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

Mother of the Year

As if it isn't bad enough to walk into daycare, and feel like every other parent is judging you. What I am wearing. . . what Mikie is wearing. . . is his face covered in syrup from breakfast. . . is he bouncing off the walls. . . what sugary breakfast did I pack him this morning. . .

The other day, I go to pick Mikie up from daycare. As usual, he doesn't want to put his coat on. Since the car was still warm, and parked two spaces from the front entrance, I figured he would survive the short walk in the cold to the car.

Of course, as soon as we step outside, he starts crying "I'm freezing. I need my jacket". Immediately, someone turns to look at me (their well behaved child was bundled up). So, I respond in a loud enough voice that others could hear "But you didn't want to wear your jacket. We'll put it on when we get to the car."

Not a minute later, as I am struggling to force him into his carseat, he starts screaming "I WANT MY MOMMY!" Now, you can imagine the whiplash people got as they turned to see what was going on. In a desperate attempt to act like this was a normal interaction for us, I laugh "I AM you're mommy, silly".

Obviously, no one at that daycare is nominating me for mother of the year. I just count myself lucky that they didn't call the police.

Why doesn't he pull these stunts when Mike picks him up?

Love,
The Trahans

"You're a good kid. . .

Now make me some eggs." - Mike Cowper

Oh how those words made me laugh evertime I heard them. Mike, four years my senior, was the most entertaining boss I ever had. A Penn State grad, he knows how to party. And so, I dedicate this post to him.

Ever the helper, Mikie decided he wanted eggs for breakfast. So, in a moment of sheer insanity, I let him make his eggs. Right down to scrambling them in the hot pan. Obviously, I was standing guard, reminding him every 30 seconds not to touch the stove or the pan itself.

Luckily for me, he enjoys cleaning even more than he does cooking. Now, if only I could get him to listen to directions, I would have the model child.

Love,

The Trahans

The New Yankee Workshop

Watch out, Norm Abrams. There is a new kid in town:

I don't know how much of a threat he can actually pose with a tape measure that only measures up to 8 inches in length and a wrench shaped like Cookie Monster. But, he looks like a force to be reckoned with, standing in his khakis and flannel shirt. Can we fix it. . . Mikie can!

If your looking for a civil engineer, we may have your man (give or take 19 years and a degree).

Love,

The Trahans

Mikie and the Balloon

We like to eat at a restaurant called "Red Robin" from time to time. They basically serve burgers (that is the majority of the menu) with unlimited steak fries. And, best of all, they give you a stack of onion rings that looks like a kids toy. . . you know, the donuts on a stick. They are also relatively kid friendly.

After a quick dinner at Red Robin, Mikie cajoled the hostess into giving him a balloon. Everyone is deceived by his cute appearance into thinking that he is well behaved. Especially when he says "Please" and "Thank you" without being prompted (it makes every 20-something girl go "Aww"). No sooner do we get home, then he releases it in our family room. . . you know, the room with the 18 foot ceiling. After the fourth or fifth time of jumping up to grab the tail end of the string, Mike ties the balloon to his jeans. That works until Mikie, playing tug of war to get the balloon back, pulls the string off the balloon. Unfortunately, our cat like reflexes are rather slow by 8pm, and neither of us could grab the balloon in time. . .

Fortunately, the balloons are made of latex, not mylar. So, it lost it's helium by the time we woke up the next morning and floated down to the floor.

Love,
The Trahans

The Long Road Home

Mikie has grown to like his new daycare so much that he doesn't want to leave. The same child who, last week, told me "I no play with my friends ANYmore" had to be carried out of school kicking and screaming last night. For almost the entire 20 minute ride home he screamed "I no want go home". Makes you feel loved, huh?

Having read my copy of the Super Nanny, I opted to ignore his fit in the hope that he would calm down. Half way through our ride, he stopped. I turned to him and said "Are you finished?" To which he replied, "No".

He resumed screaming until we pulled into the driveway, at which point he was ecstatic to be home and see Mike.

He is too smart for his own good. Luckily, he's cute, and gives the best bear hugs ever. But, you can now see where he gets his nickname from. . . he is Trouble.

Love,
The Trahans

Dumpster Diving for PJs

My mom will never forgive me if I leave this story out of our website. Over his two years of life, my favorite pictures of Mikie are of him in his Christmas pajamas. His first Christmas he wore these cute green velour PJs with "Santa's Helper" written across the behind:
His second Christmas, he had cute fitted pajamas that accentuated his rotund belly:


This year, I found red long johns (the ones with the butt flap) at RedEnvelope.com. As an added bonus, you could personalize them. On December 1st, the night before we moved, I received the Christmas PJs. Mike was in Maryland for his last day as an employee of Northrop, so I was alone with Trouble. I opened the box to see they were there, then tossed it aside, figuring they would be safer in the box until after the move. By the end of the evening, thanks to Mikie, the box had been kicked into the dining room near the trash can.

