of my unborn child pushing on my bladder. But, if I leave to pee, will I miss my opportunity?

Shortly thereafter, I realized this is what prison must feel like. . . except worse because I was being punished for trying to do good. When Mike politely asked how I was doing (claiming he had NO IDEA what I was trying to do), I became hysterical, prompting my four year old to bring me tissues and offer to take care of me.

And, now, four hours later, refusing to give up until every game I want is left only with obstructed views, I can be found stoically sitting in front of TWO computers, wishing, HOPING, that something happens to end my misery. . .

It's the thought that counts, right?

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Mother of the Year

I know this isn't the first time I have written a post with this title, and with a second child on the way, I'm sure this won't be the last. . .

Today, I dropped Mikie off at school in his pajamas. I had a perfectly rational explanation for doing so: one of the kids in his class was celebrating her birthday. She loves wearing pajamas, so her parents arranged for the teacher to hold "pajama day" in honor of her birthday. All the parents received a note telling them to have their kids wear their pajamas to school on December 9th. . .

So, Mikie happily headed into school this morning in his pajamas. And, inside, we discovered that he was THE ONLY KID in his pajamas. Evidently, the birthday girl went home sick yesterday. And, although Mikie told me this yesterday, I failed to get the memo that, because she went home sick, the pajama party would be postponed until December 10th.

Luckily, Mikie frequently marches to the beat of a different drum, and was completely unfazed by the fact that he was walking around in fleece PJ's with a gorilla on his chest.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he was wearing PJ's at school, when I picked him up, he informed me he had an "accident". He tends towards constipation and refuses to wear his underpants if there is any drop of urine or streak of fecal matter visible on them. So, when he told me he had an "accident", I asked if he changed his underwear. At this point he told me he didn't have any. Knowing what the answer would be, I asked him if he was WEARING any underwear, correctly guessing that he would say "No."

Yes, my child was forced to go commando for the afternoon because his mother didn't restock his container of backup clothes and underwear. . .

And, that is why I will not be receiving the Mother of the Year award this year.

Love, The Trahans

Oliver Twist

You would think I never feed my child. . .

Every time I pick Mikie up from school, he asks if I have a snack for him. I know we have a 45 minute commute home, and that he eats lunch much earlier than I do. So, I should start bringing snacks for his ride home. But, as any working mom knows, I have a hard enough time some mornings remembering to bring his breakfast and lunch, forget thinking far enough into the future to anticipate that he will want a snack.

Yesterday, I picked him up an hour and a half early so we could race up to the car dealership to pick up the SUV (which they had for the last four days for a recall). I needed to get there before they closed, because I couldn't deal with the rental car they gave me for another second. Of course, the minute he was in the car, Mikie decided he needed a snack. And, while I had a banana, this was deemed inappropriate snack material by my son. To prevent 45 minutes of driving with him whining about a snack (did I mention there was no DVD player in the rental car to distract him), I promised we would get a snack after we picked up Rocket.

40 minutes later, we arrive at the car dealership. Mikie had fallen asleep in the car, which made it very interesting for us to get inside (at 7 months pregnant, my balance is thrown to much to carry him, even if I could safely lift his 42 pound self). Luckily, the cold air coupled with the fact I was about to drop him jarred him awake enough to sleep walk into the dealership. He immediately settled into a chair in the waiting room while I signed all the paperwork to get the car.

While I was not so patiently waiting for the service manager to review the work with me, I noticed a small figure walk past me into one of the offices. I quickly realized it was my child, and rushed in after him. I walked in to find him sitting in a chair, having just asked the woman whose office he walked into for a "piece of candy". Now, there was no evidence of candy on her desk, so there was no reason for him to ask a perfect stranger for candy. However, she opened her drawer, pulled out a Ziploc bag of left over Halloween candy, and offered him a piece, telling him he needed to check with me first. I told him he could have a piece, helped him pick one I knew he wouldn't immediately spit out (since, he loves to try things, only to announce they are "yucky" and spit the remnants into my hand). I tried to rush him out of the office to the car, but before he would move, he instructed this woman to "open it" for him.

So, not only am I a bad mother for not having the foresight to bring my child a snack, but I am also a bad mother for not teaching him manners. Not to mention a total failure to impress on him that you shouldn't take candy from strangers. . .

Love, The Trahans

Growth Spurt

I had to post this because it epitomizes my child. Every morning and every evening, I diligently water the Christmas tree (I've seen too many news casts on how quickly your house will ignite with a dried up tree). This is somewhat challenging since bending isn't one of Nibbles and my strong suits. Mikie usually sits back, watching cartoons while I handle the watering. The last two days, he has made the following comment: "Mom, if you make it grow, it will be too big again."

Obviously, I wasn't the only family member scarred by the massive Christmas tree experience.

Love, The Trahans

Monday

I think there was a saying "Monday's child is full of grace." Let's just say that being born on Monday didn't help Mikie in this category.

At 4:50pm, as I was walking back from the candy machine (yes, I'm pregnant), I could hear my phone ringing. I didn't speed up because I'd been harassed by obnoxious sales people all day. Then I heard my cell phone ring. I ran into my office in time to notice that it was the daycare calling. Anyone with kids knows this is never a good sign. . .

Turns out, Mikie was running "really fast" (his words, not mine), but "not in the mud" (his clothes tell a different story" and fell into the picnic table. His nose was bleeding and swelling quickly, and the staff weren't sure if he broke it.

I will admit, the first thought through my head was "If I call the doctor, they will tell me to go to the ER. And, if I go to the ER, it won't be broken. So, why bother." After all, it was almost five o'clock, and I was (am) a very tired, swollen pregnant woman who was looking forward to going home.

But, guilt got the better of me. So, I broke two laws (speeding and talking on a cell phone while driving) and called the pediatrician while rushing to daycare. As predicted, they told me to take him to the ER. And, as predicted, they recommended I go to UMass Memorials University Campus (45 minutes from the daycare) because they have a special pediatric ER and he would get the best treatment there.
Three hours later, Mikie had gotten to have three pictures taken of his bones, only to determine that I was correct, his nose was not broken. By this time, Nibbles and I were starving (having given the last of our candy bar to Mikie). We made a trip to Friendly's for a very late dinner and ice cream, and finally made it home around 10pm.

