Mornings don't go well

The cast is doing great. We are half way through the process and I won't be sad to see it go. If it was summer, that might be one thing.  Jackets and long sleeve shirts don't fit all that well over the bulk. But Luke is a trooper and hasn't complained. He really is a good kid.

Mostly.

Thankfully it didn't stop him from having a great time at Dakota's birthday party last Thursday night. It was at one of those places that has video games, regular games, putt putt, a batting cage, and go carts. Before dinner we did the inside stuff.

Evan had a ball too.  One thing I did learn was trying to teach a distracted boy how to play ski ball is tricky.

picture via Shae

Very tricky. Multiple balls went flying in directions they didn't belong.

After dinner we did the outside things- putt putt and go carts.  Do you even need to guess which was his favorite?

picture via Shae

Bless his heart, that is some kind of glee on his face.  The putt putt went okay, but he refused to let me show him how to putt correctly, and it ended up being more like shuffle board.

Meh. He had fun. 

What I'd really document today, is how my children are not morning people.  At all.

AT. ALL.

I thought there was hope for the little one. But she's been increasingly difficult to wake up in the morning. Take today for example. I finally had to pick her up and she just nuzzled her head into my neck and kept snoozing. After she moved my hair from my neck. She refuses to put her head on my shoulder if my hair is there, and always makes me move it. Is that weird?

Anyway, I finally just laid her down on the ground to change her diaper. I opened up her snap-up jammies to change her diaper, and half way through she tried to take one side, cover herself back up, then roll over to keep sleeping.  Well then.

I guess if I was that pretty when I slept, I'd want to sleep in more too.

The big one? That's where the real trouble begins.

I always turn on the hall light and open his door before I go into the kitchen and get their bags together, as a gentle reminder of what is to come. Most days when I go back into his room he's covered his head with his blanket and is moaning for me to go away. Then comes the fact that he has to sit up so I can put terrible clothes on him I've picked out, and he could not be more grumpy. "I don't like anyone" "I'm just gonna stay home by myself" and "It's too cold, I don't like this shirt, the pants are terrible" are in frequent rotation. Then there is the whining, the crying, and the growling at me.

Yes. Growling.

If he had his way, all of his days would be like this.

Spent in his jammies at home, woken naturally on his own by a full bladder and a bright sun. (that was Saturday, we had a popcorn and movie morning)

If we make it out of the door without my blood pressure boiling over, minimal tears (from various parties, your's truly included), and no swats to the behind, then I consider it a good morning.

So. Who wants to come over at ten till 7 and help me coax two small people out of bed? If you bring coffee I'll love you forever.

Valentines' and a cast

Soooo...trying to dive back in after taking almost a month off seems a little intimidating. Almost seems easier to just bury my head in the sand and pretend like writing never existed.  No?

Not too much happened in the first half of February. Life has just chugged along at a rapid and even pace. Evan has had climbing on top of the table to get whatever she wants mastered for quite awhile now, but one day I came around the corner to find banana peels on the floor and the banana on a plate under the dining room table

Seems she figured out how to get a snack, open it, and serve it to herself in the place she deemed most comfortable. Also, she's figured out that Schlotzsky's makes a darn good pizza.

We also had a movie night one night. I had bought a big bag of pizza rolls for the Super Bowl and they didn't get opened. So one night I made them for dinner (which was served on the couch, after an inverted schedule of baths first, hence the jammies) and let Luke pick a movie to watch as we dined on our fine cuisine.  He picked Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. 

 Evan actually watched most of the movie. I was impressed. At one point she started feeling affectionate and started kissing on Bubba, putting her arm around him and rubbing his head.

I died.

Valentine's day was where it all went down hill.  Sure. They looked cute enough in the beginning. It took 20 of these shots...

to get a semi decent one at Cindy's before I left for work.

(I embroidered her shirt- "all a twitter")

Wednesday night I stayed up late getting the table all ready and cupcakes made so that we'd be able to have a nice family dinner when we came home on Thursday. While mixing the cupcakes, I started smelling something funny. Then then mixer started to slow down. Then it stopped and I realized it was smoking. On the plus side, I didn't have to clean it since the whole thing went in the trash.

Thursday- Valentine's day- didn't go as planned.  The boyfriend and I had lunch and a talk I wasn't expecting. Then he didn't show up for dinner. My little family carried on with our shrimp and cupcakes, and two little people had the time of their life with presents and treats.

I got Evan in bed, cleaned up after her cupcake massacre, and I got Luke showered and all the way to bed.  That's when tragedy struck. He knows we have a rule of not jumping off the bed. Why do we have that rule? So he won't get hurt. But on Thursday night he wasn't jumping off the bed. He was a helicopter. Which was exactly like it sounds. He....twirl jumped?... off his bed before I could stop him, and landed right on his arm. Immediately he howled in pain, and we blew off story time for an ice pack and a cartoon.  I was sure that he would sleep it off and Friday morning life would be normal.

Nope. He woke up twice in the middle of the night screaming in pain, but by mid morning he was reportedly playing just fine with it wrapped in an ace bandage. I chalked it up to a slight bruise or strain and we went on our merry way.

For the whole weekend.

By Monday he was still wincing and complaining that it hurt, so I finally called the dr and had his grandmother take him in. Sure enough, it's a buckle fracture. They got him in to an orthopedic specialist to set it, and now we are on day three of this.

My boy. In a cast. I couldn't have felt more guilty that I made him go the whole weekend in pain. I've been told lost that they probably couldn't have done anything Friday because of the swelling anyway, and we still would have had to go back Monday. But still. That's my baby.

And I can't believe that out of his group of friends, my mild mannered, non aggressive, tender little boy was the first one to get a cast. Oh the irony.