welcome to the simple complexities of my mind...

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

He Gets His Revenge...

My son ALWAYS gets his revenge.

I could have him do tummy time** for 15 minutes. (And he absolutely HATES tummy time with a capitol "H".) Then I will pick him up to soothe and comfort him and what? He throws up on me.

I could leave him alone for a minute to prepare a bottle that he's been HOWLING for. And when I present it to him he'll refuse it for a good 10 minutes.

I could give him a bath, get him powdered, lotioned and wiped down so he's all clean and smells nice. He'll then have a poopie diaper and spit up on his clean clothes.

Today however... I was trying to clip his tiny little nails. He's such a fidgety thing I have difficulty doing it and dislike it almost to the point of disliking clipping a kitten's sharp claws. Almost but not quite there... yet.

Why? Because of the fact that he refuses to hold still for a period longer than 5 seconds... unless he's sleeping... I have to hold his arm down and grasp his tiny little hand firmly so I can clip his little claws... -ah I mean... nails... clip his sharp little nails. And what does my stubborn hippo do???

He grabs and pulls my hair... then pulls me close. And sneezes... not once... but twice... one after another right in my face.

Oh... the joys of motherhood.

**For those of you who don't know... or simply can't get the meaning out of the words... "tummy time" is an exercise for infants where the parent places the child on his stomach to strengthen his neck, shoulder, and hip muscles, not to mention a few others but mainly those.

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Tuesday, March 25, 2008

There's a BABY in the CAR... but Now My Son Has Fundage...

So yeah, I probably should start at the beginning... Unlike when I called my best friend up thinking I had already told her the story from the very beginning... yeah my memory totally went astray as soon as the kiddo arrived and still has yet to return to me... If anyone finds it please let me know...

But I digress. Where was I? Right. See? The memory thing again. Anyway, I called my best friend up and left a message on her voice mail saying, "Hey, Caden and I are fine from the accident, so no worries. EMTs said he was good to go." Well she calls me the next day and I'm all talking to her as if she already knew what was going on. Poor thing, my befuddled mind befuddled her. All she could say was, "What?!"

So... as I was going to do... let me start at the beginning.

I was in California with the baby, right? Right. Mmm'kay moving on. Well my folks were dropping off said baby and I to the airport so we could get home to my dearly devoted husband. It was raining pretty heavily for Southern California. (Suprising I know, but Southern California does on occassion get bad weather.) It was also 5:30 in the morning, we had a 6:30 flight and I had already checked in the night before so I had my boarding passes and everything and was pretty much ready and good to go.

Well, right as my dad was stopped at a light RIGHT OUTSIDE THE AIRPORT, this woman rams us from behind. I was looking at my son at the time the impact happened, thank God he was safe and sound and barely moved unlike the rest of us in the car who unfortunately enjoyed the fun of whiplash. He was all snuggled in his snowsuit (ready for the flight and weather upon arriving at our destination) and tucked in his carrier carseat. (I LOVE CARSEATS! THOSE FIVE POINT HARNESSES ARE AWESOME! Parents who don't use carseats are freakin' morons.)

Now as I said, it was 5:30 in the freakin' morning. We were set to go home. And this woman happened to be rushing to catch her 6 am flight. While it was raining. And no she didn't check-in in advance. Yeah.... first thing I could say after impact was, "THERE'S A BABY IN THE CAR!"

My dad openned his door and repeated, "THERE'S A BABY IN THE CAR!"

The woman acknowledged and said she'd follow us. Upon parking, directly in front of my terminal mind you, my mother opens her door and repeats for the third time, "THERE'S A BABY IN THE CAR!"

Lesson 1. You shouldn't be rushing in the rain.
Lesson 2. You shouldn't be trying to catch a 6 am flight at 5:30 in the morning.

The police were called. The EMTs checked out my son. He was ok. Happy-go-lucky. Just sleepy because his nap was interrupted by the accident when the sound of metal hitting metal woke him up and jerked his little head. But my son was still a trooper. Of course the police were super nice to us. I mean there was a baby in the car. Not so much to that woman though. She missed her flight altogether. Big surprise there.

Caden and I however, had police escort through security. Yeah, different eh? The police informed Continental that we were just in an accident. So what did Continental do? Bless them. The check-in guy himself went to my gate and told them my situation. Met me at security and carried all my stuff for me on to the plane. They had already started paging us as the last passengers for "final boarding call" and what not, but they still held departure back about 10 minutes so the baby and I could board the plane. Of course we were the last ones on the plane, and everyone was apparently waiting on us seeing as the captain made it known that they were waiting for the final passengers (sarcastic thanks!) and I was soooo embarrassed that I apologized to the people who were seated around me saying we were just in an accident right outside the airport. That woman did not even get an ounce of the same courtesy.