Of course, the evening wouldn't be complete without some amusing Mikie anecdotes:

1. When I arrived at daycare, Mikie was lounging on a cot, surrounded by doting females. . . namely his friends Teagan and Tessa.
2. Not only did he have the girls wrapped around his finger, but he had the teacher feeling guilty enough to give him her full size Kit Kat bar (one of Mikie's favorite candy bars).
3. When we arrived at the hospital, Mikie wanted me to walk back to the car to get his other Batman toy. Not feeling like walking a mile back to the parking garage, I told him we could all go after we saw the doctor. To which Mikie replied, "I have a better idea. I'll wait here while you and dad walk back to the car and get my toy." To which I responded, "No way. If we did that, the nice policeman out front would take daddy and mommy away for leaving you hear by yourself." To which my smart a$$ son responded, "Well, we'll just tell the policeman what the plan is." The most amusing part of the story. . . the "nice policeman" just happened to be sitting right outside the open door of our room when I said this. Hopefully he was amused and not taking down my personal information to run a background check. . .
4. As is becoming a trend, the doctor took note of the fact that Mikie was "very active" and looked like the type of kid who was familiar with bumps and bruises. At least they peg him correctly, rather than assume we abuse the kid. Although, given that this is not the first time we've been to this ER, they did expect him to tell the story of what happened, to make sure it meshed with mine. Or maybe the policeman tipped her off. . .

Thankfully, we're all home, and none of us are broken. Although, I'm starting to think that the Christmas photo is a waste of time this year. Either that, or it will be a picture of Mikie looking like a real hockey player. At least he still has all his teeth. . .

Love, The Trahans

The "bleeping" Family Christmas Tree

I had to edit Mike's title for reasons that will become appartent as you continue reading. . .

Have you ever seen National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation? In the beginning, the family is going out in search of the "Griswold Family Christmas Tree". When they find it, the son, Russ, makes a comment about it being too big for their yard. To which Clark replies, "It's not going in our yard, Russ, it's going in our living room."

If you can, picture how large that tree was. Then you will come close to picturing our first Christmas Tree. . .

Yes, you read correctly. I said "first", implying that there was (and is) a second.

It started innocently enough. My dad was visiting, and we thought (wisely) that we should go and search for a Christmas Tree. We set out for the tree farm we went to last year, where we had found a beautiful 10 foot tree. Mike believed last year's tree was originally 12 feet tall and, after cutting and trimming, ended up being slightly over 10 feet tall. So, we looked for a tree that was 10-12 feet in height.

The problem with such a big tree is that the local tree farms don't grow trees this tall. They bring them in from other parts of the country (Maine, New Hampshire, North Carolina, etc.) Because the trees are so large, they don't fit through most balers. So, the trees come to the local farm, already cut and bound. And, if you are determined enough to insist on cutting it open before purchasing, you are going to have a hellacious time getting it home and into your house.

We found a tree that was labeled 10-12 feet. It looked symmetrical (granted, I was looking at it bound) and full. My gut said "This is the tree". Nothing could dissuade me. So, we paid $120, and Mike, my dad, and three large men hauled it on to the top of our car.

You might have thought I would have reconsidered taking the tree when I saw it on top of Rocket. Especially when I realized that the bound tree was wider than the windows were tall, and equal in length to the SUV. But, I was certain it was going to be a beautiful tree. And, since Mike was certain the length was equal to what we bought last year, I didn't think twice.Then we got home. The first fiasco: getting the tree into the house. Mike had the brilliant idea that we should put the tree in the stand outside, eliminating the hassle of placing it in the stand. All we had to do was carry it in and stand it upright. Unfortunately, Mike and my dad alone were no match for the tree. Luckily, our neighbor Mike was outside raking leaves, and kindly agreed to help.

The second fiasco: We got the tree inside, only to determine it was too tall. Since we scraped the paint along some of the walls, and had a mess of needles everywhere, Mike wisely decided to cut the tree down inside. Hell, we already had a mess to clean up, a little more wouldn't kill us.

The third fiasco: Upon standing the tree up the SECOND TIME, we broke the wrought iron tree stand. Okay, broke may be a slight exaggeration. Bent into a new, non-level shape would be more accurate.

Some may have taken this as a sign to quit now. After all, the tree was still bound. We could have taken it back out of the house to the tree farm and returned it for a smaller tree. BUT NOT US. NO, we just paid $120 for what would certainly be a beautiful tree. So, after a quick trip to Home Depot for some new tree stands (I bought two different kinds rated for 10 foot tall trees), we tried again.

The fourth fiasco: The tree was standing up in the malformed stand. However, lifting and maneuvering the tree into the new stand was far from successful. The tree fell over, scraping the paint off one wall, the ceiling, and almost knocking down a few diplomas before landing on the TV.

Eventually, we succeeded in getting the tree up. Here is what it looked like:That picture was taken around 3:00pm, about four hours after we got home with the tree. The tree was much larger than we could ever have imagined. While it didn't break windows when we cut it open, it did completely obscure the fireplace, requiring us to move the stockings (which were hung by the chimney with care) to the half-wall between the kitchen and family room. Also, you could no longer view the TV from the recliner, forcing Mike to give up his favorite chair if he wanted to watch TV.

So, what happened to make us give up such a beautiful tree, hours after we finally succeeded in getting it into the house? Shortly after 7pm, the tree fell down. AGAIN. It knocked down everything on or near the fireplace, scraping a rainbow into the paint above the fireplace, spilling two and a half gallons of hot, sappy water onto the carpet before landing in the vacated recliner.

At this point, one look between us decided that the tree needed to go. Mike had determined that the tree was actually 14 feet tall to start, not the 10-12 feet that was listed. After removing the two feet that we already cut off, the tree was STILL two big. And, none of us wanted to be bothered with the extra effort of cutting it down, only to risk the possibility of a having it fall a third time. Not to mention, a more adequate tree stand would cost at least $100 and would need to be special ordered. We wisely decided to cut our losses and dispose of the tree.

The fifth (and FINAL) fiasco: The tree was no longer bound. And, because it was no longer bound, it didn't fit through any of the doors. Mike pulled out the saw and tree pruning sheers and decimated the tree. Eventually, it was small enough to pull through the door, and throw into the back yard.After hours of sweeping, vacuuming (with a wet/dry shop vac AND a conventional vacuum), along with a few coats of paint to touch up the ceiling and some elbow grease on the walls, the house looks respectable. We bravely ventured out again this morning, and happily shelled out $55 for a new Christmas Tree. It is definitely not as large as the first (which in this case isn't a bad thing). It stands about 9 feet tall in the stand, and looks minuscule compared to the beast from yesterday. But, it took no more than 15 minutes to cut, move into the house, place in stand, remove binding, and water.To view ALL the pictures of our Christmas tree experience, click here to view a slideshow.

