Confession

It's good for the soul, right?

Good.  So here's mine.

I let Owen burn his hand yesterday.  And bad enough for the doctor to think it warranted a personal audience with her.  (Although not as bad as the bandage makes it look.  A few band-aids would do the job, but he just won't leave those alone.  And the last thing I need right now is to have to call poison control and tell them my son has used his bandages as Silver Sulfadiazine flavored chewing gum.)

So was it a hot saucepan in which I had just lovingly boiled organic peas for him?

Or the light bulb under which we sat reading educational books?

Nope.  While I stood at the bathroom mirror applying eyeliner, sweet baby reached up and stuck his hand into the jaws of my flat iron.  He cried so hard the tears actually jumped off of his face, and he kept holding his hand out away from his body like it didn't belong to him anymore.  Pit.Uh.Ful.

Thankfully his wonderful pediatrician had us in her office within the hour, dressed his wounds and declared that he would be good as new by next week.

Still, I was feeling pretty down about it all after I put Owen to bed last night.  So I decided today would be All Owen Day.  No errands.  No chores.  No self-grooming. (Folks, I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, and I'm wearing flannel gingerbread man pj bottoms with a sweatshirt that dates back to my tween years.)

The first 3 hours of AOD were full of moments for the Mommy Blogger Archives:  rolling on the floor in a field of pillows,  making silly robot noises until Owen's giggles turned into cackles,  Owen charging across the room to bear hug me.

But then it happened.  A 15-second lapse.  I was still in the room with him, less than 10 feet away, but I let him slide into my periphery for about 15 seconds, and that's when he attempted to stand on our ottoman, which has wheels, which rolled out from under him and deposited him face-first onto the hardwood floor.  More jumping tears.

And now, in addition to having a lobster claw for a left hand, Owen's swollen upper lip and jaw make him look like the hairless baby brother of the Geico Caveman. 

Phew!  Glad to be able to just put that out there.  So how about you?  Ever tried to kill your kid?  Or want to share how your own parents' negligence nearly led to your demise?  C'mon, I double-dog dare you to make me feel better.

Everyday Owen: Morning Chatter

A Quick Catch-up: Saturday & Sunday Edition

On Saturday we finally unpacked our box of loot that we had to ship home from our Texas Christmas.  Styrofoam peanuts may not be very earth-friendly, but they're for sure Owen-friendly.

And this was the night I finally found an explanation for Owen's bad naps:  a molar protruding from his bottom left gum line.  What happened to all those other teeth that were supposed to come in first?!

Sunday afternoon we went to the park.  There was a dad there kicking around his daughter's soccer ball while she was otherwise occupied, and Owen sneaked up behind him and took it!  The little girl wasn't too happy about sharing, but the dad was gracious, and we were surprised how good O was at dribbling it.  I guess he's heard how chicks dig soccer players (well that and how they get to wear their hair any way they want).

Once he was all happy and played out we blind-sided him with a double grocery store trip to Target and Whole Foods.

And that was our weekend!  Hope yours was lovely.

One more video

A Quick Catch-up: Friday Edition

Our internet went on the fritz for about 46 hours (not that I was counting or pacing or obsessively re-starting my computer or anything).  And I'm sure knowing that I couldn't post was making me want to post all the more, but every time I turned around, I saw something or thought of something I wanted to share with you.  So here's a quick re-cap.

The firm that did our house re-model last year decided to enter our project for an award, plus Portico is looking at including before and after shots of our bathroom in an upcoming issue.  What does that have to do with Owen?  Well, one of the guys from the firm came by Friday to get more shots of the finished room, and he used his fancy camera to take this candid of Owen.  Isn't the quality great?  I wish I wish I wish I had one! 

Update:  Ha!  I guess that's what I get for coveting.  It would seem that the photo is of such high resolution that it's too nice for my blog.  Sometimes I log on and it's there and sometimes it's not.  Can you see it?  If not and it's just killing you, I can e-mail it.  Just leave a comment and place your order!

It was brutally cold at the end of last week, with a wind chill of zero when we got up Friday morning.  We waited until it warmed up to the 30s to go outside.

O is becoming an avid outdoorsman.   He bays at the front door worse than the cats sometimes.  And it is no longer acceptable to come up our front walk and go straight into the house.  Owen begs (Literally!  He signs "please".) for a quick swing.

After playing in the yard a while, we came in and jumped on the bed.  While staying at their house, Owen's Grandmother and Granddad helped him figure out what fun that can be.  He's pretty good at playing the Trust Game.  No cowardly bending of the knees or checking over the shoulder for Owen!  Oh, and that's an acorn from the yard he's holding up at the end of the clip.  Should I confess that, despite capturing it on video, I didn't even realize he possessed that particular choking hazard?  Scott discovered it in Owen's pocket about 10 minutes later and took it from him.  It took a day or two for me to upload this footage and find the acorn's unappreciated guest appearance.

The image uploader is a little slow tonight so stay tuned for the Saturday and Sunday editions!

Everyday Owen: Toy Demonstration (and an uh-oh)

O me of little faith

January 9, 2008

Owen is napping again.  Thank you for your encouraging words and kind tolerance of my melodrama.

Love,

Shelley

Can't Sleep

I've just spent the past hour next to Owen's crib in a stance that would make Quasimodo proud.  I sang You Are My Sunshine until I hung my head and cried.  And now I'm sitting here listening to Owen whimper through his efforts to dismantle his crib.  His naps have flown the coop.

They'll come back, right?  Please say they'll come back.

Ack!  I hate being in this place where I want so desperately for Owen to sleep.  A sleep schedule seems to be one of those things that the harder you chase it the more elusive it becomes.  I'm the goof thwacking face-first into the mud, and Owen's nap is the greased pig.

Exactly.

If and when I get him to sleep in the afternoons, the lengths I'll go to keep him that way are ridiculous.  I stuff a towel under his door as an extra buffer from outside noise and light, and of course there are blackout shades, a noise machine and two fans inside his room serving the same purpose.  I put two more closed doors between Owen and the cats and me, turn off the phone ringer, don't run the dishwasher, washer or dryer, don't flush any toilets and even turn off the thermostat because it's right outside his room and makes this awful clicking noise when it cycles on.  But you can only control so many variables.

On Wednesday, some teenage boy (with hopes of being validated by the car he drives) went roaring up our street less than an hour into Owen's nap.

On Thursday, the yard guys showed up at minute 55.

And today I have no idea what happened to wake Owen up the first time.  I do know that I nearly had him to sleep the second time only to be thwarted by Coby Cat's beating on the hall door.  I was so angry I vowed to kill the creature and have him made into a Davy Crockett hat.

Maybe it's a growth spurt or a new tooth or the result of our recent travels.  Who knows?  I could drive myself nuts trying to figure it out.  In the meantime I'll do my best to act like it doesn't bother me.  

And hopefully stay clear of the mud.

At the park with Isaiah.

Hats & Glasses

14.