Santa

On Sunday, we went to our friends, Scott & Jeannie's house for a Christmas party. Mikie is great friends with their son, Connor. And, lucky for us, Scott is on a first name basis with Santa. So, Santa agreed to come to the party to visit with all the kids.

You would have thought that Mikie would have been excited to see Santa. But, before we left, Mikie told Mike that he didn't want to see Santa.

Mikie: "I don't want to see Santa."

Mike: "Why not?"

Mikie: "I'm scared he isn't going to bring me any presents."

Mike: "Why, haven't you been good?"

Mikie: "Well, mostly good. But, a little bit bad."Luckily, by the time Santa showed up, Mikie had gotten over his fear. Not only did he run up to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what he wanted, but he went back twice, interrupting other kids to thank Santa for his goodie bag and add a few other items that he forgot.

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Snow

When I was a kid, every Christmas my Granny would call and ask if we were having a white Christmas. And, every year, I had to answer "No!" Because, in southeastern Pennsylvania, Christmas was typically green and rainy. Maryland was even worse. So, we were all very excited to move back north where Christmas is white.

For the last two years, we have had snow piled outside on Christmas morning. Which, is really all I care about. For the last two weeks, it has been torture to hear about snow in Houston, Texas, California, and Las Vegas. And we have had NONE. (Ice storm excluded).

Needless to say, we were all very excited to FINALLY get some snow. And, boy, did we get snow. It is still snowing right now (8:30am Saturday morning), and we have almost a foot. Plus, we are supposed to get another storm tomorrow, although it may deposit ice instead. . .

No one is more excited about the snow than Mikie. This morning, Mike woke up to clear the driveway (since we are going to the Bruins game this afternoon). And, I jumped in the shower for exactly 10 minutes. During that time, Mikie decided that he wanted to go outside too.

By the time I got out of the shower and yelled downstairs to check on Mikie, I realized it was awfully quite. Too quiet. I looked downstairs and found the closet door ajar, and gloves and scarves scattered all over the floor. My HOPE was that Mikie was attempting to get dressed. Or, worst case, he was standing in the garage trying to get Mike's attention to bring him outside.

Nope, dressed only in his fleece PJs, snow boots, hat and mittens, Mikie had unlocked the back door and was making his way to the swing set. When I found him, he was actually on his way back inside because he realized he "forgot his coat".After showering to warm up his frozen self, we put on weather appropriate clothes and ventured outside to play. Unfortunately, the snow isn't very wet, so sledding was slower than last year. And, we couldn't build a snowman. But, Mikie had fun none the less. Here are some pictures and video:Love, The Trahans

Amusing Anecdotes

You can never say our lives are boring when Mikie is around. On Thursday morning, I was trying to get Mikie to leave early for daycare with me. The remnants of debris from the ice storm continued to make driving fun, and I was hoping to get to work on time for once. Unfortunately, Mikie wasn't in the mood to cooperate. Hiding behind the recliner, every time I called his name, I heard a small squeaky voice say "Mikie's not home right now. . . Leave a message." In hind sight, it was very amusing (especially since I don't know where he picked it up from, it isn't like he calls people and gets their voice mail). At the time, it was less so. . .

Added to my "amusement" for the day was the fish food incident. When I picked Mikie up from daycare, Mikie and I were talking about his favorite toy. To which the owner interjected, "Favorite, right behind fish food." Confused, I asked what he meant (after all, we haven't owned fish since Mike tested the "all-drains-lead-to-the-ocean" principle when we left Maryland). Evidently, one of the staff let Mikie help feed the fish before I arrived. Not unusual. . . being one of the last kids there, he has been allowed to help feed the fish in the past. This time, after adding the food to the tank, Mikie decided to LICK HIS FINGERS CLEAN. The teacher seemed so concerned that I would be upset. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop laughing, knowing that this was EXACTLY the sort of thing Mikie would do.

As if that image wasn't amusing enough, Mikie's friend, Katie, said to him, "You ate FISH FOOD?" Like this was the coolest thing anyone had ever done. To which Mikie replied nonchalantly, "Yeah."

Hopefully he didn't just start a trend. . .