The next morning was moving day. We woke up, dropped Mike off to pick up the moving truck, and started loading stuff into the car and driving it to the new house. On one of my return trips, I realized that I couldn't find the Christmas PJs. I called Mike, and he told me he threw the box in the dumpster when he took out the trash. Well, since there was no way I was going to shell out another $40 for pajamas, I raced back to the apartment to see if I could retrieve the box before anyone else threw out their trash.

Luckily, the dumpster was mostly empty. Unluckily, it did not have one of those sliding doors in the side. After setting Mikie up watching cartoons in the apartment, I carried a chair out to the dumpster. I leaned over the dumpster, using a coat hanger to flip the box over with one hand, and trying desperately to grab the plastic bag out of the box with the other. No sooner do I have the bag in hand when I hear something fall "clink" to the bottom of the dumpster. I reach for my pocket, just in time to realize that my keys had fallen out of it.

Being that the dumpster is taller than me, there was no way I could reach those keys without someone dangling me over the side by my legs. I could't even get close to them with the coat hanger. Sacrificing Mikie's step stool to the cause, I threw it into the dumpster and lowered myself onto it (because, with my luck, I figured that I might not be able to get out again without something to stand on). I grabbed my keys out of the puddle they were sitting in (I kept trying to convince myself it was just rainwater) and quickly made my escape.

Amazingly, the pajamas were completely unscathed (although, we washed them a couple times before use just to be safe). And, after a ton of antibacterial hand soap and Chlorox wipes, my keys and I were too.

It was all worth while to see Mikie running around Christmas Eve and Christmas morning in these:

The moral of the story (according to Mike): don't put a box by the trashcan unless you want it thrown out. I think it should be: Send your husband into the dumpster to retrieve what he threw away!

Love,
The Trahans

Belated Christmas Stories

Okay, so I am not only behind in sending Christmas cards, I am also behind in my blog. So, to pacify my mom (who calls to remind me I haven't posted certain stories), I am now trying to summarize "Christmas at the Trahans". . .

Here comes Trouble, awake at 7:30 after only 6 hours of sleep (he usually gets 10), venturing down the stairs to see what all the commotion is about. What you can't see is Mom (me) cheering and trying to drum up excitement that "Santa came" as I simultaneously try to take the pictures. I suffer from insomnia on Christmas Eve. . . I can't sleep from the excitement of seeing everyone open their presents. You also can't see Dad (Mike), Grand Da (my dad) and Pookie (my mom) waiting anxiously at the bottom of the staircase for Mikie to descend. As you can see, the pressure of so many people watching got the best of him, and he had to sit down.

Fifteen minutes later, we finally made it to the family room to see what Santa left. You can see everyone standing around, waiting anxiously to see Mikie's reaction to all of the presents:

Evidently, it was not as exciting as we thought. In a sleep deprived stupor, Mikie surveyed the room full of presents, and immediately attacked the Elmo Tool Bench he got from Gram the night before.

We gave up, and started exchanging presents amongst ourselves. Eventually, we cajoled Mikie into opening some presents too (although the first few were opened with the help of his Elmo Tools). By the end of the morning, Mike inherited the task of assembling the Thomas play table. Unfortunately, Mike's knee is all that appears in the picture. I know my dad took pictures of Mike assembling the table, but they have mysteriously disappeared.

Mikie, later arrested for drinking dairy products while operating a train, puffed over the bridge and around the living room on Big Thomas. He kind of reminds me of a young Richie Rich.

Merry Belated Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

The Christmas Hotdog

When you think of Christmas dinner, most people think of having a ham, turkey, duck. But how many people can say they feasted on a Christmas hotdog. . . anybody?

After a drawn out morning of present opening, a delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon, and homefries, my mom and I prepared a delicious Christmas dinner. We had a honey baked ham, au gratin potatoes, pineapple, corn, crescent rolls (because Mike has issue with holiday meals that do not include breads). And what did Mikie want for dinner? Yes, a hotdog. Complete with ketchup and mustard.

On its own, this would not be an amusing story. However, in the middle of our Christmas feast, our good friends Chris and Christine Ryan called. And Mikie, and their son Matthew (who is also two) had a conference call. You can imagine a conference call between two year olds. For those who can't, it went something like this:

Chris: "Matthew, say 'Hi' to Mikie."

Matthew: "Hi"

Mike: "Mikie, tell Matthew 'Merry Christmas'."

Mikie: "Merry 'Ristmas, Matthew."

Matthew: silence (because he is thinking about his new motorcycle)

Mike: "Mikie, tell Matthew what you are having for dinner."

Mikie: "I eat hotdog with ketchup mustard." (that is an exact quote).

Thankfully, we have unlimited long distance, otherwise I wouldn't have been two keen at the thought of two toddlers running up my long distance to say hi and talk about their dinners. However, with a couple of glasses of wine in my mom and I, this conversation (which, like all conference calls was on speaker phone) was hilarious. My dad kept joking that our friends must be wiring us money at the thought of us being so broke from buying our new home that we had to eat hotdogs on Christmas day.

Rest assured, we are not filing for bankruptcy. We just have a two year old who would live on nitrates if we let him.

Hopefully you all had a scrumptious (and hotdog free) holiday feast.

Love, The Trahans