One day, hopefully in the near future, we will look back at this and laugh. In the interim, we can be thankful that the first tree collapsed while we were awake to react, and while my dad was still here to help us remove it. And, unlike the movie, we didn't burn the house down.

Happy Holidays.

Love, The Trahans

Thanksgiving

Unfortunately, Nibbles and I were recently advised not to travel. Which meant our Thanksgiving was restricted to being close to home. To be honest, I still get very motion sick when driving, a fact that was proved out on Thursday in our attempts to visit Mike's family for Thanksgiving. Even though we only went 45 minutes away, the combination of foods and motion were not pleasant. So, it was probably a good thing that we didn't attempt to drive to Pennsylvania.

Our Thanksgiving started on Wednesday, with a feast at Mikie's preschool. Nibbles and I were invited to eat lunch with Mikie, his friends and their parents. This was quite an experience. I come from a large family, and have fond memories of the "kids table". At some point, you get to an age where you would rather be promoted to the "adult table" because you no longer enjoy making "concoctions" by mixing random things into your drink and laughing. In my family, even though you were old enough, you may have been stuck at the "kids table" because there simply wasn't space. Let's just say I had some flash backs of being the big kid at the "kids table". . . When I arrived, I was the first adult at Mikie's table. Which meant I had EIGHT four year olds all to myself. If that isn't good birth control, I don't know what is. . . EIGHT children talking at me all at once. . . Some kids upset and crying because their parents couldn't come. . . Some kids trying to cut things with their plastic butter knives. . . One kid hitting me repeatedly in the behind with his "turkey" (they stuffed plastic gloves with popcorn and colored paper to make turkey centerpieces). Topics of conversation included: Mikie's love of worms and all outdoor creatures (which many of the other boys find funny). . . What are mashed potatoes made from (one girl thought they were made from bananas). At some point, one kid even asked me what was in my stomach. While I was tempted to say "the last kid who hit me with a turkey", I refrained and informed him that it was a baby. In spite of the fact that many of them have siblings, this answer prompted a number of weird looks.

Eventually, more adults showed up at our table and we had a nice lunch of turkey cold cuts, home made mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and tasty desserts. Nibbles and I took the "practical" (i.e. lazy) approach and brought dinner rolls (which I can't even take credit for purchasing. . . Mike went to the store for me). Thankfully, the rolls were a hit with the kids, many of whom did not want to eat any of the other foods.

My parenting skills were also questioned when Mikie fell while running around the table. When I asked him "what happened", he answered "I fell". This struck me as hysterically funny (evidently, two cups of Hi-C went straight to my head), and I started laughing while trying to console him. Mikie's teacher, Ms. Kelly, came over and politely informed me that "You're not supposed to laugh when he's hurt."

All told, we had a good time. On Thursday, we went to Mike's Auntie Nancy's to celebrate Thanksgiving with his dad's family. As soon as we finished eating, we jumped in a car and headed to Mike's Auntie Cyndy's to celebrate Thanksgiving again with his mom's family. Between all the food, driving, commotion and shear exhaustion of being pregnant, Nibbles and I fell asleep on the couch by 7:30. And, not even Mikie and Arcangelo's raucous yelps could wake me. Hope you all had a Happy Thanksgiving.

Love, The Trahans

Trouble

To anyone who wonders why we affectionately call our son "Trouble", this post should explain everything.

While Mike and I were sorting through baby clothes and starting to prep the nursery for paint, Mikie was playing nicely in the family room. Or so we thought. . .

I came downstairs every 30 minutes or so to check on him (make sure he hadn't used his sharpie marker on the walls, see if he needed a snack, etc.). After lunch, I finished putting away all the clothes and jumped in the shower, leaving Mike to check on our child. I hadn't gotten out of the shower, before Mike was screaming for me to hurry downstairs and see what our son had done. When I arrived, Mikie was sitting innocently in the family room, bouncing on my yoga ball and watching Alvin and the Chipmunks. I asked Mike what the big deal was, when he pointed at the kitchen table:Evidently, after finishing his lunch, Mikie decided to help himself to a snack. He grabbed his step stool from the bathroom, unlocked the pantry doors, opened them up, and, instead of reaching for his Halloween candy, he helped himself to my stash of Reese's Peanut Butter cups. FIVE REESE'S CUPS!!!! And, his plan would have worked without mom and dad ever knowing, if only he got rid of the wrappers.

The tummy ache he had later that day made him regret his binge. So, I don't think he will help himself to more anytime soon. Hopefully.

Love, The Trahans

What a Mess

This post could also be titled "How Many Clothes Does One Kid Need?" But, that seemed too long. . .

Last Saturday, I felt ambitious, and decided to tackle sorting through Mikie's clothes. We have kept most of Mikie's clothes since birth. I think we did it because we figured we had a 50/50 chance of having another boy. And, since he had a lot of really nice clothes that were never even worn (wrong size or season), it seemed a shame to get rid of anything. Now that we know we are having a girl, I decided to cull through everything, looking for "unisex" outfits, and sorting everything else by size in preparation for donating things or having a yard sale.

This was a HUGE undertaking. I had been vacuum sealing everything into Space Bags, so it didn't look like that much stuff. Unfortunately, I never sorted it before bagging it, so there were 2T clothes mixed in with clothes ranging from 0 months to 18 months.

Here is a picture of the chaos:By late afternoon, everything was sorted and put away. And, Nibbles ended up with a laundry basket of onesies, sleep sacs, and a handful of sleepers in white, yellow, or sage.

Now that she has some clothes to wear, all we need to do is finish (or at least start) putting together a room for her to sleep in.

Love, The Trahans

Update

So, we've had a busy week. And, in my world, busy leads to exhaustion (evidenced by pregnant Lauren sleeping on the couch before 8pm). And, sleeping leaves little time for blogging (hence the big lull in posts.)

Unfortunately, busy also seems to lead to swelling, shortness of breathe, and elevated blood pressure. All of which leads to a trip to the maternity ward to make sure that Nibbles and I are okay. Let's just say that last minute trips to the hospital aren't exactly convenient. Since Mikie and I (and obviously Nibbles) spend our days in Connecticut. . . and the hospital is an hour away in Massachusetts. . . and Mike is another hour plus away near Boston. . . it makes it very difficult to coordinate an impromptu visit to the maternity ward. Thankfully, Mikie is good friend's with a colleague's son. And, that colleague's wife is home during the day, and willing to pick up Mikie when I can't. So, Nibbles and I cleared our schedule, arranged for Mikie to go to Connor's house, made a quick stop at the Employee store (it was Friday of Employee Appreciation Week), and headed off to the hospital.

