Lesson learned.

I know that whoever coined the phrase Lord, have mercy definitely had children. Because I said this phrase under my breath for the hour and a half that we subjected Becks to the Christmas musical at church last night. Armed with a baggieful of Lucky Charms and a sippy of juice, I figured we'd make it through with ease. Our kid likes music, so this should have been cake. Nope, not at all.

He was in my lap. And then he wanted down. He was in my lap. And then he wanted down.

He was in his daddy's lap. And then he wanted down.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Repeatedly. At about a 12 second interval.

I kept glancing at the programme, thinking only four more songs until intermission...only three more songs until intermission...PLEASE GET HERE INTERMISSION. Despite the constant movement, he was surprisingly quiet until the last three songs of the entire production. Then he wanted to loudly pop his paci in and out of his mouth saying BAH! every time. {That's what he calls a paci.} Then he'd giggle. Also loudly. So I took him to the foyer and we finished the musical from the flatscreen out there where I let out an exasperated, non-whisper Lord, have mercy!

Patience was invented for parenthood.

PS. My little sister, Aubrea, turned 21 over Thanksgiving break and then I got sick and forgot to mention it. Happy Birthday, Aubbers! Love you :) This is me and her after our delish dinner at Bonefish. We are modeling her signature picture pose. Similar to the Tori-tilt, no?

Cheerio, mate!

It is downright frigid here. My toes were cold all the way to school this morning, though that is largely due to the fact that it was snowy and I opted not to wear socks with my flats. The reason that I did not wear socks is mostly because I don't think it looks cute and that I couldn't locate a pair of black socks if my life depended on it since I haven't been caught up on laundry in weeks.

The laundry issue here is out of control. I am really thinking about hitting up Target after Becks gets up from his nap so that I could just wear a brand new top to work tomorrow rather than actually do a load of laundry. That is very selfish and the logic is completely irrational, I know, but it makes complete sense to me since I wouldn't have to produce clean clothes by the morning. And a Diet Coke and popcorn from the snackbar sounds pretty good right now.

Moving on...

I finally addressed all 4000 or so of my Christmas cards, which I plan to mail en route to Tarjay. Actually, there are 61 cards which equals around $26 in postage. Oy. I ended up opting to self-address rather than print from my Excel spreadsheet when I found I was having a decent handwriting day yesterday. Which is crucial if you're going to sit and pen out 61 addresses. Some people have bad hair days - I have bad handwriting days. Is that completely bizarre? Probably so, but I couldn't bear to mail out something with my family name on it with sloppy penmenship. It's a sickness.

In other news, I'm so sad that The Hills and The City are over for the season. Though I have found that Jersey Shores and Teen Mom will tide me over with enough drama until they resume sometime in 2010. Pathetic? Yes, maybe. But I need some entertainment when Beckham is sleeping from time to time and now I have Schnooks and The Situations to keep me laughing with their self-proclaiming guido-osity (ha!) and unbelievable egos. And I'll keep rooting for Maci and Ryan to make it and for Farrah to, um, get over herself. Caitlin is my favorite, if you wanted to know. Make me feel better and admit that you, too, are tuning in...

Lastly, I cannot seem to get through Eclipse in the Twilight saga. I'm a hundred or so pages through it and basically read a page or two before I fall asleep because I just want Bella and Edward to get married. For many people, this was a favorite. Have I just not reached the good part of the plot yet? What's the deal?

T-to-the-ired.

I wish I could explain to you the exhaustion. The absolutely dire lack of sleep. The immenent need to crawl back into bed and sleep until tomorrow. I. Am. Tired.

{The Backstory}

So, we're eating last night. It's about 6:30pm. Groceries are strewn haphazardly across the kitchen table and sink, and dinner was some kind of microwavable pasta that I got on sale for a buck. Becks is shoveling yogurt into his mouth with one hand while holding a perfectly capable spoon with the other. I guess it's only for show, since his hands are his utensil of choice. B and I are conversing about the day's events and suddenly there was a flicker. The lights.

On.

Off.

On.

Off.

No electric. Streetwide. Citywide.

