A few weeks ago, Uncle Jay came to town.

He's not actually related by blood - neither Brian or I have a brother. Jay is one of Brian's friends from his law school days. He was in our wedding. Jay is one of the sweetest, most likable people on the planet with a big heart and an infectious laugh. He's single, loves kids, and is the best kind of friend to toddlers - he's the guy that doesn't hesitate to get on the floor and play with your kid. Scotty adores Uncle Jay for any number of reasons: he's a human jungle gym. He willingly plays chase. He taught Scotty about the "uh-oh" bar in the car (which Scotty still gleefully grab if I take a curve to quickly.)

Jay was in town for his Fantasy Football draft and met up with us for dinner on Friday night. He had plans with his friends for the rest of weekend, but assured us he would stop over on Sunday before he left to get in some quality Bear-time. I knew Scotty would be delighted to see Uncle Jay, and I spent most of Saturday thinking about what to serve for brunch as well as tidying up the house.

The phone rang on Sunday morning at 7:20am. It was Uncle Jay. "I'm just going to bed now," he told Brian. He wasn't going to make it. When Brian relayed the news to me, I blinked once, then uttered a most random sentiment: "Good thing I didn't thaw the good bacon." You can take the girl out of the Midwest, but you can't take the Midwest out of the girl.

Back to the matter at hand: Did Uncle Jay really just trade in time with my child for some ubiquitous Vegas vice? Or vices? 

I had the tough job of breaking the sad news to the Bear. Scotty looked confused but took it well. What broke my heart later was that for the next week, he kept mentioning Uncle Jay. His lack of awareness of time made him think that Uncle Jay was still planning to come over - any minute now. Poor little disappointed Bear.

I'm fairly certain Brian had some terse words with Uncle Jay about the cancelled date. I don't know what transpired in the course of the conversation, but a few days later, this showed up on our doorstep:

Yup, that's right. A tiny firetruck that can only be described as THE GREATEST GIFT FOR A TRUCK-LOVING LITTLE BOY EVER. It has sirens, bells, whistles - even a miniature pick-ax on the back (for breaking tiny windows, I'd imagine). The truck is fast, too - and big. Scotty's little legs aren't long enough to reach the pedals, but when they are, we're going to need to run to keep up with him when he drives it. The thing is so big that I couldn't pick it up to put it away, so on a day when Scotty was in school, I ended up driving it through our house. I almost took out the pillar in our living room. And I'll be honest - the thing corners like it's on rails. Sweet ride, yo.

Needless to say, Scotty ADORES his new firetruck. The only thing better would be if it came with a real live Dalamatian puppy. (no Jay! Don't get any ideas!!!)

So Uncle Jay, thank you for such a wonderful, generous, and thoughtful gift. In the future though, all you need to do is just head to bed a reasonable hour and then spend some time with the boy. And then maybe I'll defrost the good bacon.

Sorry, that last post wasn't supposed to turn into a two-parter, but something went wrong with either the website or my computer. Either way...where were we?

When you are done with your cheese...

...play a mean game of peek-a-boo with your plate.

It's almost game time! Next up: make sure Momb has plenty to read.

Have Dad change the channel so you can watch all of the pregame action.

Be sure to text all of your friends about the game. Trash-talking is so much fun.

Grab your pom-poms and make sure the ceiling fan is set at exactly the right speed.

And finally, open the door when your friends arrive!  Monday Night Football is ready to start!

You may find yourself asking, "What does a small bear do on Game Day?" In two words - a lot. Let me show you.

First, you need to wear your favorite team's jersey all day. 

Then you need to make sure you eat plenty, because a hungry Bear is a cranky Bear.

(I have no idea why we were eating on the kitchen floor. It just seemed like a good idea that the time.) 

It's best if you fill up on cheese, since it is the world's greatest food.

Be sure to share your cheese with loved ones.

(quick joke: What do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you?

Answer:  Nacho cheese! (hahaha) )

Discuss politics and the state of this country over lunch.

And then, when you are almost done...

Whoops - to be continued in the next entry (Weebly won't let me add anymore pictures)

Not a whole lot to report here...it's been a good, quiet week. Just some random comments...

I am five books into the week. I love my iPad and the ease in which I can purchase new books. Literally, it takes 3 seconds. I'm not sure Brian contemplated this aspect of the iPad when he bought it for me, but per our friend Uncle Jim, we are slowly going bankrupt, $12.99 at a time.  I can read, check Facebook, and my email all without ever getting off the couch. If only it would text, it would be perfect. (Steve Jobs, are you reading this?)

Brian and I have taken to calling Scotty "FrankenBear" since his walk is more of a lurch. He balls up his arms to his sides when he lurches, and I swear, all he needs are the bolts on the side of his neck and some green paint and he would look exactly like the monster from 'Frankenstein' (a miniature version, at least). (and for all you aspiring English scholars out there, the monster was never actually Frankenstein; that was the name of the doctor who created him. The monster was always just referred to as 'the monster' in the book. See? You just learned something.)

