The Move (aka Guess this Food)

Let me preface this story by saying how much I despise moving. When we moved into our house in Maryland, I swore I would never move again. Then we moved to Massachusetts, which was done in three stages: move to the apartment, move everything else out of Maryland, move everything into the Massachusetts house. And, I will admit that Mike dealt with a lot of the moving because I despise moving.

In spite of this, Katie needed help moving, so, of course, I went to help. Of course, having dislocated her knee that morning (read "The Fall" below), I ended up doing a lot more packing and lifting than I bargained for. More disgusting than all other tasks was emptying the refrigerator. These are some of the things I found:

WARNING: these pictures are not for those with a weak stomach. Consult your physician before viewing. Discontinue reading of this post immediately if you experience nausea.

Item #1: And the mystery item is. . . strawberries!

Item #2:

Survey says. . . Salsa! (I was seriously guessing cat food).

On a more positive note, Katie and I had quite a few laughs at her domestic negligence. And, her fuzzy roommates kept me company Saturday morning while I finished packing.

The cripple "helping" (translation: sitting on the couch trying not to injure herself).

Henry, trying to wrap himself in tissue paper for the trip.

Bud, afraid we would leave him behind, packed himself in a tupperware tote.

This time, I am serious when I say "no more moving". At least not for another 5 years.

Love, The Trahans

Bucket Head

After having dealt with one injured family member (namely Auntie Katie), Mikie figured I might miss playing the role of Florence Nightingale.

I got a call from the daycare two days after returning from Maryland. Evidently, one of the little girls threw water at Mikie. Except, instead of just throwing the water, she threw the whole bucket. It hit Mikie in the head and cut his eye. They assured me it wasn't deep, but might need a butterfly stitch because of the location.

I immediately left work and drove to get him. I was greeted at daycare by the following sight:

Mikie, who had been sitting next to the teacher, soaking wet in his bathing suit, jumped up, proudly shouting "Look, Mom, I got a boo-boo on my eye!". Jillian, Mikie's friend, was following me around saying "Is Mike gonna be okay?" and "I'm sorry, Mike". Too which Mikie responded with "Jilly gave me a boo boo!" I was frantically trying to dry Mikie off, change him into clothes, console Jillian, listen to the teacher who was apologizing, and digest the situation without crying at the sight of my beautiful child's face.

Unfortunately, between water play and the extra attention, Mikie was enjoying himself too much to leave with me. So, I naively promised that after we went to see the doctor we could get ice cream. One ice cream can't hurt. And, he's injured!

30 minutes later, we were fast approaching the doctor's office. In spite of the fact it was not yet 5 o'clock, and they are open until 8, I got the answering service. As I pulled off the exit ramp to go to the pediatrician's, they called me back to tell me to go directly to the ER in case he needs stitches. 45 minutes later, we arrived in Worcester at UMass Memorial. Dressed in my work clothes (translation: slacks with heels), I carry my 37-lb 2-1/2 year old, his diaper bag, my purse, and his Buzz Lightyear action figure through the construction zone, into the hospital, and around the inside to the ER. After checking in, physically and emotionally exhausted, I settled down, expecting a long wait.

The first thing Mikie saw: the cleaning woman's cart parked outside the bathroom. He kept pulling me, saying "Let's check it out, Mom". Trust me, he doesn't get it from me, but the kid loves to clean. To distract him from that (and the automatic doors that exit the ER) I showed him a hiding spot under the console table between the couches in the waiting room (yes, this ER was much nicer than any other I have been in). Of course, right after he wedged himself and Buzz under the table, they called our name. So, I literally dragged my child out from under the table by his feet, threw him over my shoulder and carried him back to the registration desk.

Charmer that he is, the staff loved him, and we were in and out of the ER within an hour. But, not before he managed to score a grape popsicle from the doctor in the pedes unit. . . without even asking! She heard him say, "I want ice cream, Mom", after they put drops in his eye to check that his cornea wasn't scratched and magically she reappeared with a popsicle.

An hour later, after we arrived back home and ate dinner, I had to take him back out for the ever promised ice cream. Because, as I found out, if you promise a kid an ice cream, a popsicle from a doctor doesn't count.

And, when the ice cream truck came by the following day, Trouble managed to guilt Mike and I into getting him ANOTHER ice cream.

