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