I had to endure yet another session of Paid Humiliation on Thursday afternoon. I'm not sure if it was because the horror of Music Lesson Tuesday was still fresh in my mind, but swimming lessons weren't so bad this time. I was back in the one-piece black suit and managed to secure the boobs prior to the lesson, so that gave me a bit of confidence. Only one Bikini Babe was there, and the other two women were really nice and normal. And -- this is very exciting -- Scotty is actually getting better! Brian and I were debating why we put in him lessons so early, since I'm not sure he even comprehends directions at this point, but seeing actual improvement was very, very exciting. We're not up to laps just yet, but the little Bear managed to kick one leg when I dunked him, and he immediately went into floating position when it was time for that in the class. Progress! Out of the four kids in the class, he was probably second best. Not bad. I mean, one kid was only seven months (and howled the whole time), and the other kid and his mother didn't speak English, but we'll take what we can get.

The weather here continues to hover in the mid-90s, though I'm wearing jeans and drinking hot drinks from Starbucks. Summer, be damned. I am ready for fall. I am getting really anxious to buy some pumpkins and purchase Scotty's Halloween costume (currently, still a secret...). And I am SO ready to not feel like I'm baking every time I go outside, even if it's just for a few minutes. Autumn, where are you?

Well, other than that, things are pretty quiet around here. We have a nice weekend planned. The Packers play on Monday night, which means Brian will be home early. Do I have to dress Scotty in his Packer jersery all day? I don't know the rules on this one. And, the other day, Brian mentioned to me it would "nice" if I "ever wanted to wear [my] Aaron Rodgers' jersey" during a game, as a sign of support. Sigh. It really is football season, isn't it? Brian takes zero interest in my wardrobe until the Packers hit the field.

Some pictures of Scotty lurching around the park this week:

Have a great weekend, everyone!

  Ahh, football in the desert. Is there nothing better?

Actually, there are SO many more things that are better…I’m not a huge football fan to begin with, and football with a baby? Not so much. As I described to dear friend Courtney, going to a football game is like a max 7 on the Fun Scale (from one to ten). Seven is the highest the scale goes when sports are involved. And, as I mentioned, throw in a baby and you have an automatic minus ten. So really, on the Fun Scale, we are looking at a maximum of -3 total points. Not good, friends, not good.

And yet, it was a surprisingly enjoyable weekend. I do have to offer this caveat, though, in the spirit of honesty - the weekend had nothing to do with fun or football. It was fun because it was a success. And success is defined as 'we survived and the child slept.' I remember when fun was defined as something else...something much truer to the actual Webster definition, but what can you do?

Brian and I drove down to Phoenix on Saturday morning, and I will admit, I was insanely excited to spend 5 full hours with my husband without the possibility of firm phone calls and/or a screaming baby. We could actually talk! What would we talk about? It was like a date! Only in a car! And although we had to navigate through some dangerous territory (Hoover Dam, anyone?), it was a surprisingly scenic drive, resplendent with large rock formations and desert cacti. The Bear slept, Brian and I dined on Starbucks (skinny vanilla latte for him, regular drip with soy milk for me, muffins all around), and we talked as though we were a couple without kids. Which was refreshingly delicious.

We went to a Packer rally at a local Sports bar on Saturday night, and all of the green and gold made Brian almost giddy. It was cute to watch. This is a much-needed change from his demeanor earlier that afternoon when we were in Kingman, AZ. I seriously yelled at Brian for about 30 miles.  Why? you ask. Well, let's just describe it like this:  we had just pulled into a gas station. Brian got out to pump gas. I went inside to get drinks. While inside, I decided it would be prudent to also use the restroom. Upon leaving the restroom, I found a very nonchalant Brian standing next to the soda fountain selection, perusing the choices. Sans baby.
 
Let me say that again; Sans baby.

I gasped as soon as I saw him. "Where is the Bear?" I hissed.

He looked over at me. He gestured over his shoulder. "In the car. Totally asleep." He smiled confidently.

I about had a heart attack. I kid you not. I'm sure my posture dropped to crouch-like status and I immediately began running towards the car. "You can't do that!" I shrieked. "You CAN'T DO THAT!"

He caught me at the door. "What? Huh? He's fine."

I stuttered, barely able to contain my emotions. "No! You can't do that! He's not a DOG! People STEAL babies! Babies DIE in CARS!  Go to the car! Go to the CAR!"

Brian hightailed it out of the gas station and with shaking hands, I purchased a water and a Gatorade. Shaking. Shaking.