Love, The Trahans

Introducing Nibbles

Don't worry. In spite of Mikie's (and to some degree, my) desire for her to come out, Nibbles has not yet been born. Which is a good thing, since Mike is still working on hanging the chair railing and pictures in the nursery. And, we have to assemble the crib, buy a new mattress, diaper pail, bottles, girl clothes, etc. Not to mention, agree on a name. The to-do list seems never ending. Somehow, I foresee a post Christmas trip to Babies 'R Us in our future. . .

We had a 28 week doctor's appointment today, complete with ultrasound and glucose screen for gestational diabetes. The glucose screen went well, considering I had to fast for four hours and drink a sugary substance that LOOKED like orange soda but tasted horrible. Not as bad as barium, but bad. I don't know what the results are (and, if I failed, I hope they don't tell me until AFTER Christmas, so I can eat freely until then). But, I consider the test a success since I didn't vomit or pass-out. Although, I was a bit woozy when I got back to work. . .

The ultrasound was fun. Based on the many looks and comments about my size, I have been fearful that I am carrying around a 13 pound baby. The doctor wanted another ultrasound (and it isn't our last, we have two more to go) to verify that she is still growing. No, this isn't common. We're lucky recipients of many ultrasounds due to all the issues with bleeding I had early on. Anyway, there appears to be no need to worry, since she weighed in at 2-lbs, 9-ozs today. Which, according to the doctor (and all the books we have) is the perfect weight for her age. And (for everyone who thinks I look like I am having twins) having gained 19-lbs, I am too.

We also discovered that she is super flexible, since she was sleeping head up on the left, feet up on the right, butt down in my pelvis, making a very nice "V". So, we don't know how long she is. But, gymnast may rank in her future.

Why the "introducing" title? Since we were stuck in the hospital for 2 hours, the ultrasound tech decided to do a 3D ultrasound. So, we have a very nice picture of Nibbles napping:For the benefit of my dad (who thought Mikie's first ultrasound was a picture from the Mars Rover), the gray matter that is exploding from the back of her head is not her brain, it's my placenta. . . she was using it as a pillow. And, if you look above her forehead, you can make out a little hand (evidently, she takes after Mike and Mikie and likes to sleep with her arm above her head).

Long story short, we're all healthy. Now, all we need is for Santa to bring us a name (although, I still think she looks like an Emma. . . )

Love, The Trahans

The Castle

As a follow-up to my previous post Santa, many people have asked if we found the castle Mikie wanted. The simple answer, yes. However, after getting over the hurdle of finding and purchasing the castle, we found a million other problems. . .

The first, the assembled dimensions of the castle weren't listed on the Toys 'R Us website. After getting the castle, we realized it was much larger than the original castle. . . quite possibly too large to fit on the train table we have.

Mike being a) male and b) and engineer, he was convinced that he could build a new train table that would fit the new castle, and have more storage for all of the train tracks we haven't been able to effectively house in the existing train table. And, try as I might to convince him that the materials plus labor would cost MORE than buying a new table, he was determined to build a table himself.

Until Saturday, when, after driving to Home Depot, he realized that the materials alone were going to run nearly $200. . .

So, I went on-line with the intention to purchase a new train table. However, we were both concerned that the new table wasn't much larger than the existing table (although it was nicer quality and had more storage). Before shelling out $210 + shipping on another train table, we decided to assemble the castle and verify that it was in fact too big.

Mikie went to bed at 8pm as usual. At 9:30, after we were sure that Mikie was asleep, Mike went upstairs to retrieve the castle.

As soon as Mike came out of the bedroom with the castle (which he didn't leave in the garbage bag I wrapped it in), Mikie popped his head out of his door to see what was going on. . . who was that castle for. . . and, could he see the picture on the box?

Luckily, Mike quickly came up with his favorite excuse: "It's a present for Arcangelo". This was enough to convince Mikie it wasn't his castle from Santa, but didn't dissuade him from wanting to see the picture. . .

Somehow, Mike convinced Mikie to return to bed without looking at the box or asking more questions. And, we assembled the castle. It does overhang the edge of the table by 1/4" on one side, but Mike plans on grabbing the jigsaw and trimming it slightly if Mikie is bothered by it.

And so continues the web of deception and lies to keep the mystery of Christmas alive. Hopefully he will forget this incident when Arcangelo opens a rocket ship, not a castle, on Christmas Eve. . .

