Thursday, July 2, 2015

Who Is This Child That I Love So Dearly?

Hello there! It feels so good to be back. School's out, summer has begun, and I'm back to my favorite full-time, 24/7 job (pro bono of course) as Mommy, my most coveted title.

We've been very busy the last few months. On top of wrapping up the school year on the work front, we've been prepping our house to sell so we can move into a larger home that we can grow into.  And on top of that, we've also celebrated our daughter's first birthday, along with several milestones like walking, talking, climbing, jumping, talking, trying new foods, talking, tantrums, and talking, lots of talking. Mostly in her own language, but she sure has a lot to say!

Our baby girl has become quite the little diva these past few months. She walks around the house with her Fisher Price iPhone to her ear, chatting away. And when her one-sided convo is over, she drops it like a mic and continues walking without breaking her stride. Who is this child? She walks around like she owns the place. She even yells at the dog all the time for no reason at all. "DOWN!" she'll yell, pointing her finger at the poor dog who is already lying on the floor... sleeping. Truth be told, she is the reason we need a bigger house! Pretty soon she is going to demand her own bathroom. We're just trying to get ahead of the game.

Her developing personality has many layers. And I enjoy them all. In addition to her sassy diva side, she also has a sweet, nurturing side. I love watching her play with her baby dolls. Selfishly, I look for pieces of me in her when she feeds, rocks, burps, kisses her babies, and then whispers "I wuv ooh." But that is quickly followed by her dragging the baby by the hair, and shoving her into the stroller upside down and backwards. This is NOT an example of art imitating life, I swear.

That's her wild side coming out to play. I get a kick out of this one. It comes out randomly and unapologetically. If I can learn anything from a one-year old, it would be to love life and be a little crazy sometimes. She will drop whatever it is she is doing (literally) and just scream. It's not an angry scream, but a  stiff arms, clenched fists, every muscle in her face engaged kind of scream. It's a jubilant scream that releases endorphins and makes you feel free! How do I know this? Because sometimes I let my inner crazy out right along with her. And it feels fantastic.

And then there's her intellectual side. My little bookworm. She could be in a room filled with flashing lights and battery operated toys that talk and do tricks, and nine times out of ten she will grab a book, back her little tush up to wherever I'm sitting, and demand that I read to her. She soaks up every word and jumps in when she hears one that she can say too. I don't mean to brag, but my child is a genius.

Her quirky, nerdy side loves weather maps and watching Cosmos with Daddy. She studies things, intently, until she figures them out. She takes things apart and puts them back together. She loves buckles, buttons and zippers. And she won't ask for help until she's tried it on her own first. Several times.

My newest favorite side of her, though, is my little hippy girl. She loves nature. She will literally hug a tree if she's near one. Birds make her smile, she talks to the squirrels, flowers make her eyes light up. Even dead ones. Even the ones that aren't even flowers, but weeds. She loves to do yoga with me and the rain always calms her.

I could go on and on about my daughter's awesomeness, and I'm sure you are all vomiting with disgust right now, so I'll stop. I honestly don't care if you can appreciate this post or not. My daughter fascinates me. She inspires me. She makes me a better person. And in case I forget to tell her one day when she's old enough to understand my words, this is for her.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Mission Control: Commence Swear Jar

Remember way back, about a year ago, when I blogged about how lame it is when parents only play kid's music in the car all the time? Well, I tried really hard not to be that mom, and I have to say I've been pretty darn successful... until recently.

Baby Girl likes all kinds of music, from Mo-Town to Jazz, Hip Hop to Alternative Rock, even a little Bluegrass (introduced by daddy). She'll rock out to back-to-back songs by Katy Perry and Gordon Lightfoot (again, daddy). She doesn't give a crap. If it feels right, she'll shake what her momma gave her.

But her all time favorite song is "Rocketship Run" by Laurie Berkner. You might be familiar with the Laurie Berkner Band if you too are a parent, a nanny, or a preschool teacher. If you are none of those things, and you still know who I'm talking about, then that's just weird. And stay away from my kid.

Anyhoo... The Laurie Berkner Band, or LBB as all the cool moms call them, is made up of 3 adults who wear bright clothing and sing about things like going on a treasure hunt, silly fish who are confused about their identity, or eating spaghetti with friends named Victor Vito and Freddy Vasco. They are super ridiculous and I want to make fun of them so bad, but gosh darnit, they are talented and their songs are catchy little ear worms that dig deep in your brain until you know every word and are singing out loud to yourself, even when baby is not around. I'm assuming there are subliminal messages sprinkled in there and that's why, despite the variety of musical genres we have exposed the little peanut to, "Rocketship Run" is the only song I can play or sing to her that can immediately distract her out of a full-on tantrum.