After an hour's drive, and three-hours of tests and monitoring, we were released. In spite of the fact that I am swollen (a lot), I don't have pre-eclampsia or pregnancy induced hypertension. I was complemented for having the best veins they lab tech has seen on a red-head. And, Nibbles was praised for being "a good baby." I don't know if the nurses were being sarcastic or were truly impressed with her activity level. Because, she did NOT want to sit still long enough to be monitored. In fact, she moved around SO much, that she kept setting off the alarm on the fetal monitor. I gave her credit for cheering me up and making me laugh, since she seemed bound and determined to kick the fetal monitor off her "house". But, we might have gotten out of there faster if she would have staying in one place for 20 minutes consecutively. . .

When we left the hospital, we headed back to Connecticut to pick up Trouble. Evidently, Trouble was having a lot of fun at Connor's, and was invited to spend the night. So, we added some extra mileage on the car, only to head back home and rest. In hindsight, it was a good thing, because Nibbles and I needed the rest. However, this was the first time ever Mikie slept over some one's house without Mike or I being there (or at least Grandma Pookie). And, being an emotionally exhausted, hormonal mother, I was a basket case over the fact that my four year old was growing up and didn't need me. For all the trouble he causes, he is a good kid, and we're lucky to have him.

Which brings us to today. . . Mike went to rendezvous with Mikie at Home Depot, and pick up paint to paint the nursery. And, Nibbles and I are resting on the couch with our feet up (something we need to do more of).

Enough boring health news, on to the funny posts.

Love, The Trahans

Election Results

Unless you are living under a rock (pardon the pun if you just read Politics and Preschool), I don't need to tell you who won the Presidential election yesterday. However, equally as anticipated are the results of the "Name Baby Trahan" election. . .

In addition to the poll on the blog, someone at work labeled the wipe-out board outside my office with "Name Lauren's Baby" and started brainstorming suggestions. This produced a plethora of names, some good, and some atrocious. After a week, I pared down the names significantly and we began voting amongst the remaining names. It stunned many that we were so desperate, we would resort to soliciting names from others. Yet, everyone continued to stop by and comment, providing endless entertainment for all. My office wipe-off board was like the water-cooler in a SNL skit. Although, instead of calling the baby "Stevemeister", we got names like "Sadie", "Evelyn" (from the truly brainwashed, I mean DEDICATED employee), and Cliffette (from one of our VPs, Cliff), just to name a few of the really awful suggestions.

So onto the winners. Each vote was counted once (in spite of my threat to let people I liked stuff the ballot for a great name). Each write-in was counted as one vote. If multiple people wrote in the same name, that name got multiple votes. And, Mike and I refrained from voting (since I have the ultimate veto, it didn't really matter how we voted).

To keep it simple, I am only including results for names that received more than one vote. So, Maisie, Fallyn, Zoe, Michaela, etc. all failed to make the cut.

And the results are:

Molly - 3 votes
Olivia - 3 votes
Emily - 4 votes
Cassandra (Cassie) - 5 votes
Madison - 7 votes
Emma - 8 votes
Rebecca (Becca) - 10 votes
Keira - 11 votes

Sadly, as much as I love the name "Emma Reilly Trahan" (especially when you yell it, which Mikie finds amusing), Mike is violently opposed to it. He doesn't have a good reason, he just hates it. And, Olivia, Emily, and Madison seem to be too popular (Mikie has two Olivia's in his class). This narrows it down to Molly, Cassandra, Rebecca, and Keira.

Which brings us to Indecision 2008. . . Ever the planner, Mike thinks we should just PICK A NAME. I think we should wait until she is born and THEN pick the final name. Because, in my head, Rebecca has brown or "raven-colored hair" (I know, I should have read less as a child). So, if the baby is a red-head, she can't be "Rebecca". But she could be a "Molly", since Molly has red hair. Keira could be red or blonde/light brown. And, I haven't decided what Cassandra looks like, although I knew two Cassandra's in high school, both of whom had brown hair.

So stay tuned. Hopefully by the time she arrives, Nibbles will have a real name.

Love, The Trahans

Politics at Preschool

Mikie is having quite the political education this month. He is going to learn the Pledge of Allegiance at school this month. And, yesterday morning, we took him to vote, explaining that we were picking a new president, who is like the boss of the whole United States. He didn't seem to understand why so many people were standing in line outside in the cold, but was pacified by the fact that we would get a sticker. Incidentally, our town did NOT give out stickers (I asked). Luckily, Connecticut was liberal with their stickers, and a colleague gave me one of his.

Evidently, we weren't the only parents giving our child a civics lesson. Last night, while putting Mikie to bed, Mikie told Mike about his day at school. I wasn't there, but from what Mike told me, the conversation went something like this:

Mikie: "My friend, Kadin, wrote a letter to The Rock Obama at school today."

Mike: "I think you mean, Barack Obama. Why did Kadin write him a letter?"

Mikie: "Kadin's mom and dad really like The Rock." (we're assuming they really like Obama, and not Dwayne Johnson).

Mike: "Mom and Dad really like him too. That's why we voted for him to be the boss of the United States."

Mikie: "I don't like him."

Mike: "Why?"

Mikie: "Because his house has holes in the floor that mousies fall into."

Mike: "Well, who would you want to be the boss of the United States?"

Mikie: "I would vote for my friend, Kadin. He's always nice to me."

And this is why the legal voting age is 18, and not 4. Because, if Mikie were voting, all you would need to do is "be nice to him" (which usually entails candy, or a "surprise", or even just a sticker) or have a special place in your heart for mice and other furry creatures that most people do not consider "pets".

On a side note, I sincerely hope that The Rock Obama's house does not have holes in the floor, or mice for that matter. Since his new house is the White House, I would hope some of my tax dollars can afford to pay for termite and pest control. . .

Love, The Trahans

Left Brained

I recently went through team building training at work where we looked at our different behavioral styles and how our different styles affect our ability to interact. It was very interesting. There were four main styles: controlling, analytical, supporting, and promoting. I learned that I have a controlling behavioral style, which I renamed "driven" because it sounds more positive (I mean, all the other styles sound nice. . . who wants to say "I'm controlling" when you can say "I'm supportive"?) Sadly, I was told my desire to rename my behavioral style only further proved how controlling I am. . .