Love, The Trahans

Whistling

I don't remember what old movie it was, with the famous line about whistling: "you just put your lips together and blow." I remember thinking this was an oversimplified representation of a very difficult task. I mean, put your lips together too tightly, and you just end up looking like a chipmunk. Blow too hard, and you don't get anything. Then there were those people who could make blades of grass whistle. Or my friend's dad who could put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistle so loud, you could hear him down the street. . .

I personally, only whistle as an alternative to singing or humming when happy (singing at work being one of those things I try to avoid). I find it offensive when people whistle to get your attention. So, you rarely hear whistling in our house.

In spite of this, Mikie learned a new trick. . . how to whistle. Kind of. To see what I mean, click on the video below:

The first time he did it, it was incredibly amusing. The second time, it was still funny, because Mike was experiencing it for the first time.

However, when you're driving on a dark road at night and your child "whistles" because he doesn't think you heard him when he yelled "Press Play" on three separate occasions, the cuteness wears off.

And, when you're at Target, reading ingredient labels on medicine or searching for the perfect card, and your child "whistles" at you to get your attention, it becomes downright obnoxious. REALLY fast. Not to mention, people turn to look at what on earth is prompting your child to make weird yodeling type noises. And, because he is now getting A LOT of attention, he sees no reason to STOP, only making the people around you more annoyed (or amused if they have young kids too).

I can't WAIT to see what cute habit he picks up next. . .

Love, The Trahans

Disturbing Toys

Mikie has become quite the connoisseur of toys. He is quick to tells us which ones he wants, and for what occasion (Christmas, his birthday, his NEXT birthday, etc.) I think he has us covered for gift ideas through age 6. . .

He also points out what toys are "boy toys" and what toys are "girl toys". The girl toys usually stand out because they are pink or have a picture of a girl playing with them. He has already started grading these toys on whether Nibbles will like them or not.

The one toy that she definitely won't want: the baby doll that goes to the bathroom. Why, "Because it may poop on her arm." Mikie is both fascinated and disgusted by the doll he sees advertised everywhere that really goes to the bathroom. I'm sure it is like Betsy Wetsy, updated for today's tech savvy youngsters. Man, I remember Katie and I wanting a Betsy Wetsy that really wet her diapers. We never got one. Cabbage Patch Kids took over as the new rage, and Betsy Wetsy became a distant memory. Like the Easy Bake Oven we never got (man how I wanted to bake cupcakes in my own oven. . .)

But I digress. According to our resident toy expert, the baby dolls that really use the bathroom are "gross" and Nibbles will most definitely NOT want one. Although, he does seem to think that a toy toilet that really flushes is a fun idea. . .

Somehow, I doubt this was the response the marketing group anticipated when they decided to launch this toy. Then again, Mikie obviously isn't the target demographic. . .

Love, The Trahans

New Forms of Torture

Today, I discovered the most effective form of torture. . . the "Virtual Waiting Room".

The one thing I know my husband wants more than anything for Christmas is tickets to see the Red Sox. He (and the local news, the radio station, and the weekly e-mails I get from Red Sox Nation) have all been kind enough to remind me that tickets to individual games go on sale December 13th at 10am EST.

I entered the drawing to be eligible to go to Fenway and buy my tickets in person. . . Needless to say I was not a winner. . .

So, at 9am, I woke up. I dutifully researched what games would be going on sale, and made a prioritized list of the ones I thought he would prefer to attend. I researched seating, pricing, trying to guess where we should sit. Should we sit near first, behind the dugout and get to watch the guys walk off the field each inning? Or, assuming they get Teixeira, Youk might be playing third, so Mike might prefer sitting there, which would also make us closer to Jason Bay and allow us to watch Francona chew on bubble gum all evening. Oh, I thought of everything.

By 9:45, I had eaten breakfast, grabbed some juice, and settled into the office to get some tickets.