The LBB has become our secret weapon. If I have to take the remote control away from our little darling, and I see her tiny mouth pucker and her feet stomp on the ground, all I have to do is start singing "5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Blast off! Another rocketship run," and that little frown turns upside down and she forgets all about how badly she wanted to screw with the TV by pressing every combination of buttons as fast as her little fingers could manage.

My husband even set up a LBB station on his Spotify app on his phone, which came in handy on our way home from dinner just the other night. Baby Girl was having fun at the restaurant playing peekaboo with the other patrons and she was PISSED when we had to put her back in the car. But three notes into her favorite song and we were sailing home in a smooth, quiet car ride.

So I'm not full-on Kidz Bop mom. I hope I never am. We don't do this all the time, just when we're desperate. But I know my days of playing whatever radio station I want are numbered.  Peanut is learning how to imitate words now.  Have you noticed I've been sensoring my language with this one? I'm practicing. I have to keep it clean at school, but home and this blog were my only foul language outlets. Not anymore (well I'm sure I'll let an F bomb slip into the blog every now and then)! This was decided when my husband dropped something in the kitchen and yelled "SHIT!" and Baby Girl started to repeat "shh shh!" I quickly redirected her to words like "sheep" and "sugar," but it will happen soon enough! She'll probably drop her own F bomb at daycare after hearing me say it in the car during our 30 minute morning commute with "Rocketship Run" playing on loop. Honey, save your quarters! It's time to get the swear jar ready...

So there. I admit it. Foot in mouth. Shut up. Don't judge me.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

These Shoes Were Made For Walking?

Little Peanut is about to turn 1 year old! She has learned so much in her tiny 11 1/2 months of life so far. She waves hello and bye bye, blows kisses, says dada, baba, ooh, wow, uh oh, shhh, shoes, and mama (once), she crawls and climbs over EVERYTHING, and she can pull herself up and cruise along furniture. But her most impressive feat to date was just a few weeks ago when she took her first steps. On her own. No hands. No furniture. No net. She did it all by herself. Hubby and I sat a few feet apart on the floor, helping her practice go from mommy to daddy. She was reluctant to let go of our hands, but she did it! She took 4 steps independently to get to daddy's arms! We celebrated like we had just hit the Powerball Lottery. Baby girl was beaming. So proud of herself, she wanted to do it again and again... and again and again...

After that triumphant day, she wants to be on her feet at all times. Enough with this crawling shit.  She may have gotten a little too cocky about it, or maybe she was just excited to show her friends at daycare, because the next school day, she decided she didn't need anyone to help her get from point A to point B. She pulled herself up on the baby gate that corrals the little munchkins to the play area, and let go. Her teachers looked at her and praised her for standing all by herself. But wait, there's more! Watch this! She smiled back, took a deep breath, and planted one foot in front of the other. (Well, not exactly in front. More like forward and diagonal to the other foot. She walks like she just crapped her pants, and that's only true some of the time). Then she took another... and another... Her teachers watched, frozen in astonishment, not expecting her move away from the gate. She took a forth step and then... SPLAT. She face planted to the floor. She wasn't hurt, except for her ego maybe, but it was enough to deter her from attempting that trick again.

She still wants to be on her feet all the time, but now she's a little more insistent on holding on to our hands with her baby vise grip, and she will scream like a pterodactyl if we try to let her go. I don't want her to be discouraged, so I thought maybe a new pair of shoes would be motivating. She loves shoes. She loves to touch them, pull them off, throw them, eat them... So I took her to Stride Rite to buy her her first pair of walking sneakers.

Upon just entering the shoe store, she turned into baby Sarah Jessica Parker. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. She just kept saying "Wow. Wow." and "Ooh." The sparklier the shoe, the bigger the reaction. The bubbly sales associate came over and asked what size she was. Uh, tiny? I have no idea.

"What stage is she in?"  she asked me.
"Excuse me? Stage?" I replied, confused.
"Walking. What stage walker is she?" she clarified.
"Oh, right. I knew that. She's taken a few steps on her own, but still needs help." I didn't want to embarrass the little nugget by going into details.
"So she's a beginner walker. I'll grab some soft sole shoes for her in her size to try on." She got her measurements and brought back 3 pairs for her to try.

