Finish this Sentence...

Clothes __________
 a) make the man.
 b) aren't necessary. (I'm a nudist.)
 c) transform a (more or less) rational woman into a pathetic, blubbering mess on the nursery floor, surrounded by a mountain of outgrown onesies, as she wipes tears off of her phone screen while texting her husband about how her babies are growing up so fast.

The correct answer here is C (clearly). I'm not a nudist, nor have I intentions on becoming one. Then again, I never had intentions of becoming a clinging, sentimental mommy who gets weepy thinking about how quickly her precious, tiny angels are turning into adults who will leave her and never want her kisses and snuggles ever again. Ugh.

To combat this rising crazy, er, panic that my babies are growing up too quickly for the past several days I've been forcing Nora and Nolan into outfits that are too small for them, because I'm not ready to let go yet (totally not crazy). Have you ever seen a six month old in high waters? How about a dress that is now approximately a t-shirt? If they're still wearing 3 month sizes they're still only 3 months, right?!(again, not crazy)

So, yeah...best intentions. I guess we'll see how the nudist thing turns out after all.

Outfits for their 2 Week doctor appointment. <3

Passive Aggression and the Almighty Baby Monitor

"Oh look, Nora, Mommy left the wipes open...again"

"Nolan, you know you're not supposed to watch TV! Let's turn it off."

"You know, guys, you could just tell Mommy that you don't like show tunes."

Our poor children. Perhaps they'll never know that they are really just pawns in the intricate game of passive aggression between me and Corey. Please keep in mind that my husband and I love each other very much and we communicate well, but also keep in mind that we are married. To each other. In the olden days it was just the dog bearing the weighty burden of our off-hand remarks, snarky comments, and scathing criticisms delivered in loving baby-talk ("Brenley! Why did you leave Daddy's shoes in front of the door for me to trip on?!"). Lucky for her, we now have two more non-speaking life forms off of which to bounce our true feelings and frustrations.

This emotional immaturity doesn't stop at verbal digs, oh no. There are myriad sighs, eye rolls, cupboard slams, and hardwood floor stomps to really drive home those subtle-but-not-really-subtle hints of displeasure. A few of my favorites center around the Almighty Baby Monitor.

The baby monitor is a necessary evil. It's a fantastic tool, yet you find yourself bound to it, night after night: a slave to its hypnotizing static, remote camera panning, and night vision. Yes, our house is only 1600 square feet and we really could hear them anywhere, but the monitor gives you the most crucial information of your entire day or night: ARE THE BABIES STILL ASLEEP?! If they are not, then someone has to go in there...and you don't want it to be you.

There are a few passive aggressive ways to avoid the nighttime nursery visit. First, keeping it simple, is to just pretend that you didn't wake up when you heard your daughter wake out of a sound sleep screaming like a banshee at 2:30am. Fake sleep. Make your partner get her. It is imperative to follow this up with a concerned (and appropriately groggy sounding) "Is everything okay? Is someone up? Oh, I didn't even hear her!" when your partner returns to bed. I admit I do this. I am a jerk.

Corey likes the I'm Going Downstairs To Play Video Games But Text Me If They Wake Up approach. Yeah, if one of the babies is crying I'm going to grab my phone and text you in the basement to let you know that one of the babies is crying instead of going in there and putting a stop to it before the other one wakes up. Probably not. This one is a good one.

The last one we are both guilty of. Once we have put the kids to bed one of us will grab the monitor and set it on the coffee table so we can keep an eye on them. Here's the sneaky part...when putting the monitor on the coffee table you have to put it (nonchalantly) as close to the other person as possible without their noticing. That way if there's a sound they have to check the monitor making them feel obligated to go in and you can stay on the couch, comfortably sipping your second (second, right?) glass of wine and playing Words With Friends. Perfect.

Cautionary Tale

Today was a frightening day. I knew that it would come eventually, but why so soon? Only at six months? A mother likes to think she can keep her babies little and safe and sheltered forever, but that's not the case.

Nolan got his first bruise. On his forehead. I feel terrible. I tried to protect him, but there was nothing I could do, especially against such a vicious attack from such a depraved individual and his nasty little accomplice.

Dennis Hopper (left) and Beefy the Cow. These two deserve the worst the system has to offer.

That's them, folks, the ones who hurt my baby. None other than Dennis Hopper and Beefy the Cow. Even writing their names and seeing their foul faces fills my mouth with bile and my heart with anger. How did this happen? Let me share our tale of pain and woe so that it might not happen to you and yours!

Nora, Nolan, and I were playing on the floor and I was helping Nolan practice sitting. Dennis Hopper and Beefy the Cow had been loitering, innocently enough, on our blanket. I could see no reason for them to not be there...they had gotten along well with the children in the past.

Suddenly, Nolan's disproportionately heavy head caused him to lose his balance, falling right into Dennis' waiting trap. As poor Nolan's head made audible contact with Dennis' hard face, Beefy just sat and watched, wearing that malicious smirk on his stupid little face.

It was over almost as soon as it began, even though these things seem to happen in slow motion to those involved. After the attack I have to say I was extremely proud of Nolan's reaction. I scooped him up and got him out of reach of the repugnant pair. He hardly cried at all and the only medical attention needed was a few well-placed kisses. Nolan is at home recovering now.

I can't say that Dennis Hopper and his pal Beefy are going to be so lucky, however. This is a warning to everyone out there. If you hurt my child, I will hurt you.

I'm putting you on notice, Dennis. You best watch your back.

The System. Is Down.

Please bear with us as we have not posted in a few days. Unfortunately our laptop has come down with a sudden case of Got-Water-Spilled-On-It and it's really annoying to write a blog from an iPhone. Until we get it fixed/replaced, we just might be maintaining radio silence. Hope to see you all soon!!