Let's just say that three ice creams in two days is a lot of sugar for a child who's only source of sugar is fruit. Talk about high energy!Now, he looks like the Hockey Player he aspires to be (with a few extra teeth). Although, with all that ice cream, they should rot away in no time!

Love, the Trahans

Monkeying Around Town

While I was playing nurse and moving crew to Auntie Katie, Mike and Mikie were back in Massachusetts monkeying around.

They went to the beach on Friday to see Grandma Kerrie. Mikie conned Grandma Kerrie into walking him down to the water's edge (translation: he dragged her into the water until her shoes and jeans were saturated). And, while he didn't admit to it, I am sure she and Grumpy Grandpa Norm let Mikie make himself a tasty ice cream treat. After leaving the beach they headed to a local playground in Westerly and found a zip line (or zipper line as Mikie calls it) that Mikie rode back and forth more than a dozen times and made a couple new friends.

On Saturday, they ventured to Southwick's Zoo, which is only 15 minutes from our house. Mikie had a great time. Mike let him take a picture of the giraffe. Guess which picture the pint-sized version took:

They also checked out the monkeys and lions. Here are some other amusing pictures from the trip:

The two monkeys.

Mikie with his goat friend.

Love, The Trahans

The Fall

So, last weekend, I flew down to Maryland to help my sister pack and move. Katie, in the ultimately ploy to avoid doing any work herself, dislocated her knee before I arrived. And, because she is my sister, and the story makes me laugh, I am going to further humiliate her by posting it here:

It is 5am on Thursday, June 14th. My sister is in the shower, getting ready for the last day of school. She turns off the water, reaches for a towel, and slips, knocking her right knee into the side of the tub. Immediately, she knows she dislocated it. . . partly because she had dislocated her left knee two weeks before my wedding. . . and partly because it was rotated 90 degrees from where it should have been. First thought, call 911.

So, she crawls down the hall to the bedroom to get her cell phone. Unfortunately, as she talks to the operator, she realizes that the apartment door is locked (deadbolt and all). The operator informs her that if she cannot unlock the door, they will have to break it down. My sister calls Fabrice, hoping he can meet them at the door and unlock it, but he is an hour away. Fabrice calls his cousin, Basil (pronounced Bah-zeel), who lives in the same apartment complex and has a spare key. The only problem is, my sister had the locks changed a month ago, and forgot to give Basil a new key.

Shortly after hanging up with 911, the fire department bangs down the door. And in runs Basil and two firefighters, to find my sister, laying soaking wet, and naked (except for a towel) on the bed. Basil gives her a shirt, but she can't get anything over her knee without causing excruciating pain. So, naked from the waist down, they roll her onto a back board, and begin carrying her out of the apartment.

Evidently, trouble ensued as the two firemen holding her head were rather large (read: drank too much beer at the firehouse). My sister's hallway is about 2-3 feet wide, and turns 90 degrees at one point. So, my sister heard the following conversation as they tried to carry her out of her bedroom:

Fireman #1: "Should we be the ones in here?"

Fireman #2: "Why not?"

Fireman #1: "Well, that hallway is kind of narrow. Do you think we will get stuck?"

Fireman #2: "We'll just suck it in."

At which point, my sister started laughing so hard, she was shaking (which only hurt her knee more).

In addition to "sucking it in", they had to strategically lower her head and raise her feet to an almost vertical position in order to navigate the turns down the hall.

Upon arriving to the ER, still naked from the waist down, she had X-rays. The orderly, not knowing she was naked, kept trying to move her towel.

Finally, she was discharged, knee popped back into place, and equipped with crutches. Basil had the foresight to bring her underwear and clothes, but forgot socks and shoes. So, the hospital gave her a pair of socks to leave in. Because, when you have little enough traction with crutches, you want to wear socks on a slippery floor.

When she arrived back at her apartment, she found the door hanging open. It was mishapen from the force of the fire company. The deadbolt was broken off in the lock, and the door frame was broken. Amazingly, no one had robbed her while she was gone. I had to call a locksmith to come to her apartment before I flew down there so that we weren't sleeping in an unsecure building (she didn't live in the best neighborhood).

I told her for Christmas I am going to get her one of those medic alert necklaces (the one's with the lady that cries "I've fallen, and I can't get up). I am also going to install a phone in her bathroom, and leave an emergency kit of clothes on her toilet to avoid future naked trips to the hospital. On the plus side, I told her she could have picked up a new husband. Of course, given her luck that day, it most likely would have been some toothless orderly with a record, not a doctor.