We tried on all 3 pairs and each time, baby girl wanted to walk over to the mirror to check them out, like she knew that was a thing. This girl was born knowing how to shoe shop! We went with the sparkly sneakers.  "We'll take these. How much?" I asked.

"$45.99!" she said with excitement, as though that was a steal.
"Whuuuuu? How much are the other two?" I asked, thinking maybe the sparkles were extra.
"$45.99!" she said, still trying to convince me this was a good deal.

Good god! I don't even think I spent that much on the shoes I wore on my wedding day!

"They are ergonomically designed with soft soles and memory foam for beginner walkers to bend and flex their little arches and provides excellent support! It's really important at this stage to provide  good arch support." she explained, holding on to this sale for dear life.

Ergonomics? Memory foam? Arch support? Are these shoes made for walking or running a marathon? Babies don't have arches! Their feet are like fat marshmallows with tiny marshmallows growing from the top. And they don't bend or flex! The toes curl up, making it impossible to put a sock on, let alone a sneaker, but flex? I think not.

I was about to walk my frugal self right out of that store, but then I looked over at my little girly girl, marveled at the sight of these new kicks, rolling her ankles, watching the sparkles catch the sunlight coming in from the window and I caved.

"Ok, ring us up." I surrendered.

"Great! Now, just so you know, babies typically grow into a new size every 2-3 months, so come back in May and we'll get her in a nice Stage 2 sandal for Summer!" She exclaimed as she all too joyfully swiped my credit card.

Don't push it, lady.

Friday, January 16, 2015

"Strolling" Through NYC

This December was very exciting for our family. It was baby girl's first Christmas and we were determined to carry out a special tradition of my family. When my sister and I were younger my Uncle and Aunt would take us and our cousins to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular in New York City every year. Even though the show doesn't really change all that much from year to year, it was always a magical experience. At least for me it was. You just can't help walking into that theater with your mouth wide-open in awe of all the ornate decorations, fancy chandeliers, and of course images of the world famous Radio City Rockettes. Each and every year that became my temporary aspiration: to become a Rockette. Two days after the show I would forget all about it and go back to dreaming of becoming an astronaut, or monkey trainer, or an ice cream shop owner, or whatever Sesame Street was talking about that day. But for that one weekend every year I wanted nothing but to become a Rockette, kicking my legs as high as I can, wearing the sparkliest costumes imaginable. My sister and I could not wait to bring that magic and wonder to our own kids! And now, we finally can!

My husband and I almost passed on the opportunity to go this year, thinking that this little peanut was too small to appreciate such magic. But my sister guilted us into going, as she so eloquently does, reminding us that it's baby girl's first Christmas and what a perfect time it was to start a family tradition with her cousins. So we caved. And I'm so glad we did.

I'll admit, I was nervous. What if it's too loud for her? What if she is afraid of the dark? What if she poops through her beautiful red dress and all over my lap and I have nothing to change into? What if she screams the whole time and distracts the Rockettes and ruins their perfectly in-sync toy soldier line? What if she hates the show? Oh my god... What if she hates the Rockettes? No. That's crazy. I'm being paranoid.

My bro-in-law got us perfect seats in the aisle, on the ground level, near the back for a quick escape if a tantrum or blow-out should spontaneously occur. We took our seats just in time for the curtains to open and the first musical number began. This little peanut stood straight up in my lap to get a better view and oh my god, priceless is not even a good enough word to describe the look on her face seeing those sparkly girls on stage, dancing and kicking and tapping away! Her tiny body tensed up with excitement and the only thing she knew how to do was wave her arms frantically at the dancers, clap her hands, and do the best version of dancing that she knew how.  She bobbed up and down on her chubby little legs, shaking her hands and saying "Ooh!" At one point she turned around to look at me as if to say "Are you seeing this, mom? This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my whole entire life!" I think I spent more time watching her than I did watching the stage.  My niece and nephew, who are almost 2 and 4, respectively, also thought it was the most amazing thing ever. When Santa came out on stage, my niece called out to him"Santa, Santa!" as if he were there to see her specifically and she wanted to make sure he knew where she was sitting. And when he multiplied on stage to demonstrate how Santa could be in many places at once, my nephew looked around and all he could do was say "Huh? Huh? Huh? What?" That was enough for me to decide that the trip was definitely worth it. Even the events that followed...