How does this relate to my child? Well, on the heels of this training, I have become more cognizant of other people's habits so that I can better understand their behavioral styles. In the process, I've learned how left-brained my child is. Over the four years of his life, I've tried desperately not to pigeon hole him. Unlike Mike, I didn't want to force our engineering tendencies on him, allowing him to choose his own path. I noticed all the "right-brained" things he does: his love of reading and music, he vivid imagination, etc. But, lately, I've realized that there are some glaringly "left-brained" tendencies in Mikie's personality.

1. Mikie recently brought the following picture home from school. Now, Mikie does not like to draw or color when he is at home. So, I make a big deal over everything he draws at school, hoping it will encourage him to color more. When I asked him what this drawing was a picture of, he told me "It's patterns, Mom." You can't argue it, it is definitely patterns. I just don't know too many kids who, when given the freedom to draw a picture, voluntarily draw "patterns".

2. Mikie's new favorite activity: mazes. And, I have to say, he is really good at mazes. It is the only thing he likes on the kid's menu at restaurants. If there isn't a maze on the menu, he wants us to DRAW him a maze so he has one to complete. So, I bought him a book of mazes. I figured it would help him hone his pencil holding abilities (since he doesn't like to sit and color or practice his letters). Every morning, and every evening, Mikie sits down at his kid sized desk, turns on the lamp, pulls out a sharpie (not even pencil) and completes between 2 and 4 mazes.
3. He has become VERY literal. On Halloween night, as people came up to him and said "Hey look, it's Scooby Doo!", Mikie answered matter-of-factly "It's just a costume."

Obviously, Mike and I think there are worse things than to be "left-brained". And, with two parents who are engineers, I shouldn't be surprised. I just didn't think I would see evidence of it at age 4.

Love, The Trahans

Santa

You can tell Christmas is fast approaching, because the toy catalogs are arriving fast and furiously. Between the catalogs and the commercials, Mikie's Christmas list is growing at an unbelievable speed. Thankfully, he's not completely selfish. . . he's also making note of any "girl toys" that we should buy for Nibbles. What qualifies a toy as a "girl toy" you ask? Girls playing with the toy in the advertisement, or girl colors (pink or purple).

Hot on his list, a new castle, complete with trap door and secret passages. The problem, Santa brought Mikie a very nice castle LAST year for Christmas.And, no kid needs two castles. Especially not when last year's castle cost me, I mean SANTA, $100 after shipping and the new castle was another $100.

My initial thought was to try and "Pimp My Castle" by painting it and begging Mike to make some sort of trap door for it. And then reality set in. We haven't even begun decorating a nursery. When do I think we will find time to modify last year's castle and do so without our always-under-foot child noticing?

Luckily, the Toys 'R Us Big Toy Book showed up around the same time that I had my reality check. And, low and behold, Toys 'R Us has a very similar looking wooden castle on sale for $79.99.So began my web of deception. I sold the existing castle on Craig's list for $50, reducing my cost of the new castle to $30. And, to explain why it was going away, I told Mikie that Santa knew he wanted a new castle, but didn't think he needed TWO castles. So, Santa was willing to bring him the new castle at Christmas IF Mikie was a good boy AND he gave Santa back the old castle so Santa could give it to another kid who didn't have a castle. While the initial thought of parting with any of his stuff upset him, he gave in when he looked at the picture of the new castle again.

Last night, Santa came and packed up the castle to take it back to the North Pole. And, Mikie is still okay with the trade today.

Now, the only problem is that Santa needs to find a store with the new castle in stock. Otherwise, I am going to have a lot of explaining to do on Christmas morning.

The measures we go to for the children we love. . . I just hope he forgives me in a few years when he realizes Santa isn't real.

Love, The Trahans

GOAL!!!

The final soccer practice came. And, similar to last week, they broke up the kids into group to have scrimmages. Last week, Mikie and I had gone to practice alone, so I was the only person to witness his first goal. It didn't matter, because he was on fire this week. During warm-ups, he had a run in with the assistant coach's son, who was playing goalie. Mikie took a nasty fall in the dirt as they both clamored after the ball. It was so bad, he told me he wasn't going to live. After I pointed out there would be no one to help me eat the brownies we made, he quickly rebounded.

During the scrimmage, Mikie scored three goals for his team. Even more impressive, he never forgot which goal he was going towards. He ran in hot pursuit of the ball, turning it back to his own goal when he overtook the other team. If the entire team hadn't clustered in the crease (or whatever you call the area in front of the goal in soccer), he would have scored more. Similar to last week, he felt the need to run off the field and high-five us after each goal. We had to remind him that the game was still in progress, but it was great to see him so excited.

At the end of the scrimmage, the coach had the kids line-up to shoot goals, so that every kid had a chance to feel like a winner (hearkening back to the #1's on each kids jersey). Mikie was second through the rotation. After he scored, the coach told the kids to stand "over there" (motioning to the back half of their mini playing field) while the other kids had a turn. After a few minutes of us wondering where Mikie was, we realized he ran onto the other soccer field where the middle school girls were playing a game. Luckily, Mike ran after him before he got squashed.

After an hour of play, the kids lined up for their "awards ceremony". Each kid was called by name to receive a trophy. Amazingly, Mikie and his friend Erin waited patiently until they received their trophies (Trahan and Wiehn both falling at the end of the alphabet, we had a LOT of other kids to cheer for). Then, they proudly showed off their awards, and devoured junk food. Sign-ups for Spring are open now. And, in spite of the few practices we missed, Mikie seemed to enjoy himself enough that he wants to keep playing. After hockey is done, of course. So, unfortunately for me, it looks like my life as a soccer mom is not at an end yet.

At least all these sports wear him out. I wonder if we can sign Nibbles up for Spring soccer too. . .

Love, The Trahans

Halloween (or Thanksgiving)

My mom wanted to surprise Mikie by coming up to visit him for Halloween. This made his day, since he'd been wanting to go to Pennsylvania (which, my nausea has prohibited), and since he wasn't expecting to see her until Christmas. . .

We surprised Mikie at school and came home early to get ready for Trick-or-Treating. Mike and Mikie went as Shaggy and Scooby Doo. And, since I had a last minute brainstorm to dress Nibbles as a pumpkin (why not, I look like one anyway), my mom was able to wear the Winnie-the-Pooh costume.