Love, The Trahans

"Squirt Me With the Hose"

After Arcangelo's party, his big sister, Jalysa, and her friends decided to cool off by squirting each other with the hose. Mikie, ever the lover of water, begged Mike and I to squirt him with the hose too. Since we had a spare change of clothes, we took off his shoes and turned him loose.

Within minutes, he was running through the front yard, squealing with delight, soaked from head to toe. The most amusing part was that he thought he was as cool as his cousin Jalysa. Between screams (from both him and the three girls), you could hear him yelling "Come on, guys" and "Squirt me, Di Di".

Eventually, we needed to take off his shorts because every time he ran, they fell off his behind.
Nice butt!

Unfortunately, when I picked him up from daycare on Tuesday, I realized that we taught Mikie a bad habit. His sneakers and clothes were saturated with water. When I asked the teacher what happened, she told me that she started filling the wading pool for water play, but Mikie kept running in front of the hose yelling "Squirt Me With the Hose!"

His sneakers dried out two days later, but the lights in the one shoe are now permanently lit.

Love,
The Trahans

Happy Birthday, Arcangelo!

So, this weekend, Arcangelo turned one year old. We went down to Providence for the party. Here are some of the pictures:

Mikie and Arcangelo go for a ride in the wagon.

"Cake, cake, cake. . . " Aunt Arlene made two delicious cakes shaped like our favorite fuzzy monster, Elmo.

Arcangelo didn't care for cake; but, ever the gracious host, he sat contentedly watching the rest of us enjoy it. In contrast, Mikie bypassed lunch and ran around so that he had room for a bigger piece of cake.

Arcangelo enjoyed opening his presents. . .

and especially enjoyed reading his cards. I wish some of his manners rubbed of on his older cousin.

Tired from the excitement of turning a year, he kicked back to snuggle with Uncle Mike.

Happy Birthday, Arcangelo!

Love, The Trahans

Bathroom Humor

Somehow, my most amusing Mikie anecdotes seem to center around our attempts to use the potty.

For example, there was our trip to Olive Garden for dinner where I took Mikie to use the restroom. Only when I passed the row of urinals on the way to the stall did I realize I walked right into the men's room (the male voices didn't tip me off). After making our escape to the women's room, I fell on the floor of the stall laughing. Mikie didn't quite understand what was so funny.

Recently, we have started rewarding Mikie for using the potty by giving him baseball or hockey cards. Being two, he thinks this is really cool. . . like having a real baseball or hockey player. And, it is much cheaper than buying him ice cream or a toy. We were out one day looking at new cars. While Mike was off trying to convince one sales guy that we really were just looking and had no intention of buying a car, Mikie decided he needed to use the bathroom. Without warning, I saw him stop, and then noticed a tiny trickle dripping down his leg. I quickly ran him to the bathroom, before he could leave a puddle. When I was done changing him, I told him to wait so I could use the potty. While he stood there, we had the following conversation:

Mikie: "Did you use the potty, Mom?"

Lauren: "Yes."

Mikie: "Yeah, Mommy. You go pee-pee in the potty."

Mikie: (a few minutes later while I am washing my hands) "You need a hockey player, Mom."

Combined with the serious look on his face, this was one of the funniest things he could have said to me. I could picture myself on a game show. . . Bob Barker saying "Lauren Trahan, you used the potty. Tell her what she's one, Johnny." And the announcer voice saying "Well, Bob, it's a new hockey player!"

Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I thanked him and ushered him out of the bathroom.

One day, when he is in his twenties (and hopefully, potty trained), I will print these posts for him to laugh at.

Incidentally, he never did give me a card.

Love,
The Trahans

Mini Goofballs

In our effort to keep Mikie entertained (and burn off extra energy before bedtime), we recently took Mikie to the miniature golf course near our house. It has a farm and ice-cream stand and 18-hold mini-golf course, so there is plenty to do.

Mike and I thought we were going to play mini-golf, but Mikie taught us a new sport --- "Mini Goofballs". It is played on a mini-golf course, but is faster paced, like hockey. You hit the ball towards the hole, and run after it, hitting it again while it is still moving. Unlike hockey, there is no goalie, and obviously, no ice. You also don't observe traditional golf etiquette of taking turns; Mikie's turn was whenever he wanted to play. And, repeating a hole is allowed if the other players are taking too long.