And so began my experience with the "Virtual Waiting Room". Evidently, when you try to buy tickets, you are placed in a virtual waiting room. "Patrons are selected from this virtual waiting room on a random basis for the opportunity to purchase tickets." I was excited. . . it was like Christmas Eve, watching the seconds count down from 30 to 0 before the waiting room would refresh, each time wondering "will I be selected". After an hour of watching time tick by (and trust me, I was in more than one waiting room), hysteria started to set in. I mean, I'm 7 months pregnant. Being forced to sit alone in a room with no companionship (excluding Nibbles, who felt the need to make her presence known every few minutes). My sciatic nerve shooting pain into my left butt cheek. The weight of my unborn child pushing on my bladder. But, if I leave to pee, will I miss my opportunity?

Shortly thereafter, I realized this is what prison must feel like. . . except worse because I was being punished for trying to do good. When Mike politely asked how I was doing (claiming he had NO IDEA what I was trying to do), I became hysterical, prompting my four year old to bring me tissues and offer to take care of me.

And, now, four hours later, refusing to give up until every game I want is left only with obstructed views, I can be found stoically sitting in front of TWO computers, wishing, HOPING, that something happens to end my misery. . .

It's the thought that counts, right?

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Mother of the Year

I know this isn't the first time I have written a post with this title, and with a second child on the way, I'm sure this won't be the last. . .

Today, I dropped Mikie off at school in his pajamas. I had a perfectly rational explanation for doing so: one of the kids in his class was celebrating her birthday. She loves wearing pajamas, so her parents arranged for the teacher to hold "pajama day" in honor of her birthday. All the parents received a note telling them to have their kids wear their pajamas to school on December 9th. . .

So, Mikie happily headed into school this morning in his pajamas. And, inside, we discovered that he was THE ONLY KID in his pajamas. Evidently, the birthday girl went home sick yesterday. And, although Mikie told me this yesterday, I failed to get the memo that, because she went home sick, the pajama party would be postponed until December 10th.

Luckily, Mikie frequently marches to the beat of a different drum, and was completely unfazed by the fact that he was walking around in fleece PJ's with a gorilla on his chest.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he was wearing PJ's at school, when I picked him up, he informed me he had an "accident". He tends towards constipation and refuses to wear his underpants if there is any drop of urine or streak of fecal matter visible on them. So, when he told me he had an "accident", I asked if he changed his underwear. At this point he told me he didn't have any. Knowing what the answer would be, I asked him if he was WEARING any underwear, correctly guessing that he would say "No."

Yes, my child was forced to go commando for the afternoon because his mother didn't restock his container of backup clothes and underwear. . .

And, that is why I will not be receiving the Mother of the Year award this year.

Love, The Trahans

Oliver Twist

You would think I never feed my child. . .

Every time I pick Mikie up from school, he asks if I have a snack for him. I know we have a 45 minute commute home, and that he eats lunch much earlier than I do. So, I should start bringing snacks for his ride home. But, as any working mom knows, I have a hard enough time some mornings remembering to bring his breakfast and lunch, forget thinking far enough into the future to anticipate that he will want a snack.

Yesterday, I picked him up an hour and a half early so we could race up to the car dealership to pick up the SUV (which they had for the last four days for a recall). I needed to get there before they closed, because I couldn't deal with the rental car they gave me for another second. Of course, the minute he was in the car, Mikie decided he needed a snack. And, while I had a banana, this was deemed inappropriate snack material by my son. To prevent 45 minutes of driving with him whining about a snack (did I mention there was no DVD player in the rental car to distract him), I promised we would get a snack after we picked up Rocket.

40 minutes later, we arrive at the car dealership. Mikie had fallen asleep in the car, which made it very interesting for us to get inside (at 7 months pregnant, my balance is thrown to much to carry him, even if I could safely lift his 42 pound self). Luckily, the cold air coupled with the fact I was about to drop him jarred him awake enough to sleep walk into the dealership. He immediately settled into a chair in the waiting room while I signed all the paperwork to get the car.

While I was not so patiently waiting for the service manager to review the work with me, I noticed a small figure walk past me into one of the offices. I quickly realized it was my child, and rushed in after him. I walked in to find him sitting in a chair, having just asked the woman whose office he walked into for a "piece of candy". Now, there was no evidence of candy on her desk, so there was no reason for him to ask a perfect stranger for candy. However, she opened her drawer, pulled out a Ziploc bag of left over Halloween candy, and offered him a piece, telling him he needed to check with me first. I told him he could have a piece, helped him pick one I knew he wouldn't immediately spit out (since, he loves to try things, only to announce they are "yucky" and spit the remnants into my hand). I tried to rush him out of the office to the car, but before he would move, he instructed this woman to "open it" for him.