Mike and Pookie escorted Mikie went to a dozen houses, helping himself to as much candy as he could. I literally had to push him away, yelling "go trick-or-treat somewhere else!" as he took fistfuls of candy from my bowl as I fed other trick-or-treaters. (Nice mother, I know). Mike was disappointed because most of the neighbors didn't get that he was supposed to be Shaggy (the wig does look more "Dumb and Dumber" than Shaggy). We completely ran out of candy, leaving poor Nibbles and I with none (we will have to stock up at the after Halloween sales). By 9pm, we all crashed. Mike from a long week of work. . . Pookie from a long day of travel. . . Mikie from an all day sugar high (we noticed that he didn't eat any of his lunch). . . and I from the perpetual exhaustion that ails me all the time lately. The only one who seemed full of energy was Nibbles.

The next day, since we aren't going to see Pookie again until Christmas, we had a lovely Thanksgiving feast: roast turkey, mashed potatoes (made from scratch) and gravy, stuffing, apple cider. Granted, with the exception of the potatoes, everything else was thanks to Banquet, Boston Market, and Stoffers. It's the thought that counts, right? Of course, I committed a mortal sin in Mike's world. . . I forgot to buy and make dinner rolls. And, everyone knows Mike doesn't truly consider it Thanksgiving without bread products. That, and I forgot to make the apple pie for desert. But, no one else remembered either, so I am free from blame.

Happy Halloween (and Thanksgiving)!

Love, The Trahan

Why Pregnant Women Shouldn't Cook

This is why pregnant women should not cook dinner. Because, after a long day of work, coupled with the chaos of Halloween AND a growling stomach, you may have a warped sense of how much food you need to make. . .

For example, making what appears to be 3 pounds of spaghetti is probably more than two adults, one pregnant woman, and one four year old will EVER eat. (NOTE: this is what was left AFTER we all ate dinner.)I swear it didn't look like that much when I took it out of the canister. I guess I need one of those pasta measuring spoons. In the interim, it looks like I will be eating spaghetti for the next few months.

Love, The Trahans

Only Me

I took pictures, because I knew no one would ever believe this story. . .

Last Thursday, the New England Chapter of the Society of Cosmetic Chemists had it's annual Ed Seminar. This year, we decided to charter a yacht and have our speakers speak as we cruised Boston Harbor. The problem with a charter yacht is that the boat leaves at a certain time. Meaning, I can't arrive late.

I left work at 1:15, allotting a full hour and a half to get to the boat before it started boarding. It was only supposed to take a little over an hour, but being that I'm pregnant and had some bags of door prizes to haul to the dock, I figured I needed more time.

Unfortunately, I didn't count on there being traffic on the Mass Pike at 2pm. By 2:30, I was finally making my way through the one and only toll plaza separating me from Boston. And then, the unthinkable happened. . .

As I cruised along the Mass Pike (and by cruise, I mean going 10-15 mph above the speed limit) FIVE STATE TROOPERS came up an entrance ramp, cut me off, and CLOSED THE PIKE!!! So there I sat, 4.3 miles from my destination, and unable to go anywhere. They weren't directing cars around them. . . there was no accident. . . it was like they just thought "How can we mess with people today? I know, let's shut down the Pike!"

After 10 minutes of me frantically attempting to call colleagues and warn them I was stuck on the Pike, the five cops SLOWLY started moving. They drove side by side, not allowing a single car to pass them. In fact, two of them appeared to be talking and laughing to each other.

By some small miracle, I arrived at my destination, found parking, and ran myself, the majority of the door prizes (yes, I forgot some in my trunk), and Nibbles, across the street, and down a long gang plank to the waiting boat. With time to spare (since the boat did NOT leave at 3pm as promised).

At least I know my tax dollars are hard at work. Paying for what, is a totally different story. . .

Love, The Trahans

Apple Picking

Being that it's October, and officially Fall, we decided to go apple picking. We met the Ryans earlier in the month at Sherbourne Farms in Stowe, Massachusetts. After weeks of telling me he wanted to go to "Matthew's house", Mikie seemed less enthusiastic when we arrived at the orchard. Granted, the orchard didn't look anything like Matthew's house. He quickly warmed up when he saw the moon bounce and hay maze.This past Friday, I had the opportunity to chaperone Mikie's class field trip to Buell Orchard in Eastford, Connecticut. Buell is the only orchard in New England to make candy apples using automated equipment. Mikie was intrigued by the machine, especially the part that stuck the sticks in the apples. We then picked the apples, which I WISHED they told the kids they couldn't eat. But, I wasn't so lucky. And, since Mikie prefers his apples without the skin, I was forced to eat the peel off his.

Similar to the trip with the Ryan's, the highlight for all the kids seemed to be the wagons. They enjoyed taking turns pulling each other around in the wagons. Somehow, the little girls, even the smallest kid in the class, managed to pull my 42 pound son around in a wagon.

If only I had their energy. . .

Love, The Trahans

Pumpkin Carving

Mikie had grandiose plans of carving pumpkins. So, we went to Target in search of a pumpkin carving kit. Unfortunately, they didn't have pumpkin carving kits. I was convinced they had to have one, and we scoured the store for a while looking. After a while of searching, Mikie informed me that we "just needed to use a knife". Too smart.

Luckily, I found our pumpkin carving kit hidden in a box in the basement. So, Mike and Mikie tackled the task of making a jack-o-lantern. They had multiple sketches drawn out on paper before settling on the final design. It was fun to watch them together. I hate to admit it, but with their new haircuts, they look even more alike then usual. I'll try to edit the video footage and post it later this week.

Love, The Trahans

Like Father Like Son

Mike's family always tells me how, as a child, Mike used to analyze how things work. They would go out to a restaurant and he would say that swinging doors were like a "saloon in the Wild West". He took apart napkin holders. He was a born engineer.

Evidently, the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. On Saturday, Mikie and I had lunch at Target. They had Pizza Hut pizza for Mom and Nibbles, and hotdogs for Mikie. Plus, the chairs swivled. Being that Nibbles hates the look and smell of hotdogs, we put a divider up between us and Mikie. So, I didn't realize until half way through my pizza that Mikie was crawling under the table.

Mom: "Mikie, what are you doing? Sit in your chair and finish your lunch."

Mikie: "I'm seeing how this works. I think it has brakes, Mom."

Mom: "I don't think the chair has brakes."

Mikie: "But, when I turn it this way, it spins and then it stops. See? It must have brakes."

At this point, I was regretting that I didn't immediately grab my camera phone to take a picture. But, before I could react, Mikie was back in his chair, eating his lunch.

They look alike, and they having matching personalities. Here's hoping Nibbles looks like me so I get some credit for the offspring I gave birth to.