As you can see from the pictures, Mikie is a natural. Mike and I never quite mastered it, following the more traditional mini-golf game play. But, we had a great time. And, ever the ham, Mikie amused onlookers with his speed and enthusiasm. I guess watching a two year old run after a golf ball yelling "LET'S PLAY MINI-GOOFBALLS!" is rather entertaining.

And, logically, what do you do after tiring out a toddler with 18-holes of Mini-Goofballs? Feed him ice cream, of course! Amazingly, he still went to bed and slept soundly (God was smiling on us that night!)

Love,

The Trahans

What's That Noise?

Tonight, Mikie and I met Mike for dinner at TGI Fridays (see post below). After dinner, I got the task of taking Mikie to the bathroom to change his diaper and clean him up while Mike payed the bill.

Anyone who has ever seen the changing tables in restaurants can understand that my 3-ft, 36-lb toddler does not fit on it. Even if he wasn't tall, I feel the need to hold the table up, not trusting it to support his weight. So, most times, I stand trying to block him from unlocking the door, and change him standing up. I typically use the handicapped stall because the door is far enough from the toilet that Mikie doesn't splash or perpetually flush the toilet while I struggle to change him. The only problem is that the handicap stall also has more room for Mikie to try and manuever away from me.

So here we are: me crouching in dress clothes, back against the stall door, Mikie, pants around his ankles, butt-naked, trying to run away from me while I try and get a new Pull-up on him. All of the sudden, he hears the woman in the next stall. He looks at me and asks his favorite question, "What's that noise, Mom".

Knowing that the woman in the next stall can here everything I say, and not wanting to embarass her by saying, "That's someone going pee-pee in the potty", I answer, "I don't know." As the words come out of my mouth, I am praying this ends the conversation, at the same time knowing he is too smart to know I am lying.

Realization slowly sinks in, and as I hurry to pull up his pants and rush out of the bathroom he shouts, "IT'S A BOY! IT'S A BOY, MOM. A BOY GOING PEE-PEE IN THE POTTY!"

I don't even remember my response to that one.

Note to self, don't lie to a two-year old.

Love,
The Trahans

Hard Day

After a busy day at work, I picked up Mikie at daycare and we headed back towards home. I realized that we needed to run some errands, so I called Mike and we agreed to meet for dinner before shopping.

After getting Mikie out of the car, I reach for his hand to walk through the parking lot. Usually, Mikie likes to walk (run, jump, fidget) everywhere. However, this evening he pointed at the trunk and said "I need my stroller, Mom". Okay, this is new. Too exhausted to fight with him or carry him, I grab the stroller and strap him in. As we start towards the restaurant, he said "This was a hard day." Trying hard not to laugh at him, I ask why it was a "hard day". He informed me "I played hockey. . . I'm tired. . . I need to sleep in my bed."

Oh to have his life. . .

Love,
The Trahans

The Great Escape

Having peed in his sneakers earlier in the day (see the "Adventures in Potty Training" post below), Mikie was stuck playing inside until I could find him another pair of shoes. Since I needed to go shopping for some spring clothes, Mike decided he would stay home with Mikie while I drove to the mall.

By the time I returned (3 hours later), Mikie was anxious to get outside. Still wearing only a Pull-up and t-shirt, I made him try on the shoes to see if they fit. Unfortunately, new Stride Rite sneakers are about as flexible as bricks. So, I couldn't tell where his toe was. I figured at least we could take him out of the house. We could drive up to the Stride Rite outlet and have the sales girl check his size. If they didn't fit, we could buy another pair.

I went upstairs to get Mikie a pair of pants so we could go out to the store. When I came back down, the first thing I noticed was that the door to the deck was open. I called Mikie's name, but got no response. I looked at Mike, who was watching TV on the couch, and asked "Did you open the back door?" Without waiting for a response, I ran outside in time to see Mikie, still wearing only a t-shirt, Pull-up and sneakers, running through the yard, shrieking with delight. He turned and headed towards the front yard. Thankfully, I can still run faster than him, and managed to scoop him up before any of the neighbors noticed.

As I carried the little exhibitionist inside, he looked at me and said "Mom, it's freezing out. I need some pants."

Since he obviously had cabin fever, we scrapped the plans to go back to the store, put on his pants, and went outside to play. My only regret is that we didn't have the camcorder out to document his escape.

