100% Justin's Fault

I should begin by admitting we were having issues.

Issues that I frequently complained about.

Issues with a certain son, who we shall refer to as Captain Fling and Destroy, who was obsessed with opening my kitchen drawers and especially raiding my dishwasher at any given opportunity.

I will admit I may have repeatedly mentioned to my husband that too much of my cardiovascular workout came from sprinting to the kitchen in response to the sound of shattering glass.

But the solution was 100% Justin's idea.

Therefore, Biggie's newest neurosis is 100% Justin's fault.

During a recent dishwasher raid, Justin attacked Biggie's bottom with these.

Justin didn't PINCH Biggie's bottom, mind you.

Just clicked them wildly behind Biggs and screamed at him to run for his life because the pinch monster was going to eat his bottom off.

And Biggs believed him.

100%.

Now, whenever Biggs comes into the kitchen, he nearly gives himself whiplash...spinning around at the slightest noise and shaking like a leaf.

One mention of the Tong Monster and the kid streaks out of the room and down the hall.

The mere sight of them brings him to tears.

And, God forbid, you should click them together.

He dissolves into a weeping, shrieking, blubbering mess.

As testament to the fine parents we are, the tongs stand guard to the kitchen entryway.

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

So, for those keeping track...

in choosing a disciplinary tactic for our son who is known for having significant food issues and a slew of irrational fears...

my husband chose to instill a paralyzing fear of eating utensils to keep Biggs out of the room where the food is located.

I have to say, though, emptying a dishwasher without fighting off 33 pounds of maniacal toddler has been pretty sweet.

And Biggs won't be the first Heigele man to choke up at the news that I'm serving salad for supper.

But, in Biggie's future therapy sessions...should this neurotic behavior stand out from the countless others that I will have to assume direct responsibility for...

...just remember.

This one was 100% Dad-produced.

iPhone Friday: Modeling

circa Winter 2010

SUCH a handsome monkey man.

Pudge's First Field Trip

Today, LC celebrated her first field trip by accompanying her preschool class to a local bowling alley.

Miss Ann has been talking about bowling and everyone has been practicing bowling (along with other sports) at school for weeks, so all the preschoolers arrived ready to roll.

Our buddies looked AWESOME in their special shoes.

But, since rentals didn't drop down into infant sizes, Pudge got special permission to bowl in her own tennis shoes.

Miss Ann took time to remind everyone of the bowling process...

And, in true hero fashion, Dad surprised Pudge by showing up to make sure her first bowling experience occurred under his direct advisement.  (It was a good move.  He's seen me bowl.)

Things were off to a great start...

until...

This ended badly.

Multiple times.

So, once again, Miss Ann saved the day by suggesting Pudge utilize the ramp for the rest of her bowling turns.

It was the perfect solution!  Pudge bowled a strike, picked up a couple spares, and ended with a very respectable score of 88.

Not that she was aware.  Like her mother, Pudge's bowling passion went lukewarm after she discovered the establishment served french fries and slurpies.

We had a super time and I have a feeling the bowling bug has bitten.

Way to go, Pudge!

We thought you bowled like a star.

WW: Beautiful Weather Bonus

WW: Ever Onward to Integral

(Laundry sorting in the nude was a Pudge twist on the daily chore. 

Probably trying to cut down on her work load.)

Pudge's Sunshine Pie

Today we're sharing Pudge's Sunshine Pie with you.

Because it's been a bit rainy.

And Sunshine Pie cheers us up.

Pudge's Sunshine Pie isn't meant to be a display of favoritism.

Biggie could have his own pie, too.

But that squib is still anti-food.

And if I was sharing a recipe for a pie he would eat, the post title would be "Long Awaited Miracle from God Pie".

Or "Toilet Paper Pie".  Which really requires no recipe.  And isn't one most of you would be interested in utilizing anyway.

So, today we'll just share a goodie from Pudge.

She recommends you make one...right away.

Pudge's Sunshine Pie

1 8 oz. block cream cheese, room temperature
1 can pie filling (we use lemon)
1/2 cup sugar
1 tub whipped topping
1 graham crust

Whip up the cream cheese in your mixer until it's fluffy.  Then whip the sugar into it for awhile.  Next, add all but a few tablespoons of your pie filling.  Fold in the whipped topping and then dump it all into your graham crust.  Put the rest of the pie filling on top of the pie and stick it in the fridge for a few hours.  Unless a squib saw you making it.  And is feeling impatient.  Then an hour or so in the freezer will do.  Happy munching.

Hoodies Up.

Fear is fear and hate is hate.

No matter the target.

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies,
but the silence of our friends." 

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

iPhone Friday: Flashback

This is an oldie from about a year and a half ago, taken during one of our marathon Children's Hospital days, when we go for a full day and see as many specialists as we can coordinate.

Oh, Biggs.

How did I manage to look at you without breaking out into laughter every.  single.  time?

It kind of looks like TinTin and the Michelin Man had a baby.

Love you, Buddy. 

And it's a darn good thing I do.  Wowza.

From Our Chromosomes to Your's...

Happy World Down Syndrome Day!

Poor Roobie.

First, a confession.  We've not attempted Pudge's big girl bed, due to a hacking cough that wakes her repeatedly in the night.  And fear.  A whole lot of fear.  But we'll let you know when we get crazy enough to give it a go.  On with today's adventures...