So, not only am I a bad mother for not having the foresight to bring my child a snack, but I am also a bad mother for not teaching him manners. Not to mention a total failure to impress on him that you shouldn't take candy from strangers. . .

Love, The Trahans

Growth Spurt

I had to post this because it epitomizes my child. Every morning and every evening, I diligently water the Christmas tree (I've seen too many news casts on how quickly your house will ignite with a dried up tree). This is somewhat challenging since bending isn't one of Nibbles and my strong suits. Mikie usually sits back, watching cartoons while I handle the watering. The last two days, he has made the following comment: "Mom, if you make it grow, it will be too big again."

Obviously, I wasn't the only family member scarred by the massive Christmas tree experience.

Love, The Trahans

Monday

I think there was a saying "Monday's child is full of grace." Let's just say that being born on Monday didn't help Mikie in this category.

At 4:50pm, as I was walking back from the candy machine (yes, I'm pregnant), I could hear my phone ringing. I didn't speed up because I'd been harassed by obnoxious sales people all day. Then I heard my cell phone ring. I ran into my office in time to notice that it was the daycare calling. Anyone with kids knows this is never a good sign. . .

Turns out, Mikie was running "really fast" (his words, not mine), but "not in the mud" (his clothes tell a different story" and fell into the picnic table. His nose was bleeding and swelling quickly, and the staff weren't sure if he broke it.

I will admit, the first thought through my head was "If I call the doctor, they will tell me to go to the ER. And, if I go to the ER, it won't be broken. So, why bother." After all, it was almost five o'clock, and I was (am) a very tired, swollen pregnant woman who was looking forward to going home.

But, guilt got the better of me. So, I broke two laws (speeding and talking on a cell phone while driving) and called the pediatrician while rushing to daycare. As predicted, they told me to take him to the ER. And, as predicted, they recommended I go to UMass Memorials University Campus (45 minutes from the daycare) because they have a special pediatric ER and he would get the best treatment there.
Three hours later, Mikie had gotten to have three pictures taken of his bones, only to determine that I was correct, his nose was not broken. By this time, Nibbles and I were starving (having given the last of our candy bar to Mikie). We made a trip to Friendly's for a very late dinner and ice cream, and finally made it home around 10pm.

Of course, the evening wouldn't be complete without some amusing Mikie anecdotes:

1. When I arrived at daycare, Mikie was lounging on a cot, surrounded by doting females. . . namely his friends Teagan and Tessa.
2. Not only did he have the girls wrapped around his finger, but he had the teacher feeling guilty enough to give him her full size Kit Kat bar (one of Mikie's favorite candy bars).
3. When we arrived at the hospital, Mikie wanted me to walk back to the car to get his other Batman toy. Not feeling like walking a mile back to the parking garage, I told him we could all go after we saw the doctor. To which Mikie replied, "I have a better idea. I'll wait here while you and dad walk back to the car and get my toy." To which I responded, "No way. If we did that, the nice policeman out front would take daddy and mommy away for leaving you hear by yourself." To which my smart a$$ son responded, "Well, we'll just tell the policeman what the plan is." The most amusing part of the story. . . the "nice policeman" just happened to be sitting right outside the open door of our room when I said this. Hopefully he was amused and not taking down my personal information to run a background check. . .
4. As is becoming a trend, the doctor took note of the fact that Mikie was "very active" and looked like the type of kid who was familiar with bumps and bruises. At least they peg him correctly, rather than assume we abuse the kid. Although, given that this is not the first time we've been to this ER, they did expect him to tell the story of what happened, to make sure it meshed with mine. Or maybe the policeman tipped her off. . .

Thankfully, we're all home, and none of us are broken. Although, I'm starting to think that the Christmas photo is a waste of time this year. Either that, or it will be a picture of Mikie looking like a real hockey player. At least he still has all his teeth. . .

Love, The Trahans

The "bleeping" Family Christmas Tree

I had to edit Mike's title for reasons that will become appartent as you continue reading. . .