Love,
The Trahans

Adventures in Potty Training

Mike and I were recently reading "Toddler Bargains" (a consumer review of all things marketed to toddlers), trying to figure out what carseat to buy, now that Mikie is about an inch away from outgrowing his current one. As I scan the table of contents, the words "Disposable Training Pants and other wastes of money" jump off the page. Of course, as a parent who is spending a small fortune on Pull-ups, of course I am intrigued.

The theory is that a child who uses Pull-ups is less inclined to use the potty as a child who wears underwear or cloth diapers. Pull-ups are designed to absorb a small lake's worth of urine. So, a child never feels the discomfort of being wet. Plus, they don't have to stop what they are doing to go use the potty.

Mikie does use the potty. He can hold his bladder all night (10-11 hours), and he will tell you that he has to use the potty. Provided he doesn't have anything better to do. So, when he is stalling at bedtime, naptime, or before leaving for school in the morning, Mikie will use the potty. In the middle of the day when he is busy playing, fat chance.

So, this weekend, armed with my new found knowledge, we let Mikie put on a pair of Elmo underwear after using the potty. He and Mike got dressed, and went outside to play hockey while I took a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear voices in the house. I call downstairs, asking Mikie if he needed to go pee-pee in the potty. I realize, as he comes to the bottom of the stairs, that he is now wearing just his t-shirt and a Pull-up. He yells proudly up the stairs "I did pee-pee on the driveway, Mom."

In truth, pee trickled down both legs, soaking his pants, socks, and SHOES, before making a nice puddle that flowed down the driveway.

On the plus side, at least he was outside.

The moral of the story: don't listen to everything you read.

Love,
The Trahans

Mikie Mike and the Funky Bunch

Move over, Mark Wahlberg, there's a new kid in town. Mikie is ready for his new career. . . Tommy Hilfiger underwear model. Or (more accurately) Huggies Pull-up model.

We took Mikie to get his haircut at Snip-its. Imagine a kid-friendly equivalent of the Hair Cuttery (although geared more towards girls than a Cartoon Cuts). When you are done getting your hair cut, the stylist gives you a ticket to put in a machine, and it spits out a prize. This visit's prize was a tatoo! Of course, we couldn't leave the shopping center without putting it on. When we got home, Mikie was quick to remove his shirt and show off for the camera. He also has been running around daycare, pulling up his sleeve, waving his upper arm in everyone's face.

What is it? That colorful blob is actually a rainbow that says "Get Crazy" on it. Like Mikie needed a tatoo to tell him that.

Alas, Mark Wahlberg has nothing to fear. His career is safe. Mikie has informed us he wants to play hockey. On our ride home from visiting Gram and Diane last night, Mikie proclaimed he didn't want to play with his friends, he wanted to play hockey on the ice with "the other boys". When I asked who "the other boys were" (naively thinking he meant the neighbors), he said "The hockey players." On further inquiry, he announced he wants to play with "The Boston Bruins". We informed him he needs to accomplish a few other things first: get bigger and stronger, go to school, learn to skate. . .

I don't know any other 2 year old who loves hockey as much as Mikie. I wonder if Mike is showing him "Miracle" 24/7 when I am not around.

Go Bruins!

Love,

The Trahans

Missing Brain Cells

Of all the forgetful things I have done this week, this one takes the cake. I dropped Mikie off at daycare this morning. I always lock my car, even though I am only inside for a few minutes, because my purse, wallet, iPod, cell phone, Palm Pilot, projects for work, are all in that car. If I lost them, I wouldn't be able to function correctly.

Evidently, even not having lost them, I am having trouble functioning.

After saying goodbye to Mikie, I walk back out to my car. I press the unlock button on the key, and open the door. I get in, close the door, and go to put the key in the ignition. The first thing I notice is that someone moved my seat back. I know I didn't drive to the daycare with it that far back, so who moved it. The second thing I notice is a red snow scraper on the passenger's seat. Well, that is odd also, since mine is black. As I look around, I realize this is not my stuff. I am willing my brain to understand what is going on. Slowly, I realize THIS IS NOT MY CAR.