Well after that, it was all ok. I had a headache after awhile though. Not surprising since I was also flying across country with an infant. My mom's neck hurt some. My dad I think was too preoccupied with how everyone else was doing that he seemed fine at the time and even after too.

So in the end, my son got his settlement. Though I'd honestly prefer we had not gotten into that accident at all. I am pleased my son got some fundage out of it. We also decided to take his piggy bank to the bank too. Tiny little piggy bank. Only about 4 inches tall and 3 inches wide and 3 inches long. But it was full of change. I didn't realize how much change was in that tiny little thing. Sixty-four bucks in a tiny little piggy bank. Honestly, storing up change goes a long way apparently, considering we gave him all our spare coins.

Now my son has a bank account, but I won't be telling him about it until he's 18. Let him work for his money first. *^_^*

So at the tender age of 3 months old my son has apparently experienced quite a bit, maybe even more than some people in their twenties. He's had his first vacation at the age of 2 months. Enjoyed two trips to San Diego. Flown in 4 different airplanes. Gotten in his first and hopefully only (knocks on wood) car accident and lived to not remember a single thing it considering he's still a baby and all. And received mulah from said accident. It's almost a shame he won't remember a single thing.

Random PS of sorts - My best friend called a week after I talked to her about my random and awkward way of leaving behind only half a message and said she just got into an accident. Some idiot ran a stop sign and totaled her car. T-boned it on the passenger side. She's ok. Was a little banged up and had a big bruise on her knee from where the passenger door was push all the way in through impact. Happy she had no passenger for the moron to mash but yeah. She's fine.

Speaking of the cars though. My parents vehicle got an impressive dent on the back bumper. I didn't realize how safe a Honda Accord was. While that woman's vehicle was pretty much totaled with her hood bent like an accordian and her motor exposed to the rain. Serves some people right.

Honestly, some people should not get behind the wheel. What if there was a baby in the car???

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Friday, March 14, 2008

A Picture Says A Thousand Words...

Eh... it's something to do... and it takes my mind off other things... plus it's kinda just cool to look at...

the RULES:
- Answer the questions below
- Take each answer and search image on Photobucket
- Take any picture from the first page of results and post
- And you can't copy the persons answers who posted this before you

1. What is your name? I can't believe I found this...

2. Name the age you'll be on your next birthday. I also happen to like the show...Twenty Four24

3. Name a place you'd like to travel to.ALASKAalaska

4. What is your favorite place to be?BEDROOM

5. What is your favorite object?

6. What is your favorite food? I'm getting hungry just looking at this picture...
fried rice with shrimp and crab

7. What is your favorite color? Blue all the way...

8. What is your favorite animal? I want one... Alaskan Malamute Puppy

9. What is your favorite activity? 'Nuff said...

10. Where were you born?Philippinesphilippines

11. Where do you want to retire? Just someplace nice...

12. What is the name of a pet? They are...

13. What is your relationship status?marriedmarried

14. What is the name of your significant other?letter joN

15. What is a bad habit of yours?WorryingWorrying

16. What is the name of your best friend?

17. What are your plans for the weekend?

18. What is a goal you'd like to achieve in the next year?

19. What is your biggest fear?Failure

20. Describe yourself in one word. I typed "random" and this came up... I say it fits...


Wednesday, March 12, 2008

An Ode to My Grandpa...

My grandfather is dying. I have no doubt of it.

My mother told me that all he wanted was to see all his children together before he died. My aunt overheard him praying that his kids, grandkids, greatgrands all have long and happy lives. He's ready to die.

I am glad that I got to see him while I was in California. My last memory of him is a happy one. He was smiling and happy and thrilled that I finally had a child of my own and a son no less. He lived to see his youngest grandchild have a child of her own. He enjoyed seeing his great-grandson.

I am also glad that Caden was able to meet him too. Many people aren't even born in time to meet their great-grandparents.

Now my grandpa is an awesome fellow. He's no taller than 4 ft 10 inches. He loves dancing. And he had even tried his hand at being a hairstylist when I was 7 years old by giving me the worst hair-cut I've had in my life (to the surprise and dismay of the rest of my family). When he stayed with us, he would surprise me with a sweet treat when I came home from school or by getting me some fast food. He used to make me porridge or soup or hot chocolate all the time. I'm going to miss him.

I'm just sad that I won't even be able to be there when he does pass on. I love my grandpa.