And thus, for the next thirty miles, I berated Brian about how/why it is bad to leave a baby in the car. He honestly did not know he could not leave a baby in the car. In his defense, it's not like this is mentioned in any baby books. Nor had it been a topic of discussion between us, so...who knew?  I think he got the point after the first .5 miles, but I continued for the next 25.5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brian will not be leaving the child in the car any time soon.

So, yeah, Packer rally on Saturday night. Again, when you have a baby with you, you don't get to drink beer and hang with the other Wisconsin folk. You don't get to stand in line to get signed souveniers from former Packer players. And with a baby, you eat as quickly as you can because your child has woken up and you know you are 2.1 seconds away from a total meltdown. Which is exactly what we did.

I am happy to report the Bear slept (!!) from 10pm until 7am on Saturday night. Mind you, our teeny-tiny bar area looked like this:

so it's not like we were living large. I washed bottles while Brian rocked the Bear to sleep. We had ordered a crib from the hotel (along with a room far, far away from other patrons) and it reminded us of an orphanage crib in Romaina. White bars, thin mattress, etc. Scotty looked so sad in it that I couldn't bring myself to take a picture, but it worked. He slept. God bless the sleeping baby.

Brian and I were seriously afraid to move after he fell asleep, and I must have woken about 10 times upon hearing the cries of the baby next door. Yes, some other couple must have asked for a room far, far away because they, too, had a sleep-striking infant. I didn't even want to cough out of fear of waking Scotty. Yet, miraculously, when I looked at my watch for the first time that morning, it read 7:04am. God bless us all. Scotty slept through the night in a different zip code.

And that football game we were supposed to attend?  Practically an afterthought after a night of Sleepy Scotty.  Let's just say it like this: I'm fairly certain we have traumatized Scotty to crazy people wearing red waving towels. The minute we sat down, I knew it was going to be a long day. He immediately looked around at the screaming Cardinal fans and began howling. The damn Cardinal fans wouldn't shut up (it was the National Anthem! Stop screaming! Your team isn't that good!) and I realized quickly that I would not be able to shush 90,000 fans, so I hightailed it out of the arena. Which began...the walking.

And more walking. And then...more walking.

I think I might be able to give Jillian Michaels a run for her money. Last-chance work-out? Yeah, try strapping a 20-lb infant to your body and climbing stadium stairs for two hours. Brian looked so cute and so happy in his seat (along with the other Packer fans that were in our row) that i couldn't bring myself to ask him to help out with the baby. And so, I accepted my lot in life: miss the entire time, tend to my child, and walk the Earth like Cain from Kung Fu. Or at least, University of Phoenix Stadium for four, long quarters. Oh, and let's not forget: overtime, too. Yeeeeeah, me.

On my second lap around the stadium, vendors started smiling at me. I stopped to chat with them. Ditto for security. And some other folks even found Scotty so cute that they asked me to pose for pictures for them. I felt like the Paris Hilton of the Packer game - I was a bona fide celebrity! People LOVED my baby. This was great! Nothing boosts a mood like some ego-stroking. Though it wasn't me that was generating the buzz, it was still fun to pose with the Bear. As long as we don't end up on some random website or Facebook page. (please keep an eye out for me.)

So, yeah, it was fun. I ate a soft pretzel while Scotty vomited on me. I grabbed a Coke during one of my laps and strongly considered doing leg lunges. It was like my own personal gym, but with yummy snacks. When the whole arena erupted into joyous celebration (thus confirming my fears that the Packers lost), I stood stoically by a large pillar and prayed the Bear and I didn't get trampled. We didn't. But we were greeted by a very sad, forelorn Brian carrying a diaper bag. He looked like someone just took his puppy. Poor guy. Needless to say, it was a quiet ride home.

And so, football season for our family is over. No more GanstaBoy standing hopefully on our doorstep, no more Sunday mornings with Uncle Jim (and Starbucks doughnuts!), and no more Scotty in his Packer onesie. Which, by the way, he fills in VERY well. Considering he started football season a mere 8-9lbs, he is pushing 20 at this point. Which, in my opinion, makes the whole season a success.

I've been such a bad blogger lately...it seems like (for the hundredth time, I'll say it) time is flying...on the wings of love? (::giggle::) No, it's just really moving quickly. Between the Bear, house-hunting, pumping, and football games in Arizona (yes, you read that correctly), I can't keep straight what day it is.

Ahem...yes, we shall be traveling this weekend. Because Scotty did such a great job in Indiana (snort), we decided to chance it again and take him to Phoenix for the Packers/Cardinals game. Actually, the conversation went something like this:

B: I'd like to go the playoff game this weekend.
K: Please don't leave me alone with our sleep-striking child.
B: I'll take him with me
K: Really? (seriously contemplates this) But what would he eat?
B: Pretzels? Beer?
K: I'm coming with you. Get the car seat.