Love, The Trahans

The Polls are Now Open

In a more contested race than the presidential election, we have now opened the polls for naming baby Trahan. We had three lovely boy's names picked out. And, unfortunately for Mikie, Little Nibbles (as Mikie affectionately dubbed the baby) is a girl. This has been a hard concept for Mikie to grasp, as he really wanted a boy. I know, he had been adamant that it was a sister for a long time. However, over the last two weeks, he's been talking about a brother (I think he realized a brother had better long term potential for a playmate). The conversation went something like this:

Mom: "So, the doctor took pictures of Little Nibbles today and she is a girl."

Mikie: "No, I want Little Nibbles to be a boy."

Mom: "Well, Little Nibbles doesn't have a penis, so she has to be a girl."

Mikie: "Well, I think in 5 days, he'll grow a penis."

Mom: "Mikie, it's been 20 weeks and Little Nibbles hasn't grown a penis. I don't think another 5 days will help."

Now we are faced with the challenge of selecting a girl's name that we all like. And, since we haven't come to an agreement over the last 20 weeks, this could be quite a challenge. So, I have decided to open up the polls to help name Little Nibbles. I will list our top names below. You can vote for one of the names below, or write in a name. All write-in entries should go with one of the following middle names: Helen, Hope, Rose, or Reilly (family names I really like). Also, any write-in entries should roll off the tongue when yelled from the bottom of the stairs (or in a store, at the park, etc.) And, before my dad tries to be cute/funny, we are not going to use the names "Muriel" or "Gertrude" as Grandma would never forgive me. So, don't bother wasting your vote.

DISCLAIMER: As the hormonal pregnant woman, I reserve the right to veto the winning name (so, if Sarah wins, don't expect to see it on any birth announcements).

Without further ado, here are the nominees:

1. Madison
2. Keira (pronounced Kee-rah)
3. Emily
4. Rebecca (Becca for short)
5. Jessica

All votes can be posted as comments to this blog, or can be e-mailed to me by clicking here. Limit one vote per e-mail address (unless I really like your suggestion, in which case I will allow ballot stuffing). The polls will close on November 4th at 8pm EST (seems only appropriate). We'll tally the votes and post the results that evening.

Poor child. . . her brother wants her to be a boy, and her parents have resorted to a naming contest like the zoo holds for baby elephants. At this rate, she may never want to come out. . .

Love, The Trahans

Winning the War

I know that I've said it a million times, but my child reminds me of my sister. The latest antic: wearing weather inappropriate clothing. My sister loved to wear tights with her school uniform on hot days, and shorts in the dead of winter.

Anticipating eventually having to get two children ready for daycare each day, we've been encouraging Mikie to dress himself in the morning. He's been doing a good job (he remembers to change his underwear, and even puts on his socks), except that he insists on wearing shorts. And, every morning, we have to fight him to change out of shorts into pants.

This morning, after Mikie woke up and dressed himself in shorts and a short sleeved shirt, Mike went into his room and took all the shorts out of his dresser. Well, all except his soccer uniform and a bathing suit. So, unless Mikie decides to go to school in a bathing suit (which I wouldn't put past him), he will be forced to wear pants.

Oh how I love winning.

Love, The Trahans

Mikie Being Mikie

This morning, Mikie woke up with a horrible rash all over his face, and on his hands. He didn't go to bed this way, and there wasn't anything to explain it in his room. His nails were neatly trimmed, so I knew he didn't scratch his face up that severely during the night.

As he scratched himself, I asked him what happened. His explanation: "The green caterpillar scratched my hands and face."

I assumed he had poison ivy, decided to work from home so I could take him to the doctor, and chalked up the story to Mikie's vivid imagination.

Until I called into school. They told me that they have black and white striped fuzzy caterpillars outside that Mikie loves to pick up. Evidently, when you pick them up, they shed their fur, so maybe he had an allergic reaction to the fur. Seemed far fetched in my opinion, but it lent more credibility to Mikie's story.

Fast forward to lunch time. We are sitting patiently in the doctor's office, waiting to be seen. Not having eaten since breakfast, I am trying not to pass out. As I remind Mikie for the millionth time NOT to itch, I decide to ask him again what he did that made him itchy. This time, the full story came out:

Mikie: "I was playing with a fuzzy Caterpillar. . . he's so cute. . . but Everett through him over the fence."

Mom: "That wasn't very nice of Everett."

Mikie: "The caterpillar lives in the poison ivy."

Mom: skeptical, since he can't know what poison ivy is "How do you know the caterpillar lives in poison ivy?"

Mikie: "Ms. Janice told me not to play in it. . . but the caterpillar was so cute."

Mom: knowing what the answer will be "Did you go into the poison ivy to get the caterpillar?"

Mikie: "Yeah. Sorry, Mom." sorry comes quickly lately when he knows he shouldn't have done something. . .

Mom: "Don't be sorry. Just don't go in the poison ivy any more, it makes you itchy."

Mikie was quick to relate his itchiness to the doctor when she arrived. I explained the caterpillar situation and how said "cute caterpillar" may live in poison ivy. The doctor instructed Mikie not to play with caterpillars anymore, to which I laughingly added, "Yeah, please stick to worms instead." She seconded my advice, saying "Worms don't carry rashes" before laughingly saying "He's definitely a Michael."

Now, this is a comment I have heard before, "He's definitely a Michael." One of Mikie's teachers is also mom to a "Michael" and constantly chalks Mikie's "all-boy" tendencies up to this excuse. Evidently, the doctor is also mom to a "Michael" and told me "it's the name." Evidently, all Michael's who come in to her office are the same.

So, a warning to all friends considering having children. Avoid the name "Michael". According to our doctor, even using it as a middle name guarantees these Mikie-like tendencies of wreaking havoc in the name of exploration.

Maybe this is why Michael is no longer the #1 name for boys. . .

In the interim, between the pet worms and poison ivy bearing caterpillars, I am trying to convince Mike that we need to get a hamster before our child gets rabies from befriending a rabid squirrel.

Love, The Trahans

How To Wear Out Your Child

A quick tutorial for any parent who is struggling to wear out their child so that he sleeps through the night:

Step 1: Buy (or in our case, get as a gift) a remote controlled car.

Step 2: Buy a cheap beach ball.

Step 3: Drive the car around the house, while your child chases after it, trying to catch it or hit it with the beach ball.

Step 4: Repeat as necessary until everyone is tired.

If you get a good enough remote controlled car, you don't even have to get off your couch to follow it into other rooms.