Our Shih-Tzu, Roobie, hates thunderstorms.

Our other dog, Barney, used to hate them until he went stone-cold deaf.

Now, he sleeps through the day regardless of the weather.

Roobie is paralyzed by thunderstorms.

She must huddle in our bathroom, quaking with fear, until sun breaks through the clouds again.

The forecast is calling for three straight days of rain.

Roobie's in for a long haul.

And, I'm afraid, her thunderstorm marathon got off to a shaky start.

It's my fault, entirely.

I'm used to the bathroom door being shut.

I'd forgotten I left it open a bit for Roobie to lurk inside.

The sight of the shut door didn't cause me any alarm.

Until I heard a little squib's voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

Never, never, never leave a squib behind a shut door.

I know the rule, Roobie.

And I'm very sorry.

I've stopped wondering what exactly motivates Pudge's actions.

I can give you no explanation, Roobie.

I like to think Pudge's attempts at mummification were well-intentioned.  A means of squib comfort.

I know.  We both know better.

Never have a pair of brown puppy dog eyes so clearly said,

"For the love of God.  Discipline this child."

We're workin' on it, Roobie.

We're workin' on it.

Big Girlin' It

After church today, LC was surprised by a new piece of bedroom furniture.

This was her response when we explained we expected her to stay IN the bed from bedtime until morning.

Not especially encouraging.

This one will remain in the crib where he currently resides...

...a decision largely influenced by Bigg's response to his sister's new bed.

We hope Pudge's first night as a citizen of Big Girldom is a restful one.

But I have a feeling the "Day LC Got a Big Girl Bed" will also be the "Day Mom & Dad Realized Why Squibs Should Sleep in Cages".

Wish us luck!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

iPhone Friday and CSTDIDWF

Justin took this picture on a recent roadtrip.  We were on hour number five and Biggs was melting down.

Biggs' favorite self-calming strategy is running his thumb up and down my arm.  If I don't offer it, he'll reach over and nearly yank it from my shoulder socket.

So this is how we finished that trip.  Pretty sure I still have the pattern of Biggie's carseat fabric imprinted on the left side of my face.

Then and Now Thursday

(Pardon the Biggs' lips.  Sidewalk chalk is in season and he says this year's crop is especially good.)

In the Name of Spring

There was no option.

We had to be outdoors today.

Even though Pudge's mouth exploded in blisters on Sunday...her tongue...her gums...her lips...and she's a grey little, weak little plague victim...we had to be outdoors.

Because we're having one of those "this is the exact climate in heaven" types of days and it couldn't be missed.

We kept it local...just stepped out into the backyard.

And, as soon as we did, all I could think about was the good that would surely come from so much sunshine and breeze on little squib faces.

That's probably why I forgot it had rained recently.

Or why I forgot we had an uncovered sandbox.

Biggie, of course, immediately remembered both.

And, by the time I discovered him, the damage was done.

So, in the name of Spring, I left the pig in his puddle.

In the name of Spring, we just let the havoc happen.

Because everything is washable...

...and memories are messy.

Because dirty is his favorite emotion...

...and mud is his new favorite drink.

Because I haven't seen a genuine smile from this one in too long...

...and I needed to coax my favorite daredevil into coming out again.

Sometimes it's just best to let happy happen.

All in the name of Spring.

He Will NOT be Outdone

Graphic Content Warning:  Which you should probably just assume when any post is dedicated to the Biggs.

One of Jace's claims to fame is his ability to go down for nap with pink, healthy skin and wake up with a diaper area covered in raw, blistered OUCH.

This is helped out by a stomach quirk that means, when he gets diarrhea, he basically shoots stomach acid into his pants and onto any skin unfortunate enough to come into contact with it.

So yesterday, when he woke up screaming, we knew to come running with the diaper cream.

Only too bad for the Biggs.

Because this blistered plague hit him in his groin.

Right where thunder thighs meet diaper.

And there was no preventing some serious chaffage.

All he could do was stand like he was straddling an invisible beach ball.

And scream.  He could also scream.

Diapers were not an option.

The boy's junk was on FIRE.

But he was also sputtering acidic poo with every wail.

It doesn't leave a mom with many options.

Thank you, Jesus, for a glorious 65 degree sunny afternoon.

(A medical situation made all the more unfortunate by the wearing of dark dress socks.)

Jace's "Feelin' the Burn" face.

This is the expression he immediately sported anytime he was forced to take a step.

Biggie quickly realized the most comfortable position was a nice, wide-legged squat that let him air out the boys and hit those blistered thighs with a little breeze.

Without exaggeration, Poor Biggety spent about 8 hours in this squatted position yesterday.  Not outside, mind you.  But perpetually squatted.  I can't imagine his quads hadn't turned to Jell-O by bedtime.

Of course, the natural remedy route had its drawbacks.

I don't know how those cavepeople did it.

But I'm darn sure they didn't do it in Nike shox from Cousin Curtie.

(Fear not, sweet Curtie.  It was a clean drop and we went inside, sans shoes, for an hour long soak in the tub.)

Luckily, the situation seems greatly improved today and it looks like Biggie's bowels are under control.

But he certainly earned rights as a contender for the "Sickest of the Sick" title I'd previously bestowed to Pudge.

I suppose the crown depends on your interpretation of the word.