Take this Job. . .

In the summer months, I try and work "summer hours". This entails working 8am to 5pm Monday through Thursday, and 8am to 2:30pm on Friday. It gives me a couple extra hours on Friday to go to the farm stand, play mini golf, or just enjoy being outside with Mikie. I don't know why I kill myself to work summer hours, because, the reality is I NEVER get out of work on time. But that's a different story altogether.

Last week was the start of summer hours. And, with Mike out of town (which means I get to bed later), it was impossible to get two kids up, dressed, and out the door by 7am. By Friday, my patience was worn thin, and my frustration was very visible.

Mikie: "Mom, why are you so mad at me."

Mom: "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself."

Mikie: "Why are you mad at yourself."

Mom: "Because, I just want to get to work on time ONCE this week. And, once again, I'm going to be late. And, people can lose their jobs if they are late all the time. Mommy won't lose her job, but I just like to be ON-TIME. . . ONCE."

Mikie: "Mom, you should just quit your job."

Mom: "Mikie, I'm not going to quit my job. I like my job."

Mikie: "But, if you ask your boss for a raise, and he says 'No', then you should just quit."

I sat there, confused, thinking "Where does he get this stuff from?" I was about to worry that he thought I didn't spend enough time with him and WANTED me to quit my job. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the "Jetsons" DVD on the passengers seat.

Note to self, give Mikie a more realistic view of career goals, success, and workplace etiquette before he gets a job. Otherwise, he is going to be in for a reality check when he finds out not everyone works Monday through Wednesday and plays gin rummy with their computer.

Love, the Trahans

If You Want Something Done. . .

just do it yourself.

All of us (well, not sure about Hannah, yet) have seasonal allergies. We ALWAYS have Sudafed and various assorted antihistamines in the house (Claritin, Benadryl, Zyrtec, Allegra, etc.) But, this season, our allergies hit us harder than ever. Mine flared into a full blown sinus infection before I knew what hit me. And my husband, Sneezy. . . I mean Mike, was also hit hard.

Here is what differs between Mike and I. When I realize I can't manage my symptoms with over-the-counter medication, I go see a doctor for prescription drugs. Because, after all, God would have given us the knowledge to come up with prescription drugs if he didn't intend us to use them. And, what's the point of paying for health and prescription drug insurance if you aren't going to use it?

Mike on the other hand prefers to suffer in silence. Except, he isn't very silent. Every morning, I hear him hacking up a lung in the shower. And, every evening, he passes out in his dinner from all the antihistamine he is consuming over the course of the day.

While Mike refused to seek professional medical help, our grass grew. And grew. And GREW. Mike did attempt to mow the grass, but only made it through the front yard before giving up. He refuses to wear a mask because it fogs up his sunglasses. After a week of not letting Mikie play on his swingset, I decided to cut the grass myself.

Let me start by saying, I had only mowed the lawn one other time in my life (while Mike went to a bachelor party in Vegas). Since we now had a ride on mower, I thought, "it can't be THAT hard." And, honestly, I half expected Mike to see the effort I was making and come out to my rescue.

Unfortunately, while we differ in our pursuit of medical attention when sick, we are both equally stubborn. Every time I stalled and had to ask Mike what I was doing wrong, he was content to come outside and show me, and then go back into the air conditioning with the kids. And, if he was too stubborn to come out and take over, I was only more determined to mow the damn lawn myself.Three and a half hours later, covered in grass stains, our 3/4 of an acre yard was neatly trimmed. Granted, there were a fair amount of areas to go back and get with the weedwacker. But, overall, it looked pretty good.

THANKFULLY, Mike FINALLY went to the doctor and got a prescription for Singulair. In combination with his Zyrtec and Sudafed, his eyes and nose are no longer running. So, he was able to cut the grass himself this weekend.

Love, The Trahans

Hannah Turns 3. . .

months, that is. When Mikie was born, my mom gave us a photo cube. You were supposed to put his picture at 3, 6, 9, and 12 months on each face of the cube. Unfortunately, we didn't ever remember to take Mikie's pictures. So, we decided to use it for Hannah.

We didn't bother having professional pictures taken prior to now, because she couldn't smile until she was a month old. And, in reality, she didn't exactly smile on cue until recently. So, I wasn't sure how she would do.

I know people would tell us she's cute even if she wasn't (because, it's what you say), but I don't think you can look at this face and not melt:There is one photo in particular that looks EXACTLY like a picture of me as a child. I have been scouring the house looking for it. So, I'm saving the other pictures until I find it.

Love, The Trahans

Lost Boy

After a long Friday, we decided to rendezvous in Connecticut for Mexican food. Mikie, Hannah and I sat down to milk, a bottle, and a strawberry daiquiri (respectively). By the time Mike and Krista arrived, and we ate dinner, I was ready for a break from Mikie. Since we drove separately, I convinced Mike to take my car and drive the kids home.

As Krista and I pulled into the driveway, we saw Mikie, standing near the closed garage doors, looking lost. Mike was no where to be seen.

Mom: "Mikie, why are you standing outside?"