My sister and her husband live pretty close to the city so they are more comfortable navigating the busy streets. We, on the other hand, do not and comfortable is the last word I would use to describe the experience. Immediately after the show ended, the magic fizzled as the theater ushers shoved us out onto the street like a herd of cattle, yelling at us to watch our step and stay out of the street. We made it out of the stampede alive and headed to the restaurant where we had reservations for lunch, just a few blocks away. After lunch we took pictures by the big tree and then wanted to take my nephew to the Lego store because he is really into Legos now (FINALLY!). But by that time, Rockefeller Center became a crowded sea of tourists. Crowded is not even the right word. It was a congested deluge of zombies slowly meandering around the plaza with their faces buried in their iPhones or camera lenses, not looking where they were going, pushing and shoving, stepping on toes, ramming into ankles with strollers (ok, that was me, but I didn't do it on purpose! At least not at first...). Being in a crowd like that makes the hair on my neck stand on end, but being in a crowd like that WITH A STROLLER almost brought me to a murderous rampage!

The Lego store is right next to the damn tree. I could literally see it from where we were standing. I am a woman of logic, and I know that the shortest path between point A and point B is a straight line. But because of the crowd, police were directing "traffic" throughout the plaza, so that certain sections were 'one way' only. So we had to walk all the way around the block to get to point B. Not a big deal. Except it took almost a half an hour to get around the corner because we basically had to stand still and let the sea of people float us along the sidewalk. And nobody gives a shit that you are pushing a stroller, or that the stroller actually has a baby in it. Oh no. We got kicked and pushed and one man actually tried to step over the stroller. I mean, he lifted his leg as if to hurdle jump right over my child! Oh no you don't! Well, the Stroller Derby began and I started taking down my opponents left and right.

We finally made it to the Lego store only to find that there was a line down the street just to get in! So unfortunately we didn't make it, but we promised we would bring him back to pick out something cool when it wasn't a total mob scene.

So we made it out of NYC alive, with a new appreciation for our life in the suburbs and a continued admiration for sparkly costumes and tap shoes.  Baby girl slept soundly that night, probably dreaming of one day becoming a Radio City Rockette.  Who knows? Maybe one day she will!

Sunday, December 21, 2014


I should know by now not to ever brag about a good night's sleep or baby taking a 3 hour nap. Doing that almost always conjures up an inevitable jinx. No sooner than I posted on Facebook about my child sleeping 13 hours in one night, did my little angel decide to flip the script on me.

 She's down to one nap in the afternoon, and I've come to terms with that. As long as she sleeps well at night, I'm not too concerned. At daycare they tell me she needs to be rocked to sleep for naps. I guess the other kids put themselves to sleep, but I already knew my child wouldn't do that. She doesn't do it at home. I still have to nurse her to sleep for naps and at bedtime. I'm fine with that, but the problem is, I'm the only one who can put her to bed at night. I love that time dearly, but Momma needs a break! I talked to some other mommy friends and after hearing "Oh he/she just grabs her lovey, snuggles up and falls asleep in his/her crib within minutes" so many times, I decided I needed a plan.  I have the next two weeks off from work for Christmas vacation, so I decided to try putting her down for a nap without nursing her. That's right. I gave myself a homework assignment.

Day 1:
I only nursed her first thing in the morning and did bottles during the day (along with meals). Right around noon, baby girl started showing signs of sleepiness. Now's my chance! I gave her a bottle, rocked her for a few minutes, then put her in her crib and rubbed her back. Just like the other moms said they do.  She was pissed. She sat straight up, looked at me like "what the fuck, mom?" and screamed her little head off. But I stayed strong and kept telling her she's ok, rubbed her back and
then left the room. I kept her door open so she could see me do laundry and every few minutes I went to her and rubbed her back without saying a word. Just like the other moms said. She grew even more angry and her cries turned into blood curdling screams. Three hours of that went by (ok, maybe it was more like 10 minutes) and I couldn't take it anymore. I am not ok with seeing my baby in that much discomfort or pain or anger, whatever she was feeling, so I picked her up. She immediately snuggled in my shoulder and fell fast asleep.  Two minutes later I was able to lay her down in her crib and she slept for an hour and a half! I win! I did it without nursing her! Gold star for me!