And thus, it was determined that we, as a family, will be making the trek through the desert to the University of Phoenix Stadium. I mean, the last time we went to Phoenix, it was nothing short of a disaster. It was September (which means the temperature hovered right around 115 degrees), our tickets in the then-outdoor-stadium were directly in the sun, the concession stand ran out of water, and someone, who shall go nameless (::cough, cough, PURPLE, cough, cough::) left her purse in the ladies room and almost had a panic attack and died. And then we almost missed our plane. Ahh, family fun.

This time, however, we vow to make it different. For one, Brian and I are now seasoned travelers with the Bear. I am anticipating he will not sleep. Likewise, I have already requested a room at the hotel far from other guests. I also have a car adapter for my pump (woot! Thanks, Court) so I can pump in the car and travel with ease. And of course, let us not forget what Phoenix is home to: Chick-Fil-A, aka Brian's favorite restaurant. And so, I have no doubt that I will be sleep-deprived and exhausted by the time I heft the 20-lb child in the Baby Bjorn (shout out to my own personal Babies-R-Us - Courtney again!), but at least I have a cute Aaron Rodgers jersey to wear under it.

So be sure to look for us on TV! I have no doubt, too, that Scotty's adorable mug will likely be featured on the Jumbo-Tron, thus jumpstarting his baby modeling career. My only regret is that we don't have a wee cheesehead for him to wear...

Go Pack!

The weather here in Vegas was just terrible today. It was about 45 degrees and rainy. People actually cancel appointments when it rains. It's like the Midwestern equivalent of an ice storm. I guess when you live in the desert, anything that falls from the sky is slightly disturbing.

Two scary events happened today...

First, my breast pump died! I cannot tell you how traumatic this was. I had an inkling that his days were numbered but the actual end was unexpected and rather tragic. I mean, Mr. Medela Lactina has been with me through a lot. Scotty's ambulance ride. Scotty's second homecoming. My re-lactation. DairyGate. I have probably spent more time with this pump than my own husband.

Medela Lactina had been wheezing for about a week now, and after a quick review of systems, my (very basic) diagnostic test came back positive for motor failure. The little guy managed to eek it out through my early morning pump (usually a 30+ minute adventure) but by noon, he had joined the other good breast pumps in the sky. I packed Scotty in the warmest outfit I could manage (onesie, pants, sock, sweater, and I installed his 'Bundle Me' in his car seat) and headed out to the lactation center. Thankfully, the women at the front desk didn't ask too many questions (like, how often did you use this? I would have had to reply, "At least six times a day for the past four months, usually averaging 20-30 minutes per pump. That comes out to approximately 15,725 minutes of use.  Yes, I used the beejesus out of your pump. And thank you for giving this to me for free" -- which, inexplicably, they 'scholarship-ed' us the pump so we haven't paid a dime -- "as I now return it to you, deader than a doornail. Sorry about that.") 

I was given a replacement pump and quickly hightailed it out of the center before they could plug the old guy back in. The less questions, the better.

(In my defense, I did try to get Scotty back on the boob...it just never worked. I'm sure these pumps are not made for in the insane amount of use I have put them through, but what's a girl to do? Scotty's gotta eat.)

And so, R.I.P., Medela Lactina Serial Number 309485. You will be missed. XOXO.

And the second scary thing to happen today...

Just as I was preparing to pump (honest! My whole life really does revolve around pumping), there was a knock at the door. Now, many of you would probably think, "Hmm. There have been some shady folks in Kim's life lately. Weird people in the neighborhood. You would think she would learn her lesson and not answer the door."  You would think.

But I swear, I was a cat in another lifetime, and yes, we all know how it ended after that bout with curiosity. Thankfully, I hadn't started pumping yet and when I looked through the peephole, I was practically blinded by the green and gold figure standing on the porch. Yes, GanstaBoy was back. The Packers were on Monday night and GanstaBoy was wearing his colors. How could I forget?

He, again, asked if Brian was home. At least this time I didn't have to lie - Brian was still at work. (he was taping the game, but I casually omitted that fact.) GanstaBoy then proceeded to tell me about his job ("It's going great!"), his wife ("Well, we're not married yet, but I still call her my wife." I snorted and told him that once you're married, it's not going to feel nearly so clever), and the Packers' season. He still looked a little too eager for my liking (no, there is NO chance I will turn on football if Brian is not in the home, and there is NO CHANCE IN HELL I will invite GanstaBoy in if Brian is not home) so I rather bluntly told him that DirecTV is offering all kinds of holiday specials and he should look into. I have no idea if that is even true, but it was worth a shot. He got the hint (?) and left.

I'm off to curl up on the couch and watch a tape-delayed Packer game (yaaaaay. Not really). This storm is moving east, so it looks like it will touch all of us. Be sure to stay warm!