I made a couple of phone calls to the energy company, reported our outage and prayed that this wasn't a repeat of September 2008 when we lost power for the entire work week. The automated machine said that we'd receive a phone call when power was restored. The difference between having a major power outage in September versus December is obviously temperature. Our poorly insulated 1950s cape cod was losing heat faster than you can say shiver me timbers, and we could barely hear each other over all the teeth chattering.

An hour later we were still powerless, so we gathered all the candle power we could and started packing our things to stay at my parents' place where heat and cable TV were abundant. Pending that promised call from the energy co., we'd planned to stay there all night.

So we end up sleeping over and all is peaceful and wonderful until Becks gets up wailing at 3am. We pull him into bed between us and head back into dreamland. Except not. Because Beckham was wide awake, and performed TWO AND A HALF HOURS worth of acrobatics between me and B for the duration of the night.

He repeatedly tossed and turned, headbutting me all the while in a futile attempt at getting comfortable. He smothered me with G (his lovie), and laid his head on my face. Then he would alternate between my stomach and face. Then he pivoted around so that his feet were by my head or B's stomach and he would start to kick. When I went to the bathroom at 4am, he insisted on accompanying me and asked for a drink and to brush his teeth. This went on for TWO AND A HALF HOURS. If you didn't catch that earlier, I thought I'd bold and underline it again. Because that's a long darn time. All in all, there was a whole lotta non-sleep going on.

At 5:30am, I gave up. And now I'm basically a zombie.

Oh, but lest my neighbor inform me - the power returned at 9pm last night.

Never got that phone call. Arrrrrrrgh.

Robeez Giveaway Winner!

Hey y'all! Will add a more detailed post later, but the winner of the Robeez shoes is Heather from Variable Clouds! Heather, please email me at babblingabby(at)gmail(dot)com so that I can discuss details with you :)

Thanks everyone for playing along!!!!

Holy chicken sandwich, Batman! {Why DO people say "Holy _____, batman?"}

Becks and I had a lunch date today at Chick-fil-A, which is probably, no unequivocally, the best fast food restaurant that exists. If you do not have this fine establishment in your vicinity, I suggest you move immediately to the closest shopping locale that for sure houses one or four of these. {Actually, our scummy mall redid its food court over a year ago and Chick-fil-A failed to renew its space, and we've been without one for awhile. And our mall is scummy because it is filled with scary people every time I'm there and I feel the need to sanitize and resanitize my hands, shoes, and stroller every time we visit. But that's where The Gap is, so it's sometimes necessary.}

Anyway, I love having a little buddy to dine-in with now. Even if our conversation centers around not throwing waffle fries on the floor and the cow covered Mylar bwoos (balloons), he's still pleasant company. He takes after his momma and enjoys people-watching tremendously. Seriously, I could sit and stare casually eye the interesting patrons all day. Like the woman who was there with three little boys, at least one being school age. Before she shifted sides of her booth seat so that we could conversate face-to-face and become fast food BFFs, I had already pegged her as a home schoolin' mama. Turns out I was on the money. Then it just got awkward because while she contined to talk, Becks and I were ready to run off to Target and I didn't know how to properly discontinue our conversation without being rude. Or her asking for my phone number so that we could our same-age boys together for a play date. Eventually, I gathered our things, said Nice meeting you! and maybe even See you soon! because I wasn't sure there was a more appropriate way to skidaddle. {Has this ever happened to you? What did you do?}


Target was busy. As expected. We were picking out gifts for our Angel Tree child, and my heart genuinely goes out to these kids. An Angel Tree child has one or more parents that are incarcerated, and the presents we buy are gifted to the child on behalf of their parent(s). So sad. I literally cannot imagine not seeing my child grow up. Prison Fellowship reaches out to these inmates and their families though, and I think that is such a worthy cause. If you're interested in this ministry, check out the links.

Our mission of the weekend is to locate Santa Claus so that I can get a pic of my sweet boy and the jolly old elf. However, heeding the warning of Mama Perks, I'm not sure that my budget is going to allow for these pictures... Apparently I'm out of the loop on the expense of a coveted Santa picture because I had NO IDEA that there was even a charge for this service. $19 for four wallets, for real?!

Happy weekend, people!!!

Rock, Paper, Scissors, MARKER?????? or LOSER PUTS UP THE TREE!

This is the happy family pre-Christmas tree assembly. You can tell Becks is already preparing for the worst...

