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

Grumpy

Earlier this month, Mikie had his first homework assignment: to make a family tree. It was ironic that it was a family tree, since it was a family undertaking to do the homework assignment. Mikie brought home a tree that he colored, and some blank acorns. Our job was to help him write out, color, cut, and paste the acorns onto the tree.

We asked Mikie who needed acorns: Mom, Dad, Mikie, and "The Baby". We then talked about who was mom's mom (Grandma Pookie) and dad (Grand Da) versus dad's mom and dad. We filled out all the acorns, and Mikie glued them onto the tree.At the end of the week, all of the kids brought their family trees into class to present them. Since Mikie and I arrived at school before his teacher, I wasn't sure where to turn in his assignment. So, I left it in his cubby, and told him to tell Ms. Kelly where it was.

When I returned at the end of the day, I asked Ms. Kelly if she found Mikie's family tree. She said yes, and that he told the class all about his family. Then she asked me something amusing:

Ms. Kelly: "Is Grumpy a real person."

Mom: "Yes. It's Mike's mom's fiance, Norm. I think his grand kids called him Grumpy at one point, and the name stuck."

Ms. Kelly: "Oh, I wasn't sure. When I asked Mikie who Grumpy was, he said 'He's my friend I see at the beach who lets me make ice cream.'"

I laughed and explained that Norm owns a snack bar on a beach. That when we stop by to visit, Kerrie and Norm (like any good grandparents) spoil him rotten by letting him make his own ice cream.

Thanks to Grumpy, Mikie is the envy of most of the kids at school.

Love, The Trahans

ROARRR!!!

Let me preface this story by explaining that Mike is a fairly sound sleeper. You can try to wake him up and have a conversation with him, and although he may answer you, he is still asleep. In this sleep induced stupor, Mike has a tendency to either lift Mikie into our bed or go sleep in Mikie's room if Mikie wakes up with a bad dream. Now, I hate having a restless 4-year old kicking me in the back while I am trying to sleep (I can't imagine anyone who would enjoy being kicked while sleeping). And, since I am pregnant, I have been even more adamant about everyone sleeping in their own beds, because I cherish my sleep.

Try as I might to explain to Mikie that Dad is useless during the night, he doesn't always wake me up when he has a bad dream. This might be because he is considerate of the fact I need to sleep. Or, it could just be that Mike sleeps closer to the bedroom door. . .

Regardless, on Sunday night, Mikie had a bad dream. To hear Mike's side of the story, Mikie had woken up every hour from midnight on. I will admit, I slept through these earlier incidents. However, at 3am, I heard Mikie enter our bedroom. I vaguely heard him say something to Mike about trying to scare the monster that was in his room. I heard him ask Mike "Is that a good idea, Dad?" to which Mike responded "Yeah, sure, buddy."

Before I could react to what was going on, I was awoken by the sound of a lion in my hallway. Yes, my son was standing in the hall outside our bedroom yelling "ROARRRR!!!!" over and over again at the top of his lungs. And, in between each round of roars, you could hear him saying, "Can you hear me, Dad?" or "Is that good, Dad?"

After we all quieted down, Mikie ended up in our bed. Although, Mike didn't put him in the middle of the bed (I guess trying to spare my abdomen from kicking by both our children). And at 4am, I was awoken again, this time by a big "thud" when Mikie rolled out of bed. Thankfully he wasn't hurt. When I tried to talk to him in the morning about his bad night, he briefly mentioned a dragon in his room. But, his bigger issue was that the baby had pushed him out of the bed. Poor child, not even out of the womb and already being blamed for all of life's problems.

When he woke up on Monday night, I went in to comfort him. Because, somehow, when I wake up, Mikie sleeps through the night afterward.

Now if only I could get over my bad dream that I am being attacked by lions. . .

Love, The Trahans