Nine Months.

Maximo I didn't forget that you got another month older, nope, sure didn't, it was just a busy week. Last Tuesday you were officially nine months old, that is 3/4's of the way to ONE YEAR. For the record, I am not good at fractions, but I know that it's getting really close. Closer than eight months for sure. We couldn't be happier with the baby you are. You are as sweet as pie and as stubborn as a bull and pretty damn adorable, if you ask me.

You are totally growing up right before my eyes and while it's sappy that you're getting all big and toddler-ish, it's not that sad, because it's getting more fun too. I'm not going to rehash how little you were and how quick it's been, because I do that every damn month. I imagine when your 16 or 26 or whenever you decide to reread this blog and see these letters you will not want to hear me being all emotional and mushy (month after month) that my baby is getting big, tenfold. I imagine that even when your 16 I'll still be mushy about my 'baby.' So let's get to the fun stuff, because there's been a lot of that this month too.

Your 18 pounds and 28.5 inches long. Your holding steady as a shrimp, which is so funny because I swore you were a sumo-baby. I guess the constant motion is making your blubber burn away. It's hard to part with the chub, but you keep in it the best places, your cheeks and your thighs; you are so my kid.
You have the darkest, almost mysteriously dark, but brightest brown eyes I've ever seen. In fact when you smile, it shines through your eyes. Your smile lights up your eyes and my life.
You have two teeth and you are kickin' ass on some more. You work so hard to get those things to come through. Proof would be the amount of drool someone as tiny as you can produce. It's pretty incredible. I'm so not a fan of bodily fluids; that phrase bodily fluids is just gross, ew. But slobbery kisses from you are an afternoon delight!

You crawl on all fours, but you haven't become a speed crawler just yet. Not Max McQueen in this house people. You much prefer to stand against the coffee table or couch and squeal with proud delight as your reach one of your brother's prized possession toys he used to have out of reach, not anymore big bro.You are a thumb sucker, a sippy cup thrower and a fruit loop tyrant. You squirm out of most diaper changes and have quite a (randomly seen) temper. You don't really throw fits but you are incredibly stubborn; you hold your ground. I can't wait to see how that goes over when your two. Ha!


You sleep wonderfully, in your own crib, in your own room, and for ten whole days, well nights (and counting!) you've successfully stayed asleep from 7:30pm until the sun is up. It is a beautiful thing this sleeping through the night business. I think parents (mostly mom's) forget how awesome a full nights sleep really is; you tend to get all survival mode when you have a newborn and then your so used to it by the time you kid is a few months old you are praying for just one night feeding instead of four. If your 7 or 8 month old is still waking you are so strung out on coffee that you don't give a damn. So even though you took nine FULL months of waking up every night, thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting the sleep thing down. It rocks. Like you.

You eat sand and leaves like they're a fine delicacy and definitely despise Gerber meats. I can't blame you; canned meat is a funky idea...it's just not right people. I mean how do those Gerber employs stand to package those little hot dog knockoffs without puking all day? The smell alone makes you turn away. Stubbornness kicks in about now. Thankfully you stand your ground, because I've tried at least six different meat meals and they are all equally jiggly and smelly; I can't believe I was so persistent. Sorry Max, never again will I serve you canned meat. Never.
On a better food note, you love hummus (I mean WHO doesn't?!), toast and applesauce. You really, really, love to feed yourself, so you mostly live on cereal, puffs and toast. I really try other things, but you close your mouth like an iron door, carrots may not enter, squash beware. Oh wait, how could I forget the beloved banana?? You are a banana lover, like a little chimpanzee! You can down nearly a whole banana in about eight minutes flat, it's impressive and kind of gross, but banana kisses beat sausage kisses. I mean let's be real.

Your favorite toy is the TV remote and I've heard it's one of a household's dirtiest items. Awesome. You also really love mama's cell phone (which is probably not very clean). Fake cell phones will not suffice; get that Fisher Price flip phone OUT of my face. Immediately or this well-tempered, perfect-baby you are claiming to have will lose his shit. Got it mom? Ok, I get it. You know what's funny is not even old, deactivated, but still very real cell phones trick infants.
You love baths. You love being held. You're still not a fan of your car seat, even the big boy one, but you've thankfully given up the screaming-for-an-entire-car-ride phase. Hallelujah for that. Because a human is only capable of listening to a child scream for so long, before wanting to drive chopsticks in to their own ears. And you can only blast Kesha and Miley Cyrus (per Mason's request) for so long before wanting to repeat those actions with a new pair of chopsticks.

You have dimples and you still have ''stork-bit'' eyelids. Your blue birthmark, right above your adorable butt is still there too. I love all those things about you. You've moved up to a size 4 Pamper. Hello bootylicious.Your belly laugh is contagious. It's an immediate pick me up and an instant smile for all those who hear it. Your hair is thick and darker than everyone's (but it's a close to to Daddy's). I think I'm spotting some wispy curls in the back too, they're horribly adorable. If you keep them long, it could get dangerous, you may never get a haircut.

