Chip Off the Old Block

Matt asked me to write this one down tonight. He was just so tickled at his son. Matt went to an AgPhD workshop today hosted by Brian Hefty (for all you avid RFDTV watchers). He was telling us that Brian had a good marketing scheme going with his two young children trying to sell videos and books that he was promoting. Mimicking the kids, Matt said, "Do you want to buy this book? Do you want to buy this movie?" Well, Owen pipes up out of the blue, "No, I think Owen just want to buy a farm." Seriously, Matt couldn't have smiled any bigger at that moment. If you don't know, Matt wakes me up in his sleep talking about farms. I'm pretty sure I'm his second love to farm ground, and I'm ok with that.

Everyday Things

Miss Chloie has become quite discontent much of the time. It really bothers me because she has always been such an easy going baby up to this point. I really think she just needs to get on it and crawl already. So we've been pushing her a bit more. Finally just in the last two days she's been motivated by goldfish. She'll wiggle and inch her way all the way across the floor for one of those silly goldfish. She's going to get there! But the problem with using goldfish as bait has been that she's decided she really likes them and won't eat much of anything else. I'm fearing that as easy as Owen was with eating, she may be the opposite. The past several meals she's thrown every piece of anything (peas, bread, Cheerios, potatoes, carrots, bananas, macaroni) on the floor and cried like a baby for something else... oh yeah... I guess she is still a baby. We'll get through it Chloie :)




Owen continues to crack us up with some of the silly things he comes up with. Just today I wrote down several things to tell Matt since he was out of town, so I thought I'd write them here too.

This morning playing with a little toy guy, Owen spreads is legs like the splitz and exclaims, "Look, Mom, the guy is doing it like at church!" As of last Sunday, he has started genuflecting... or some kind of silly imitation. Which reminds me of another story. Last Sunday at church after communion Owen started shouting repeatedly (ok, he was just talking but it sounds like shouting during church), "Owen want the Christ." It took me awhile to figure out what he was saying until he added, "Airplane (the toy he took to church) need the Body of Christ."

Several times today when I was doing something away from Owen he would come up to me in the most sincere, singsong voice and ask, "What are you doing, honey?" I'm laughing just hearing his little voice again in my head.


And not as funny as scary, yesterday Owen decided to take a ride up the garage door. He thought he'd "help" the door open which I thought, ok no harm in that. I turned my back to get Chloie in the stroller, and when I turned around Owen was hanging from the top of the fully opened garage door. He wasn't screaming or moving... just paralyzed in fear, I suppose. I ran over to me the whole time telling him to hang on. As soon as I grabbed him, the poor little guy just cried and shook from fear. I'm pretty sure he won't be helping the door anymore.




The picture is Owen and Daddy with their new-found special morning time. Now that Owen is potty-trained, he wakes up a little earlier so he loves having his "coffee" with Dad and watching the morning farm show. He told Matt on this particular morning, "Let's share a blankie together."

Potty Trained!

Well, last Wednesday when Owen said, "Owen need to wear big boy underwear."
I replied with a frantic, "Oh, no. It's not time yet. Mommy hasn't read the book." To which Owen said, "No, Mommy, it is time." I'm not sure a two-year-old could make it any more clear that he is indeed ready to use the potty. So I quickly read through the Three Day Potty Training Method book several times, bought lots of underware, treats and drinks, and prayed for little Owen and for me.

The first day brought one teary breakdown for diapers (quickly averted by a treat) and several accidents. The second day brought only high fives and two little accidents. The third day Owen came inside all by himself while helping Daddy wash cars to let me know he had to pee, and I knew we had a potty-trained baby boy. That was only solidified when he woke up completely dry this morning without any mommy-prompted trips to the bathroom during the night. I seriously cried a little bit.... my baby is so big now, and he's so proud of himself too.

Nine Month Doctor Disaster

At Chloie's nine month appointment, the medical assistant did the normal weights and measures along with a little toe prick to check her iron levels. She put a band-aid on Chloie's little toe, and of course Owen needed one too. Then he went on with the medical assistant about needing his ears checked. So I'm telling the patient medical assistant all about how Owen loves the doctor and loves having his ears checked for some reason. Finally she was able to get out of Owen's line of questioning and moments later the doctor came in. We're chatting and naked little Chloie is being so sweet and smiley. Then the doctor looks kind of strangely at Chloie and asks me if I've just given her Tylenol. "Well, no, she's only had breast milk this morning." And I look at her and there is definitely blood coming out of her little, smiling mouth. In a panic, I tell the doctor that something is definitely wrong. My blood pressure is rising, and my heart is racing. The doctor pries her (still smiling) little mouth open only to find the blood sopped band-aid from her pricked little toe.... oh, talk about embarrassment. That Chloie is a quick one. Just a little distraction from Owen is all she needed to wrestle that thing off her toe and into her mouth. Completely... embarrassing...

On the positive, she was just as healthy as could be continuing on her perfect 75th percentile curve for height and weight. 20 pounds, 4 ounces and 28 1/2 inches long!

Trying Times

Getting back from a week long trip to Indiana often comes with some bumps, but this time around really took the cake. You see, I had a great plan. Get back from Indiana, get rid of Owen's pacifier, and transition Owen to a big bed. Unfortuantely, Owen didn't like my plan.

Friday night after tucking Owen into his crib with his broken paci, Matt and I headed to our room. He was whining about his broken paci, but I wasn't giving in... oh no, he could just whine all night, I said to myself. About thirty seconds later, our bedroom door opens. Frozen in my tracks, I'm too freaked out to look so I whisper to Matt, "That better be our son." Owen would jump out of his crib in 5 seconds wevery time we turned off the light and shut the door, but he would never do it with the light on. Darkness must have given him courage, I suppose.... Anyway, worried about his safety, my resolve faltered. I gave him a different "baby paci", which was what he was looking for when he got out of his bed. He slept until about 6on Saturday morning when I heard a strange noise in the hallway to which I again woke up Matt too afraid to look myself... of course it was our son. I'm such a wheeny.

With a bit of sadness, we took down Owen's crib on Saturday and put down his bunk beds. Matt and I thought maybe we'd just see if we could excite Owen so much about his big boy bed that he wouldn't need a paci.... Well, during the day Owen didn't cry a bit locked in his room during nap time. He just took off his diaper, peed on the floor, and threw his clothes around the room... Ahh!!! I just about had a heart attack when I cracked open the door to check on him and found him lying naked at the foot of his bed in this utter disaster. Night times he would just scream, quite literally scream, and shake and sob. Matt really wanted to tough it out, but after an hour of this, I couldn't take it. He got his baby paci, and he'll get it for a bit longer until he's comfortable in his new bed. Then I'm pretty sure I'll need to leave town for a weekend while Matt gets the job of wheening him from the paci. My heart just can't take the crying and clinging.... I know, I'm a wheeny....

One cute detail of this whole, ugly story is that Owen has become very attached to his book of prayers from his godparents. I read him a prayer before night time and naps and in the morning. I always put it on the shelf, but every time Owen wakes up it's in his hands. Oh, and how about a heart breaker or really just a manipulator.... but the night we were letting him cry, he kept asking for "Mommy to give me another prayer please." Oh, it was sad....