Still confused, I sit there trying to comprehend how my keys unlocked someone else's car. Then, it dawns on my I should get out of the car before someone sees me and calls the cops. I make my escape and quickly get in MY car, the blue Honda Civic parked one space over. Now that I have escaped without anyone noticing my mistake, I have more time to process what just happened. Evidently, I didn't notice with the sun shining in my eyes that the Honda Civic I was getting into was black, not blue (although, all the salt on both cars didn't help either. . . they both looked gray). And, I am assuming that my electronic key actually opened my car, and that, similar to many trusting people who live in rural areas, this person did not feel the need to lock her car while dropping her child off at daycare.

Thankfully, it is Friday. Because I need to start over, hopefully with more synapses firing than I had this week.

Happy Friday.

Love,
The Trahans

Let Them Eat Jelly!

Everyone we know thinks Mikie looks like Mike. And, I think he has a lot of my sister's personality traits. But, he did inherit one thing from me. . . a love of peanut butter. From age three through high school, I ate a peanut butter sandwich every day for lunch. On bread, apples, bananas, with or without jelly. I love peanut butter. Mikie is unfortunate in that his daycare is peanut free. So, to make up for the fact that he can't eat peanut butter at lunch, he demands it at other times (breakfast, dinner, bedtime). And, his favorite way to eat it is on a banana, just like his mom.

So, after a full morning of playing in the snow yesterday, Mikie and I came inside to refuel with a lunch of peanut butter on bananas. We sat down, side by side, armed with our bananas and a jar of Skippy between us. Mikie doesn't even like to bother cutting it. He holds it, peeled half-way, like he is going to eat it. I smear some peanut butter on the top, and he bites it off. We repeat this process until the banana is gone.

After he finished his banana, I started to peel my own. Boy was I niave to think I could enjoy my lunch in peace. The following conversation ensued:

Mikie: "I want more peanut butter on 'nana, Mom".

Lauren: "But, this is my banana. You just ate yours."

Mikie: "But, I want more 'nana."

Lauren: "Then what am I supposed to eat?"

Mikie: "You eat jelly on bread."

Well, with such a persuasive argument (and knowing that there were three more bananas), what more could I do than give him my banana. He left to play, returning five minutes later while I was in the midst of eating my new banana, and tried to demand a third. I took a new approach and told him he wasn't hungry, a statement he didn't challenge.

Later that night, Mike and I returned home, after hiring a babysitter to watch Mikie so we could go out to dinner. We found that Mikie didn't want the meatloaf I made, so she gave him peanut butter on banana. Actually, peanut butter on TWO bananas. So, he has officially broken his banana eating record of three bananas in one day!

Too bad we don't live in a more tropical climate. Having a banana tree would definitely save us some money, and trips to the grocery store.

Love,
The Trahans

Buried Again

We had ONE day last week without ANY snow on our lawn. On Saturday the 10th, the weather started warming up. By Wednesday night, it was so warm, Mike wanted to eat outside (for reference, so warm was in the 60s). The last of the snow on our lawn had finally melted. Even on Thursday night, it wasn't bitterly cold. I actually thought that Punxsutawney Phil might be right. . . maybe winter was over.

Then I woke up. Actually, I was already awake, dressed, and at work, watching snowflakes fall past my window around 9am on Friday. If we were in Maryland, I would have argued that the ground was too warm for it to accumulate. But, we were in Massachusetts, where I continue to see people walking out on the lakes to check their ice fishing traps when it is 70 degrees outside. So, when the meteorologists say you are going to get up to a foot of accumulation, they are typically right on.

Here are some great pictures outside Crabtree as the snow was falling:

There is a beautiful pond buried under all that snow. And, the rhododendrons had buds, prior to all the snowfall.This is the picturesque New England that I love. . . when you don't have to go anywhere or shovel anything.

Then came the drive home. It typically takes me about 35 minutes to drive the 27 miles home from work. On Friday, it took me over an hour and a half. I didn't have any issue with traction on the road, in spite of the fact that the snow was falling faster than the plows could clear it. My problem was I had to stop SIX times to clear ice off my windshield and windshield wipers.

When I arrived home, I got stuck at the bottom of the driveway. For the third time that day, Mike had to shovel our driveway. And, our neighbor, taking pity on Mike's determination not to buy a snow blower until the summer, helped clear the bottom third with her snow blower.

By Saturday morning, after the snow subsided, we had given up on shoveling. We paid someone to plow the driveway, then spent two hours just clearing the front walkway, and the small amount of snow that the plow left behind. Again, our neighbor came over with his snow blower to clear the mound of snow the town plow decided to dump in our driveway after we had just finished shoveling. Mike swears that our next house will have a shorter driveway. Since I hate moving, I think investing in a snow blower, or a truck with a plow, is the more appealing option.