Good afternoon, everyone. I am feeling better, and thank you for your many kind words of comfort and joy as I recover from intestinal hell.

There are a couple of things you should know, first off. Mainly that I returned to school today to find that the Christmas crazies had swapped my kindergarten class out for a bunch of yahoos. No, seriously, yahoos. Tomorrow I plan to threaten them with the Wrath of Coal, and how that's all they're going to find under the Christmas tree if they don't WATCH IT RIGHT NOW, MISTER.

So, that was fun. If you consider fun a pack of 5- and 6-year-olds talking, talking, talking while you're trying to teach, teach, teach. Because it is far more fun to play rock, paper, scissors, marker rather than listen to The Cajun Cornbread Boy (a sweet take on the popular Gingerbread Boy, if you're familiar). And who knew that the standard rock, paper, scissors game had now added an additional writing utensil? News to me. Though I would call it rock, paper, scissors, fine tip Sharpie if it were me. Just saying.

Speaking of fine tip Sharpies, I was planning to hand-address all thousand or so of our annual Christmas card - which is usually one of my favorite holiday hobbies since it involves me penning names and addresses in a variety of fonts and colors - but I think I'm going the completely impersonal route and turning an Excel spreadsheet into mailing labels. So sue me. There isn't a whole lot of time left hanging about around these parts, and what time is available I try to spend do things that require little brain matter, like scouring People for the latest RPatt pics. I kid. Or not.

While I have decorated for Christmas around Chez Babbling, I have yet to unfurl the nasty beast that is the artificial evergreen waiting for its annual release from its box in the basement. The warning on that box should not be that it contains small pieces that children could choke on (it probably doesn't say that though, since no child I know could fit twelve inches of prickly tree limb into his mouth without someone noticing), but instead that marital discord during assembly is inevitable.

And if y'all don't know what I'm talking about then you've for sure never assembled a seven foot tree with your spouse. And if you've seriously created the ideal process where both husband and wife can peaceably coexist during this feat, then publish a book and I'll buy it. Because never before, in our extensive 3.5 years of marriage (this being our fourth Christmas) have we ever put together an artificial Christmas tree without one spouse whispering under his/her breath that doesn't go there while the other tries to jab twelve inches of prickly tree limb into the absolute wrong place but is too proud to remove it so we have an awkward looking limb sticking out all misplaced for the duration of the Christmas season. Again, I kid.

So once the tree's up, I guess we'll call it a jolly holiday and move onto something more fun like baking gingerbread men or something. Which I am actually doing tonight, in hopes that the-class-formerly-known-as-kindergareteners will get to decorate tomorrow at the conclusion of our gingerbread unit. However, I did STAND ON A CHAIR (I was going for dramatic) today, to preach about good behavior and how I'M NOT EVEN ONE BIT SCARED to take away that fun activity if their behavior doesn't warrant it. I. Am. So. Mean.

Anyway, tomorrow's Friday, y'all, and that is a reason to do a little happy dance while you listen to Charlie Brown's Christmas on Pandora. Or you could play rock, paper, scissors, marker with your spouse and the loser has to put up the Christmas tree alone. Whatever suits your fancy.

Double Ick.

We are alive. Barely.

It's not been a good past 48 hours at the Babbling Household. After all of the Thanksgiving hubbub, the stomach flu hit me hard at 3:30am two days ago. I'll kindly spare you the details. Whatever I had was crazy contagious, and then in rolled my husband early from work yesterday having come down with the same thing. I felt awful. For me and for him. But mostly for Becks. Who, while he was in the loving arms of the nanas, had to avoid us for 24 hours and spent his first night away from the both of us. Amidst writhing in abdominal pain and shivering beneath a down comforter, I was also sobbing from missing him so much. It was terrible. For everyone involved.

So, I've subsisted on ginger ale and saltines for the past two days, and B is quarantined in our bedroom. While I'm on the upswing, he's probably a good 8 hours behind me, so I expect him to feel better by dinnertime.

The good news is that I felt well enough to clorox, lysol, and/or vinegar clean the entire house, anticipating the arrival of Becks who came home about an hour ago.

I hope y'all are in better health than we are.

And if you haven't participated yet, go check out my Robeez Giveaway posted below!