Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Nutella and Eyebrows

I haven't blogged for a while because I've been too lame to write down all my awesome blogging ideas, and by the time I'm near a computer without a toddler simultaneously begging me to watch Barney (curse you, paleontological demon!!!), I've forgotten every intelligent thought I ever had and my brain is instead consumed with thoughts like, "I wonder how many more 'white beds' have been posted to Pinterest in the last 24 hours." Because on our king-size bed is a brown, fuzzy queen-size blanket that is ridiculously comfortable but also ridiculously ugly like brown mold, or the pelt of a plush bear. It's been there for four years, always "about to be replaced with something gorgeous."

So this will be a life update post, hopefully peppered with Nutella-fueled witticisms [note: Nutella over cookie dough ice cream (sans the cookie dough because I mined it all out a week ago) is distressingly underwhelming. The Nutella congealed on my spoon and it was not pleasant.].

Graham: Potty-trained, thank the universe. He's still hit-or-miss at night, but during the day he's doing great. We even have a great song about how to pull your underwear up when you're done. Ask me to sing it for you and I will. The word "booty" is in it.

He also had his first confirmed bad dream about a week ago, about a firetruck that "vroomed him." It was really sad, but also kind of cute that he has the verbal skills to tell us about it. He had another bad dream this morning about a lion. He ran into our room this morning, yelling "The lion bite my bum, Mom! He bite my bum!" Too bad he doesn't have a diaper for extra tush protection anymore. Also, his pants don't stay up anymore without one. Skinny little dude needs more Nutella in his life.

His first taste of Nutella.

Ruby: She had her four-month checkup today. 14 lbs, 3 oz. She's also 24 inches long, which makes me like her more than when she was only 23 inches long, because 24 is my favorite number.

FLUFFY
I know this is the Ruby section of the post, but can we talk about how I look in the picture above? I'm concerned about my eyebrows. Realizing I'd used my SAHMness to rationalize my descent into adopting the grooming habits of a turnip, I decided to reevaluate my beauty routine (ha!-as if I ever had such a thing!). I found this lovely blog, specifically this inspiring post on "4-Minute Mommy Makeup." I was enticed by the four minutes part, because the max I can go without one of my cherubim needing something is about five minutes. Also, her before and after shots really wowed me. So I defied almost everything I ever thought I knew about myself and bought a makeup brush kit and the other products she uses in the video (sans the uber-expensive eyeshadow palette) ... all the while feeling like such a poser. Anyway, I've been experimenting .... feeling like a prepubescent wannabee who's raided her mother's makeup drawer, except my mom never really wore that much makeup (hence my ignorance--I blame you, Mother!!). WHATEVER. Apparently "filling your eyebrows" is supposed to make a huge difference, and I can't decide whether it makes me look better, or else like Frida Kahlo (that would be worse, if there was any question. Sorry, Frida). The above picture is an example of my eyebrows in their "filled" state. Is it weird? Be honest. I'm serious, I want honesty. I had a friend once who did her eyeliner in a horrible, horrible way (even I, in my makeup novice-ness, knew it was bad), and I always hoped that if I ever fell prey to a serious makeup mistake that someone would gently lead me back to the fold of normalcy. So tell me if I look like a Furby.

Another shot of my questionable eyebrows. Also, Ruby was filling her shorts when this picture was taken, hence my alarmed face.

Back to Ruby. She smiles all day--I love it. She rolls over on accident sometimes. Babbles when babbled to. Very tolerant of Graham's love. Ridiculously adorable in this robe, made by my best friend Stephanie.

Am I a Jedi?

Or am I a Sith Lord?!?

Nathan: His poor Honda has finally died, and he's currently looking for a replacement (a Toyota, the traitor). As an analyst by trade, this means lots of ... analysis. Also, he's getting his ACL repaired next week, so I'm excited to have him home, if incapacitated and whining for popsicles from his beloved leather recliner, for two weeks. A coworker invited us to the beach with his family last weekend, so we went and had fun.

Crystal Beach. I am a horrible mother and both my children got sunburned.

Kimber: Is self-conscious about her eyebrows. Cherry-picks the cookie dough from her ice cream, then is depressed about the cookie-dough-less ice cream mocking her from the freezer. Locked her keys in her van last night and so had to borrow a friend's car to take her baby to the doctor. Killed a spider that was building a web in her husband's hair tonight.

This isn't a great blog post, but I had this epiphany the other day: even Taza poops. I said it.