Mikie, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed himself. Probably because he did a minimal amount of snow removal. Or, because his "snow removal" method tended to involve eating it. First, he tried sledding. In spite of how icy the snow was, there seemed to be too much friction, so he didn't get a lot of speed (he actually got stuck halfway down the hill). So, we tried building a snowman. The only problem was that the snow was icy, not wet and sticky. We couldn't even make a snowball.

Next, we decided to walk into the backyard and check out the swing set. This was easier said then done. Evidently, 36 pounds (38 with all of his snow gear) is not heavy enough to break through the snow. So, Nanook Trahan ran across the snow like a speed skater. Because the neighbors warned me not to lose him in the snow (I don't know how I could, the snow was a foot deep and he was dressed head to toe in royal blue) I was frantically trying to keep up with him. This was difficult since I kept sinking up to the middle of my calves in snow. To Mikie's dismay, when we reached the swing set, he discovered the sandbox was full of snow and the slide was full of snow and ice. So, all our efforts were for naught.

After our trek back to the front yard, Mikie suggested we play hockey. It is quite a sight to see a two year old running around with a full size hockey stick, screaming "I shoot the puck, Mom" and "Pass it to me, Mom". He's actually getting pretty good (further justification in Mike's mind to get him ice skates).

I finally coerced him inside with the promise that he could take a bath in the "bubble tub". His gloves are still saturated with water from all the snow he ate and puddles he splashed in, so I don't envision him going out to play again for a few days. Fortunately for him, if the February snow storm was any indication, it will take us a month for all this snow to completely disappear again. Which may mean an outdoor Easter egg hunt will be pretty challenging. Hopefully, they don't have as much snow in Pennsylvania or New Jersey.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Love, The Trahans

Mikie's First Hockey Game

Given his love of hockey, and our close proximity to Troy, NY, we decided to take Mikie out to RPI for a tour of the campus and his first live hockey game. We met up with Matt & Catherine Baumann (or Matt & Kitty as Mikie called them). We spent the morning waiting for the bookstore to open so we could buy new RPI apparel for the game. And, since we were in the Union, we had to stop for Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Ben & Jerry's on campus seemed to be a huge selling point for Mikie(as it was for me). Then again, any ice cream is a big hit with Mikie. . .

We went back to the hotel for a quick nap before dinner at the Outback (because Mike and Matt can't pass up an opportunity to eat steak). Then, off to the game.

Mikie had a blast. RPI played Cornell. Or attempted to play. I have to say that it wasn't the most riveting hockey gave I have ever been to. RPI lost 6 to 1. But, Mikie didn't seem to care. Here is Mikie, intently focused on the game:

Between the 1st and 2nd periods, Catherine took Mikie for a walk to see the zambonis. While they were watching them come off the ice, the staff made them sit down to make room for the Cornell team to come back on the ice. They were stuck sitting right in front of the Cornell pep band. Mikie couldn't decide what was more interesting, the zambonis or the drummer in the pep band. As they walked back to our seats, the Cornell coach gave him a "high five" through the glass.

Between the 2nd and 3rd periods, Mike and Mikie went on a walk in search of Puckman (our unofficial mascot). One of the refs was skating by and threw Mikie the official game puck. You can see him proudly displaying it in the picture below:

Armed with his hockey stick and a new puck, Mikie was ready to do some serious damage to our hotel room. We had to hide the puck to avoid breaking anything. After a few days of sleeping with the puck, we managed to wrestle it away from him. He lost interest when he realized it doesn't slide as well on the carpet as it does on the ice.

Mike, ever the hockey fanatic, is already searching for children's ice skates in Mikie's size and is telling him what colleges he can go to and play hockey at. I think potty training may be a bigger priority, but I don't want to burst his bubble.

Love,

The Trahans

WARNING: Proud parent

Okay, not all my blogs can be entertaining. This one is purely for family to enjoy Mikie's new accomplishments. Most of his accomplishments are not as fun as when he was little. For example, while everyone oohed and aahed when he said his first word, or took his first step, few people get excited when I gush that Mikie went "poopie in the potty". But, Mikie has recently astounded me with a few new feats. For example, Mikie can now count to three in Spanish. After all, Mike doesn't speak any foreign languages (unless you count Latin, which is not widely spoken on the street). And, while I still recall enough Spanish to read and say a few phrases, I am far from fluent, and don't speak it on a daily basis. Although he can count, he told me that it is French, not Spanish, so we may have some more to learn yet.