Happy nine months Maximo. You are you. You is perfect. More and more perfect each and every month. I love you baby boy.

masonisms. edition 2.

Conversation 1:
Michael: "I need to tie your shoes, you know one day you'll learn to tie your own shoes."
Mason: "I will tie my shoes when I am twelve dada."

Oh excellent, maybe when you are twelve you can move to your bedroom too. Eh, just an idea.

Conversation 2:
We just got home from vacationing and Max hasn't been overjoyed with reentering his crib at night alone. Bedtime usually means a little (if any) crying and no noises from baby within three minutes of laying him down. But tonight was brutal. Max was pissed and was not letting the whole neighborhood know. Michael decided to go get him but was mid game with Mason.

Me: "Mason, Daddy is going to get Max and I'm going to finish Chutes and Ladders with you, okay?"
Mason: "No. If Dada leaves then I'm going to scream like Max."

Solution not solved, but thanks for the heads up bud.

Conversation 3:
Me: "Mason do you know why you are so cute?"
[Planning to be a smart ass and tell him "Because your mine".]
Mason: "Because I'm lucky."

Yes, yes, you are very cute but I think I am the lucky one.

st. patty's.

I had high hopes to perk up each holiday. You know like those moms who chew carrots up on Christmas Eve playing Rudolph or ringing in the New Year with the boys in 2010 banners and top hats. So far I've failed New Years and the most festive activity that took place for Valentine's day was letting Mason eat red and pink M&M's for breakfast. I'm clearly not doing so hot at making holiday's special or planning balanced breakfasts.

So today was St. Patrick's Day, I'm not Irish and I don't think I know anyone that is, but I wanted to go all out, because well it's the only holiday you don't have to celebrate.

I'd planned to dye our milk green and pretend leprechauns came and visited us overnight, but our milk went bad and I didn't have any food coloring. Fail.

Then I planned to get Shamrock headbands for the boys to wear to Little Gym. Fail. In my defense Max so would not have gone for that business. Mason probably would've protested it as well. But the one minute they would've worn them would've probably made for some pretty cute pictures.

Last resort was my brilliant idea to get McDonald's Shamrock shakes for Mason and I's dessert after the park. First of all, what better way to leave the park without a meltdown than McD's bribery. Nothing beats paying 99 cents for a cheap happy meal toy (that I probably have 3 of somewhere in my house) to get from point A to point B. Secondly, I've never tasted the Shamrock delight people rave over. And third, it'd be my St. Patty's holiday score. Before I pulled in to the golden arched euphoria, everyone had cried themselves to sleep. Fail.

I did manage to remember it was St. Patrick's Day as we were walking out the door and got the boys in green shirts. Thank goodness too, because apparently people don't mess around on St. Patty's day. I kid you not there was not one child (or parent for that matter) not sporting a shade of green. I felt a little morbid in my black Nike running shorts and black v-neck. Sue me, I am NOT festive (as noted in above holiday parenting failures). I mean the umbrella stroller I was pushing had some sage on it, that counts right? I mean it is the hottest new accessory in my closet, er, mom-mobile. Holiday fail 4.

Eh, at least Easter is soon. I have high hopes of bunny suits for my kids.

"Happy" St. Patrick's Day from the bash brothers.

Sometimes.

Sometimes when it's really quiet in my car, I'm sure I forgot someone waiting by the door at home; sometimes I have to sneak a peak in the rear view mirror and make sure there are two car seats.

Sometimes I think 5:30 is a legitimate bedtime, for all of us.

Sometimes lucky charms is a completely nutritious breakfast. And lunch. And sometimes dinner.

Sometimes I drink two full cups of coffee and still need a Red Bull by 3 PM. Sometimes I have that Red Bull and am still in bed by 9:30, child willing.

Sometimes I have to quickly hop on YouTube to seek out wild animal sounds. Because sometimes I don't know what sounds a llama, goat or ostrich makes. Sometimes I don't know everything my toddler demands to know.

Sometimes I'm genuinely confused how there is still laundry to be started and dishes to be put away.

Sometimes I take the boys to the park because I want to go. Hey, you never outgrow the love of fresh air, sunshine and swings. Every now and then I go down the slide with one bitty or another, sometimes I even slide alone.

Sometimes I go for a run just so I can think about somethings besides a potty break, refilling someone's sippy cup or a lost puzzle piece. But sometimes I'm the lead member in the puzzle piece search party.

Sometimes I catch myself watching Dora the Explorer and repeating "activate!" and "hola mis amigos". Then I realize Mason has been at school at least an hour and Max is surely not interested. Sometimes I don't bother to change the channel.

Sometimes I promise myself that tomorrow will be the day that I throw out the twenty some odd toys no one plays with and organize the kitchen junk drawer, but usually snuggles and Legos get the better of me.