I think Mike wanted to test drive the toy, not knowing the effect it would have on Mikie. Like a cat, Mikie started stalking the car, chasing after it in a fit of giggles. After 10 minutes or so (the length of time it took for me to realize this was video worthy and grab the camera), Mikie grabbed the beach ball, in a concentrated attempt to stop the car in its tracks.

I apologize; there is video, it was just so shaky, I was getting nauseous trying to edit it.

Oh to be so easily amused. . .

Love, The Trahans

Soccer "Practice"

I use the term "practice" very loosely as this weeks "practice" was anything but. The group of 65 dropped to 35 as many parents wisely opted to skip the team "pitchers" (aka pictures for the non-New Englanders).

We arrived 15 minutes early as instructed, and walked over to the field where the pictures were being taken. Evidently, the other parents are more skilled at filling out photo order forms than I, as we quickly went from being the first people there to being somewhere between 15 and 20 in line. The thought of playing cards with Mikie's mug and stats on it was too much for me to pass up (which caused much of the delay). The problem, I didn't know what position he plays. Actually, I know that none of the kids play a "position" yet, so I was trying to think of something just to put on the card. However, Mike and I have never watched soccer, so we couldn't even come up with something. And, when asked who his favorite player was, Mikie answered as I predicted with "Tom Brady". While not sport appropriate, I couldn't resist listing it because it epitomizes Mikie.

We got through the individual photos and then had the challenging task of trying to keep our child entertained and clean until they were ready to take the team photo. Being that the photos were being taken on a baseball field, there was an insane amount of dirt to keep Mikie away from. Sadly, grass stains were our downfall, as Mikie frequently tripped over his own two feet while trying to steal the soccer ball back from Mike. Eventually, it was time to corral all the kids onto the bleachers for team pictures. Oh if it were that easy. There needed to be equal numbers of children in each row. And, they started in the front row and worked their way up, which meant kids were moving out of their positions as other kids filed in behind them. Mikie was none to pleased about standing in line waiting to be told where to sit. I think it took about 15 minutes to get everyone in the right place. Then the coaches and their kids had to be arranged (because, it would be tragic if a child wasn't sitting with his coaching dad). Lacking the stamina or interest of all the other soccer moms, I skipped out on standing and observing the chaos in favor of lounging in the damp grass.

By some small miracle, everyone was in position and the team photo was taken. Multiple times. I wish that I had the video camera turned on, because all the kids screamed "CHEEEEEEESSSSEEE" for at least five minutes. And, it wasn't "CHEESE. CHEESE. CHEESE." It was one word dragged on in unison for five full minutes. I think they could have gone for a Guinness Record if anyone thought about it. After the torture, I mean, fun, of the team photo, the Coach thought it wise to end "practice" early and let everyone go home. And, again, by some miracle, all of the kids managed to make their way off the bleachers without injury.

On the plus side, when he starts playing hockey, it should be a less involved photo session (being that I doubt there will be one team of 65 kids). At least, for Mike and my sake, I hope it is.

Love, The Trahans

Camping

A few months ago, Mikie expressed interest in going camping. Being that I hate camping (thanks to a disastrous trip with my sister, dad, and dad's girlfriend and her "cherubs"), I decided to let the boys go camping while I stayed home. And, since we weren't sure if Mikie would actually enjoy camping, Mike decided their first camping trip should take place in the wilds of our backyard.

In Mikie's mind, camping involves sleeping in a tent and eating food cooked on sticks (hotdogs, marshmallows, etc.). So, we invested in a two person tent and a fire pit.

Fast forward to yesterday, October 4th. Mike decided that it was a good night to go camping. Now, I personally thought this was a crazy idea. After all, it's October in Massachusetts, meaning, it's cold. It's 9am right now and still only 44 degrees outside. But, I decided not to fight it. In my head, I rationalized that the cold might be good for Mikie's cough (he has a tendency towards croup that I've been fighting off for the last week). But, I'll admit, I selfishly welcomed the idea of getting a good night's sleep with no little people coming in at 4am and using my bulging abdomen as an ottoman, or my lower back to practice his kung fu kicks.

Mikie was ecstatic at the idea of camping. Before soccer practice, the two boys assembled the tent. This was a challenge since one of them refused to read the directions, and the other couldn't read them if he wanted to. So, in between documenting the event with photos, I had to point out that the poles weren't all the same size, so you couldn't arbitrarily put them anywhere, and that the rain cover was oriented backwards. Eventually, the tent was assembled.Next came the trip to Target for sleeping bags and lanterns. Mikie was very excited because his bug-themed sleeping bag came complete with a matching flash light and water bottle.

After soccer practice, we returned home, and the boys enjoyed hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill. The baby and I enjoyed our standard fare of pasta in the warm house. The boys went exploring around the neighborhood, where Mikie informed everyone he met that they were going camping. I think the neighbors now have a slightly different opinion of Mike: that of a crazy insane person. But, they refused to be discouraged.

When they returned from their walk, they started building the "campfire". Mikie came running inside at this point to tell me they had a fire and it was getting "so big" it was going to "burn our house down." In reality, none of the wood was actually burning at this point, due to a lack of kindling. I came outside to reassure Mikie (and get a smores once the fire was complete). Between Mike and I, we got the fire going, and Mikie got over his fear enough to make "marshmallows on sticks". He doesn't really like marshmallows, but knows that I will only let him eat so many pieces of chocolate without making a "marshmallow sandwich" (aka smores).By 7:45, Mikie was anxious to go to sleep. After being zipped up half a dozen times and requesting more blankets, he was happily tucked in and off to sleep. Mike and I sat by the fire for another hour before my extremities were freezing and I decided to head in to the house. At 10pm, I noticed Mike was still sitting by the dwindling fire, waiting patiently for it to go out.At 3:30am, the "camping trip" ended. I know the time because it happened to coincide with my middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom. I could hear Mikie yammering away downstairs. I thought they may have come inside for a potty break as well. However, when I woke up this morning, I noticed a pile of blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows strewn across the floor of the family room. Mike originally claimed that Mikie woke up coughing, and he thought it best for them to come inside. But, he later admitted that it was "way too cold" to stay out there all night.On the upside, because they were downstairs, no one interrupted my sleep. On the downside, the time I spent outside by the campfire irritated my allergies. So, I will be spending the majority of my day consuming Benadryl and orange juice.

I think next time they want to go camping, they will probably pass on fall in favor of the warmer summer months.

Love, The Trahans