Mikie's second new accomplishment is his ability to count to ten in English. We were at Sears auto getting new tires one night, and in my attempt to distract Mikie from climbing on the display of tires, I told him to help me count them. I said "Mikie, what number comes first" to which he responded "One". Before I could say, "what's the next number", he said "Twoo. . . Threeee. . . Four. . . Five. . . Six. . . Seven. . . Eight. . . Nine. . . Ten". Amazed, I stupidly stood there going, "You can count to 10!?! Who taught you that?!?" I then had to drive everyone in Sears crazy (as if my overactive two year old wasn't annoying enough) by making him count everything in the store. 10 cans of oil. 10 air filters. 10 windshield wipers. 10 shovels. Eventually he got sick of teaching me to count and went back to shoveling the imaginary snow off the floor.

Even more impressive was his ability to ride his bike. Mikie has had a tricycle since last spring. While he likes to ride it, he hadn't figured out pedalling. So, all efforts to ride his bike have been Flintstone-style (feet pushing off the ground). One evening, Mikie and I got home from daycare and work. He saw Mike's bike helmet, and insisted on trying it on. We got inside with the helmet, and he screamed that he wanted his bike. Being that I just got home from work, and Mike was not home, I was willing to humor the kid to have a few minutes of peace. I brought the bike into the kitchen, put his helmet on him, and turned around to filter through the mail. Next thing I know, Mikie is riding past me.

Imagine how you felt when your child took his first steps. . . that was how I felt. I started screaming and clapping. I ran for the camera, then realized that I should get the video camera. So, I ran to get the video camera. Of course, the battery was dead. So, I was running for the A/C adapter so that I could plug it in to film Mikie's first bike ride. I was completely amazed, because he hadn't even sat on the bike in two months. And, he definitely wasn't using the pedals before.

So, in his internet debut (and my first time filming and editing video footage). . . we now present "Mikie Trahan Rides a Bike". Starring, Mikie Trahan (and mom cheering in the background). Click on the picture below to see the video:

I apologize for any motion sickness I caused everyone who viewed this footage. Now we know why I am a chemist and not a cinematographer.

Love,
The Trahans

Cookie Monster

This is a picture of Mikie. Mikie Trahan. The same child who, for the nine months I was pregnant with him, made me throw up at the thought of chocolate. I know, it is hard to believe, I being a self-proclaimed chocolate connesieur. Here is a picture of him scaling our pantry in search of the bag of Hershey kisses I hid from him:
Prior to bed tonight, we printed some pictures off the Sesame Street website. Mikie and I were coloring a picture of Cookie Monster (how appropriate) holding a letter C, and I was telling him what words begin with the letter "C". I started to sing the "C is for Cookie" song, letting him fill in the blanks.

Lauren: "C is for. . . "

Mikie: "Cookie"

Lauren: "That's good enough for. . . "

Mikie: "Lunch"

Mike and I nearly fell over. He said it so seriously, as if those were the only lyrics we ever sang. I guess he has a one track mind.

The cookies are now hidden on the top shelf where he can't reach them until he is as tall as me. Which, hopefully won't be for a few years, or I have bigger problems than the fact that he wants a cookie.

Love,
The Trahans

"I can't put my arms down!"

I was never a huge fan of "A Christmas Story", but it is Mike's favorite movie, so I figured it was an appropriate title for this post.

So, we got our first significant snow fall on Friday night. I consider it significant in that this much snow in Maryland would leave all grocery stores deplated of bread, milk, and toilet paper. The neighbor kids obviously felt differently: most of them didn't waste their time with sledding or snow men. Then there was Mikie. Mikie was elated to finally get to wear his snow boots and snow suit. You can see him below in most of his snow attire:

I say most, because you may notice some bright red fingers in his mouth. Once again, he refused to wear mittens. I guess it is easier to shovel snow into your mouth when you are unfettered by fleece mits. I personally would not know. Don't worry, before he got frostbite, I convinced him to put them on.

In the end, we determined that you can sled in two inches of snow and have a blast:

And since we still haven't ventured out to buy a snow blower, we were very thankful that two inches is all we got.

Happy sledding.
Love,
The Trahans