Mikie: "I was trying to get in to tell Dad something."

We're really NOT bad parents. In reality, Mikie asked to play outside, which Mike let him do. He specifically left the door to the deck open so that Mikie could come in and out. Unfortunately, Mikie didn't realize this; hence the confusion.

And so was born the joke of the weekend:

Mikie: "Knock, knock"

Dad: "Who's there?"

Mikie: "Mikie"

Dad: "Mikie who?"

Mikie: "Let me in, you moron."

Okay, I take back the "we're good parents" comment. Mike did teach our son the word "moron."

Love, The Trahans

McDonald's

Mikie loves McDonald's. Not for the food (at least, I don't think for the food). He loves McDonald's for the "toy surprises". I thought that he understood which places offered "toy surprises" (McDonald's, Wendy's, Burger King) versus the restaurants which don't (Friendly's). Not exactly. . .

This weekend, we went to Boston Beer Works with my cousins, James and Krista. I am realizing that 90% of the time, only one of my kids will be happy. While Hannah was content to sit in her stroller, kick her feet and flirt with the ceiling fixtures, Mikie was not as happy. Still annoyed by the fact that we were going on the tour of Fenway instead of playing mini golf and eating ice cream, he was particularly whiney and demanding. When the waitress came to take our order, Mikie ordered a hotdog and french fries. And, after we were all done ordering our food he yelled in his own exasperated way, "And can you bring me a toy surprise." As if she had some nerve making him sit all this time without his toy.

Unfortunately, while I tried to explain to him that they don't have toy surprises at all restaurants, the waitress only made matters worse by saying "I'll go look for one." Which, to a four year old means "Sure, I'll get you one right now." Needless to say, she didn't find one, which added only added to the whining that regaled us through lunch.

Hopefully, when she has kids, some waitress will do her the same favor.

Love, The Trahans

Public Indecency

Imagine for a moment you are in a parking garage. You are heading to your car, having just finished a day of sightseeing, shopping, or maybe even a long day of work. You put the car in gear, back out of your parking space, and head for the exit. As you round the corner, there in front of you, illuminated by your headlights, is the rear end of a four year old, exposed for all to see while he pees in the middle of the parking garage.

Had you been parked on the upper level of the Boston Common parking garage between 8 and 9pm on Saturday, you would have had an experience not unlike what I described above.

In Mikie's defense, he REALLY had to pee, and every time he asked Mike if he could pee, he said "not here". So, I can understand why he felt the need to act on his own.

In Mike's defense, I don't think it would have been legal if he let Mikie pee on Boston Common. And, since there were a fair amount of police officers around, it was probably a good thing that Mikie listened.

Let me just say it was pretty amusing to watch Mike frantically pick up Mikie and race him to a corner, all while trying to avoid getting peed on. I'm sure it would have been less amusing had I been the one to have to move him!

Love, The Trahans

Little Quackers

This weekend, my Aunt Maureen and Cousin Krista came to visit. Since they had never been to Boston, we decided to do my favorite activity, take a Duck Tour. Thankfully, the weather was beautiful, because I wasn't looking forward to driving around in an amphibious vehicle if it was cold and rainy. Here are some pictures:

The motley crew.I like this picture because you can see that Hannah does indeed have red hair. Or, you can on my computer before I upload to blogger. If you can't see it, trust me, it's there.Mikie driving the boat. He wanted to make sure that everyone knew his name.Nibbles driving the boat. By far the cutest (and probably the youngest) duck driver ever.

Love, The Trahans

Strawberry Head

CUTENESS ALERT!

Today I found a very cute hat in Hannah's closet. I think someone gave it to Mikie when he was a baby (which is somewhat silly when you think of him wearing it).Isn't she cute!

Love, The Trahans

The Princess and the Pee

Mikie and Hannah are four and a half years apart. So, for the last few years (especially since Mikie learned to use the potty), I forgot how much your life with a baby revolves around bodily functions. I'm serious. Since they can't talk, you pay WAY to much attention to these things to effectively diagnose if their is a problem. How many diapers does she wet a day? How many bowel movements does she have a day/week? What color and consistency are they? Does she spit up? Is it just spit up or projectile vomit? If you have kids, you know what I'm talking about.

Poor Princess Tinklepants was constipated after switching to soy formula. Yes, I call her Princess Tinklepants. Mostly because diaper changes occasionally turn into the water show at the Bellagio as she manages beautiful displays of tinkle, showering all over the changing table.

But I digress. Mikie and I took Princess Tinklepants to the pediatricians after a week of constipation had resulted in her spitting up entire contents of bottles and not eating. In spite of everything, she was happy as a lark. But, no amount of sugar water would help this kid poop. While I was trying to explain every home remedy we tried, the doctor took Hannah and took off her diaper to check her.

No sooner did the diaper come off then Hannah managed to move her bowels. And, in my excitement, I yelled "YEAH, A BIG POOP!" Too which the doctor responded, "I've never seen anyone get so excited about poop before."

And that is when I realized I had a serious problem. Or, was a VERY devoted parent.

Love, The Trahans.