Have you ever seen National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation? In the beginning, the family is going out in search of the "Griswold Family Christmas Tree". When they find it, the son, Russ, makes a comment about it being too big for their yard. To which Clark replies, "It's not going in our yard, Russ, it's going in our living room."

If you can, picture how large that tree was. Then you will come close to picturing our first Christmas Tree. . .

Yes, you read correctly. I said "first", implying that there was (and is) a second.

It started innocently enough. My dad was visiting, and we thought (wisely) that we should go and search for a Christmas Tree. We set out for the tree farm we went to last year, where we had found a beautiful 10 foot tree. Mike believed last year's tree was originally 12 feet tall and, after cutting and trimming, ended up being slightly over 10 feet tall. So, we looked for a tree that was 10-12 feet in height.

The problem with such a big tree is that the local tree farms don't grow trees this tall. They bring them in from other parts of the country (Maine, New Hampshire, North Carolina, etc.) Because the trees are so large, they don't fit through most balers. So, the trees come to the local farm, already cut and bound. And, if you are determined enough to insist on cutting it open before purchasing, you are going to have a hellacious time getting it home and into your house.

We found a tree that was labeled 10-12 feet. It looked symmetrical (granted, I was looking at it bound) and full. My gut said "This is the tree". Nothing could dissuade me. So, we paid $120, and Mike, my dad, and three large men hauled it on to the top of our car.

You might have thought I would have reconsidered taking the tree when I saw it on top of Rocket. Especially when I realized that the bound tree was wider than the windows were tall, and equal in length to the SUV. But, I was certain it was going to be a beautiful tree. And, since Mike was certain the length was equal to what we bought last year, I didn't think twice.Then we got home. The first fiasco: getting the tree into the house. Mike had the brilliant idea that we should put the tree in the stand outside, eliminating the hassle of placing it in the stand. All we had to do was carry it in and stand it upright. Unfortunately, Mike and my dad alone were no match for the tree. Luckily, our neighbor Mike was outside raking leaves, and kindly agreed to help.

The second fiasco: We got the tree inside, only to determine it was too tall. Since we scraped the paint along some of the walls, and had a mess of needles everywhere, Mike wisely decided to cut the tree down inside. Hell, we already had a mess to clean up, a little more wouldn't kill us.

The third fiasco: Upon standing the tree up the SECOND TIME, we broke the wrought iron tree stand. Okay, broke may be a slight exaggeration. Bent into a new, non-level shape would be more accurate.

Some may have taken this as a sign to quit now. After all, the tree was still bound. We could have taken it back out of the house to the tree farm and returned it for a smaller tree. BUT NOT US. NO, we just paid $120 for what would certainly be a beautiful tree. So, after a quick trip to Home Depot for some new tree stands (I bought two different kinds rated for 10 foot tall trees), we tried again.

The fourth fiasco: The tree was standing up in the malformed stand. However, lifting and maneuvering the tree into the new stand was far from successful. The tree fell over, scraping the paint off one wall, the ceiling, and almost knocking down a few diplomas before landing on the TV.

Eventually, we succeeded in getting the tree up. Here is what it looked like:That picture was taken around 3:00pm, about four hours after we got home with the tree. The tree was much larger than we could ever have imagined. While it didn't break windows when we cut it open, it did completely obscure the fireplace, requiring us to move the stockings (which were hung by the chimney with care) to the half-wall between the kitchen and family room. Also, you could no longer view the TV from the recliner, forcing Mike to give up his favorite chair if he wanted to watch TV.

So, what happened to make us give up such a beautiful tree, hours after we finally succeeded in getting it into the house? Shortly after 7pm, the tree fell down. AGAIN. It knocked down everything on or near the fireplace, scraping a rainbow into the paint above the fireplace, spilling two and a half gallons of hot, sappy water onto the carpet before landing in the vacated recliner.

At this point, one look between us decided that the tree needed to go. Mike had determined that the tree was actually 14 feet tall to start, not the 10-12 feet that was listed. After removing the two feet that we already cut off, the tree was STILL two big. And, none of us wanted to be bothered with the extra effort of cutting it down, only to risk the possibility of a having it fall a third time. Not to mention, a more adequate tree stand would cost at least $100 and would need to be special ordered. We wisely decided to cut our losses and dispose of the tree.