Sometimes we stay in our pajamas until it is time for a bubble bath and new set of sleepwear.

Sometimes I go crazy wondering how neither boy's entire wardrobe seems to own two articles of clothing that actually match.

Sometimes I wonder how it's possible that, between Mason, Max and I, we've gone through nine full outfit changes, before noon.

Sometimes I think about a lot. Sometimes I think about absolutely nothing. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed beyond belief. But when Friday comes, I look back at my sometimes hectic week and I'm always overwhelmed with love and joy for my sometimes wild but always worthwhile boys.

Sometimes I don't know what I did to deserve so much.

Ain't no party like a popcorn party.

My boys decided to have a popcorn party while I went to pee alone, imagine that. The two of them were left unattended and a very childproofed living room for a whooping two minutes. Now you need to understand that a popcorn party really means, Max finds unattended bucket of popcorn, that Mason left in living room where it never belongs. Max reaches up, dumps over self, couch and carpet and begins to devour, while Mason shrieks in horror and excitement and quickly shovels popped kernels in to mouth. Max copies Mason and miraculously does not choke while I snap pictures of event. Because someday I will laugh about this right? What did I do in my past life to deserve this? For the record, my just-turned-eight month old, loves buttery popcorn. Second child fail #3019.

Mason-isms.

I know it's common parental practice to think you have the most beautiful baby who then becomes the most developmentally advanced toddler ever who obviously turns in to most intelligent, borderline genius preschooler. Right? Oh wait..that's just me? Er...so I do think that sometimes and rightfully because Mason can put a puzzle together in .5 seconds, that totally qualifies him for Harvard Law right? Okay, okay, I get it, I'm biased, slightly, would you prefer the term considerably biased?

Biased or not, Mason is a hoot. That kid comes up with some off the wall, hilarious stuff. I feel like I'm always cracking up. Many nights, after bitty's are tucked in and I go to relive a story with Michael I have this mental block, like I can't remember a damn thing that happened all day long (except the multiple "meals" I cooked, had refused and thrown away for the boys).

Essentially that is why I started this blog. For myself to remember the good, the bad, the ugly when the boys aren't so little and maybe not wanting to be their mom's best (or only) friend. I feel like I don't share enough of the conversations, so I'm going to start recording all the funny's Mason comes up with. These are what I call "Mason-isms".

So far this week he's cracked us up with the following:

1.On the walk home from the park I asked Mason for one goldfish cracker. He looked at me slightly perplexed, mildy peeved and sighed "Okay mommy, just one. Listen to my words, (slowly speaking and raising him voice) JUST ONE, DO YOU HEAR MY WORDS MOMMY?" After I took just one as firmly instructed, he said "Oh mommy I like it when you listen to me. You a good wittle girl". Listen is usually pronounced "wissen". I guess he's been listening to my words a little much.

2.For this one you need a little back story.

{Mason has this overkill obsession with playing on my computer. The V-Tech kid laptop, no, no that is not enough. Let's get our hands real greasy and sticky and play mommy's computer. Anyway, we try to keep it educational and all that jazz and let's get real, how much trouble can a kid get into on Sesame Street's website. No matter the time limit he's given, a fit always ensues when it's time to get off the computer and do anything else. So usually we have to get all bossy like real parents and say "See that red x up in the corner, you have two choices, you can click it, or I will." This of course is rarely complied with and a screaming flailing 29 pound child is usually carried off to the torture chamber we call a bathtub. Yesterday we were getting ready for the park and I was checking my email one last time to see if something I was waiting for had been shipped.}

Mason was done being patient and looked at me dead in the eye and told me "Mommy you got one minute to push that red X and if you don't do, I will. You got that?" I couldn't do anything but laugh as my tyrannical three year old X-ed out my Mozilla window.

3. We borrowed my sister's Wii to give Mason an extra fun night of entertainment. He loves Super Mario Brothers even though it's far to advanced for a 3 year old (and his computer game failure mother). Rule is I go first and make sure all harm is out of Mario's (Mason's) way. We were on a roll, I was stomping mushrooms and de-shelling turtles like a champ. Mason looked at me so happily and proud as Mario ran swiftly behind in a path clear of destruction. He smiled at me and said "Mommy thanks for having my back". Of course, I had to laugh, but then said, "I always will".

4. So believe it or not I do own and use a vacuum. We have wood flooring (or fake wood I suppose) and so my huge area rug often gets a little shake outside to minimize my household 'chores'. Therefore, when the vacuum does make his grand appearance my boys faces look like I am chasing them in a hockey mask with a huge machete. Horror. Mason was mid Dora episode when I busted it out a few days ago. His eyes grew to the size of Jupiter and he said "Dat is NOT a vacuum, DAT is a monster mommy". I smirked and nodded, because I couldn't agree more. However I think it will fare well if we continue vacuuming once a year baby.