Boogie Nights (and mornings... and days...)

Evie has her first cold... and its a doozie. Now, before you go feeling all sorry for me and sending me chocolate (my favorite is hazelnut flavored) and flowers (gerber daisies, please) I should admit to you that there is a bright side to the situation. Remember back when I admitted my nose picking habit? Well, turns out that the joy I get from digging for my own gold TOTALLY translates to picking my kid's nose, too.

It's like a game: the deeper they are in there, the more points you get... plus special bonus awards for size and color. Give me one of those squeezy-bulbs over a video controller any day, thank you.

Little-bit is no child of mine. I mean, she looooovves her baths. She just might be the cleanest newborn on the planet (side note: that may be the last time I get to refer to her as a "newborn" on the blog... since, as of Wednesday, my big THREE-MONTH-OLD will officially be considered a full blown infant. Just rip my heart out and put it through a meat-grinder, why don't you?! This growing-up-too-fast crap is way hard.)

There she is, that little Benedict Arnold... just lovin' that bath. I will do my best to change that. I can just see Evie and me in ten years, sitting on the couch all sweaty from a family run (we will not take a shower for at least 48 hours afterward) picking our noses and letting the dog lick our faces. Ahh... bliss.

An Inconvenient Tooth

When I was in high school my dentist told me that I did not have any wisdom teeth. His fancy x-ray machine told him so. So for the next seven years (literally... seven years) I walked around all: "I'm more evolved than you, and you, and you and especially you... sucka!"

Then, because my body was apparently on "growing-foreign-bodies" overdrive, in addition to sprouting a baby I sprouted two wisdom teeth. Since I couldn't have surgery while pregnant, I just ignored the little mouth-invaders. Now I am not pregnant anymore... but I have had enough doctor-involving predicaments to last me the next five KABAJILLION years.

What are the chances of the whole "extra-teeth-that-you-don't-need-that-can-and-probably-will-reverse-what-four-years-of-braces-corrected" situation going away on its' own? Not good? Crap... I guess I am going to have to do something about this.

This post is hyphen-happy. s-o-r-r-y. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-...

(un) Labor Day

It has been an understandably busy summer for us in the Scobey house... so it comes as no surprise that I turned around the other day and summer was gone. Like: 50-degrees-outside-in-the-morning-time-to-turn-the-heat-on-in-the-house GONE. Since we have not had much of a summer, we decided that we'd better go out in style. So when our good friends, Carl and B, invited us out to the lake for Labor Day, we jumped at the chance. Graham had shot three weddings this weekend (yes, onetwothree: one Friday, one Saturday, and one Sunday) so he really deserved a down day.

Monday morning we head over to Thompson... which is about a 45 minute car ride. Neither of us were looking forward to spending this much time with Little Bit in the car because, for some reason, every-time she has gotten in the car this month she has screamed obscenities at us for the duration of the ride. And it sucks. Because you HAVE to get in the car. There is absolutely no escaping it. So: we go to the grocery... she screams, we go to church... she screams, we go ANYWHERE UNDER THE SUN... and the child SCREAMS.

Where was I? Oh. Neither of us were looking forward to spending this much time with Little Bit in the car. So we get her all packed up and several moments into the journey... guess what?

She goes to sleep. It was awesome. This would be a good time to tell you about how she also slept the whole way home...but then I would be skipping the entire "lake" portion of the story.

On to the lake portion of the story:

I know... it's like they took Graham's head and put it on a baby's body and then, VIOLA... you get Evie!

Notice how much happier she looks to be in my lap? This is an anomaly... she is a total daddy's girl. I mean, she loves us both, but I foresee many fights in my future where I am getting ganged up on.

One manly skier

TWO manly skiers - there was a near death experience soon after this photo was taken, but I won't say whose fault it was (*cough*GRAHAM*cough*)

One dry dog

One wet (read: dejected and totally pitiful) dog

The End.

Saying "No" to Daycare

Graham and I are really blessed because we have figured out a way around the whole daycare thing. Now, before you get all angry: I am not saying that daycare is bad. I was a daycare baby, 8-5 everyday for much of my childhood, and I turned out just fine. So... now that we have that all cleared up, we are going to try and keep Evie out of daycare for the first 6 months or so of her life.