The fifth (and FINAL) fiasco: The tree was no longer bound. And, because it was no longer bound, it didn't fit through any of the doors. Mike pulled out the saw and tree pruning sheers and decimated the tree. Eventually, it was small enough to pull through the door, and throw into the back yard.After hours of sweeping, vacuuming (with a wet/dry shop vac AND a conventional vacuum), along with a few coats of paint to touch up the ceiling and some elbow grease on the walls, the house looks respectable. We bravely ventured out again this morning, and happily shelled out $55 for a new Christmas Tree. It is definitely not as large as the first (which in this case isn't a bad thing). It stands about 9 feet tall in the stand, and looks minuscule compared to the beast from yesterday. But, it took no more than 15 minutes to cut, move into the house, place in stand, remove binding, and water.To view ALL the pictures of our Christmas tree experience, click here to view a slideshow.

One day, hopefully in the near future, we will look back at this and laugh. In the interim, we can be thankful that the first tree collapsed while we were awake to react, and while my dad was still here to help us remove it. And, unlike the movie, we didn't burn the house down.

Happy Holidays.

Love, The Trahans

Thanksgiving

Unfortunately, Nibbles and I were recently advised not to travel. Which meant our Thanksgiving was restricted to being close to home. To be honest, I still get very motion sick when driving, a fact that was proved out on Thursday in our attempts to visit Mike's family for Thanksgiving. Even though we only went 45 minutes away, the combination of foods and motion were not pleasant. So, it was probably a good thing that we didn't attempt to drive to Pennsylvania.

Our Thanksgiving started on Wednesday, with a feast at Mikie's preschool. Nibbles and I were invited to eat lunch with Mikie, his friends and their parents. This was quite an experience. I come from a large family, and have fond memories of the "kids table". At some point, you get to an age where you would rather be promoted to the "adult table" because you no longer enjoy making "concoctions" by mixing random things into your drink and laughing. In my family, even though you were old enough, you may have been stuck at the "kids table" because there simply wasn't space. Let's just say I had some flash backs of being the big kid at the "kids table". . . When I arrived, I was the first adult at Mikie's table. Which meant I had EIGHT four year olds all to myself. If that isn't good birth control, I don't know what is. . . EIGHT children talking at me all at once. . . Some kids upset and crying because their parents couldn't come. . . Some kids trying to cut things with their plastic butter knives. . . One kid hitting me repeatedly in the behind with his "turkey" (they stuffed plastic gloves with popcorn and colored paper to make turkey centerpieces). Topics of conversation included: Mikie's love of worms and all outdoor creatures (which many of the other boys find funny). . . What are mashed potatoes made from (one girl thought they were made from bananas). At some point, one kid even asked me what was in my stomach. While I was tempted to say "the last kid who hit me with a turkey", I refrained and informed him that it was a baby. In spite of the fact that many of them have siblings, this answer prompted a number of weird looks.

Eventually, more adults showed up at our table and we had a nice lunch of turkey cold cuts, home made mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and tasty desserts. Nibbles and I took the "practical" (i.e. lazy) approach and brought dinner rolls (which I can't even take credit for purchasing. . . Mike went to the store for me). Thankfully, the rolls were a hit with the kids, many of whom did not want to eat any of the other foods.

My parenting skills were also questioned when Mikie fell while running around the table. When I asked him "what happened", he answered "I fell". This struck me as hysterically funny (evidently, two cups of Hi-C went straight to my head), and I started laughing while trying to console him. Mikie's teacher, Ms. Kelly, came over and politely informed me that "You're not supposed to laugh when he's hurt."

All told, we had a good time. On Thursday, we went to Mike's Auntie Nancy's to celebrate Thanksgiving with his dad's family. As soon as we finished eating, we jumped in a car and headed to Mike's Auntie Cyndy's to celebrate Thanksgiving again with his mom's family. Between all the food, driving, commotion and shear exhaustion of being pregnant, Nibbles and I fell asleep on the couch by 7:30. And, not even Mikie and Arcangelo's raucous yelps could wake me. Hope you all had a Happy Thanksgiving.

Love, The Trahans

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