We have a neighbor with a 9-month-old... and this semester we will be trying our hand at baby sharing. Our neighbor will take Evie for several hours a week and, in return, we will take her son (Chase; who, by the way, is devastatingly handsome already and is going to be forced into an arranged marriage with my daughter) for a few hours.

In order to prep for Operation Babyshare, Beth (my neighbor... and, might I add so that you all know JUST how awesome and trustworthy she is, fellow SOUTHERNER) and I did a trial run this past week. Playing with Chase was a blast, but it made me realize that I cannot have another child. I mean, as if run-of-the-mill mommy guilt isn't bad enough... try attempting to divide your time between two (let alone three or, as if anyone is crazy enough, FOUR) children who need and want your attention.

And, sadly, in the battle for my attention the one who MOVES (like crazy-fast-crawling-lightening) always wins... because Evie may cry, but she isn't going to crawl into danger anytime soon. So I found myself apologizing to Evie over and over again.

I'm sorry I can't hold you, sweetie, but if I don't watch Chase he might eat the dog-food/stick his finger in an outlet/take the car and do doughnuts in the neighbor's lawn.

Can you imagine the kind of reputation I would get it I let that happen?!

Whoopity Doo!

** this entire post is meant to be read in a high-pitched, squealy voice of pure excitement **

Dudes... do you know what today is? No. You don't. Allow me to enlighten you. This, my friends, is the first day of school. The NINETEENTH consecutive first day of school that I have ever had (excluding pre-school... which I also went to). Now... you might read this and, at first glance, think that I am complaining... but let me just assure you right now that I am NOT.

There is a reason that I have been in school for my entire life. A reason that I will most likely remain in some academic setting for the remainder of my life. I. LOVE. SCHOOL. (she says as she pushes her taped together glasses further up her nose and snorts). But really... I get those first-day-of-school-jitters like a kid on Christmas morning. It's weird, but it never fails. This is not to say that I always like school (there are days that it is like being forced to eat the last few Oreos in the box because YOU started it, YOU have to finish it... even if it hurts. Even if it kills you.) But I do always love the first day.

And now it is even better... because I get paid to be there. It's as though someone was so dazzled by my past efforts at school and learning that they said: "You want to learn more? Here, have some MONEY TO GO WITH THAT."

And I said "Yes, please" and "Thank You"... because my mother taught me manners.

See how excited I am?!

Also, Generation Y called and threatened to vote me off the island if I didn't join Twitter. So I did. Follow me @ThreeScobeys!

(do you still have your high-pitched, squealy voice on? really?)

Mom Moment

If you are anything like my husband (who, even though the puke was on ME, started gagging uncontrollably at the sight of it... and may I take this moment to say "Ugh...... men!") than I probably just lost half of my readership. A small price to pay for being able to post a picture of VOMIT on the INTERNET, if you ask me.

Two Month Checkup

My child; my little, tiny, six-pound-peanut of a newborn is ten weeks old today... and I am racking my brain trying to figure out who is sitting on the fast-forward button of my life's remote. And how can I get them to stop?

Evie's two-month checkup was yesterday. I have never wanted to physically harm someone so much as I did when that nurse (who I am sure is an otherwise completely pleasant human-being) plunged three needles into my angel's leg. I'll be honest: I cried significantly more than Evie did. She is the bravest little girl in the whole world... which just reminds me, yet again, of how BIG she is getting.

When she came home from the hospital, Evie was 6 pounds... now she is 10 (which puts here in the 28th percentile for weight). She has slept completely through the night for the past five nights in a row, for which my pediatrician tells me I should be counting my lucky stars. Every night and twice on Sundays. I totally am.

Annnnd I am headed back to work today. Completely bitter-sweet because, on the one hand, I am really excited about having an excuse to shower and get dressed and get out of the house to talk to people who can say more than "coo" and "urgggle" (even though those are the sweetest words I have ever heard). On the other hand, though, what if I miss something?!? I mean... not to over-exaggerate here, but if I am not there for the first time she rolls over or sits up by herself the world will completely implode on itself... and that will be absolutely no good for the environment.

Can you believe how much she has changed?!

Evie on the way home from the hospital. 6 pounds, 19 inches long.

Evie on her 10-week-birthday. 10 pounds, 22 inches long.