Well... I had that gold star ripped from my lapel later that evening. Baby girl holds a mean grudge. As I nursed her to bed, she decided that was a good time to demonstrate the use of her new bottom teeth. I ignored it the first time. Maybe it was an accident. Then she bit me again. Still, I tried not to draw too much attention to it, but holy fuck! That hurts! After the third time I put a stop to it. I covered up and tried not to make a fuss. I didn't want her to think it was a game because that game sucks and I do not wanna play. Thankfully she got tired and surrendered to the boob when she realized it wasn't a good idea to bite the hand (boob) that feeds her. Ok now we're even.

She was asleep at 8:00. Movie time! Not so fast... She woke up screaming ten minutes later and was awake until 11:00pm. She refused to nurse, would not let me rock her in the rocking chair, wanted me to hold her, but at the same time tried pushing away from me. She wanted daddy... No, mommy... No daddy... And we did this dance for hours. She finally fell asleep in my arms while I paced from room to room, in and out, back and forth, in circles, and figure eights.

This morning she wouldn't nurse, only took a bottle. Is she mad at me? Cutting another tooth? Does she have an ear infection? Sore throat? Or has she just decided she's too old for the boob? I don't know, but whatever the reason, it makes me a little sad. The only thing I know for sure is Momma needs some coffee right now.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Who Needs Sleep?

Sleep. It's so overrated. I mean, really. You lie there with your eyes closed, breathing. Literally, that's all you do, breathe. So boring, right? Oh, but sometimes your brain stays awake and causes you to dream. You can dream about something awesome, like winning the lottery, only to be woken up from it by your alarm clock with the punch-in-the-gut realization that it didn't really happen, and probably never will because you don't even play the lottery. Or your brain reaches in deep to pull out some fucked up, random thought and then translates it into a nightmare of tiny spiders crawling all over your body, or your teeth suddenly falling out of your head for no apparent reason, after which you wake up in a panic sweat and don't ever want to fall asleep again! Yeah, sleeping sucks. I'm glad my child has been waking up 2 or 3 times a night. 

This is me looking on the bright side of not getting enough sleep. The truth is, I've been lying to myself and everyone around me. When people ask if she's a good sleeper, I would say "Oh, yes. She typically sleeps through the night, but she has a stuffy nose this week, so she's been waking up a few times," or "She's just teething this week," or "She must be going through a growth spurt," or "It got cold last night, she probably needs a warmer sleep sack," or "It's too quiet." But the truth is, she's just not a good sleeper anymore. 

A few times, she woke up screaming so hard, she couldn't catch her breath, like she was having a bad dream. Even once at daycare, she woke up from a nap sort of startled and panicked. A nightmare? What could she be having nightmares about? Her whole life is just kisses and snuggles and toys and puppies! How could her tiny brain possibly turn those thoughts into something scary? Luckily that didn't continue, but the sleepless nights did, and it is starting to take a toll on all of us.

Remember zombie Dad who couldn't follow a simple direction because he only got 3 hours of sleep? Yeah, he's back. But this time it's worse because now Mom is also an incompetent zombie. You see, back when Baby Girl was just a newborn, I was running on adrenalin and new mom power. I got used to being up all night and my brain was trained to push through it. But now, 8 months later, my brain got smart. It's had a taste of a full nights sleep again and doesn't want to turn back. You want me to help you remember everything Baby needs packed for Daycare, and everything you need for work, and to brush your teeth, and to lock the door, and to stay alert while you drive, and to not leave your coffee on the roof of the car, and then get you through a full day of work on just 3 hours of sleep? Fuck that. I'm shutting down.

It's amazing we made it through the week. One day last week I packed Peanut's lunchbox (which usually only has room for her bottles, lunch bowl, spoon and bib, and her snacks go in her backpack separately). I stood at the counter in awe of myself because I got everything to fit in it! Wow, I thought. I did it! I figured out the puzzle! Damn, I'm good. And I zipped up that bag like a proud kindergartener who just learned how to tie her own shoes. Not long after I drop her off at daycare, did I get a phone call: "Uh, Andrea, I can't find the tops to her bottles. Did you leave them in your car?" Shit! Shit! Shit! That's why everything fit! I forgot the fucking nipples to her bottles! Luckily they have back up bottles at daycare that they sterilize every night, so I didn't have to drive 45 minutes back home to go get them. Stupid, stupid, stupid [banging my head against the wall].

My favorite zombie parent moment, however, came a few days later. After a particularly horrendous night of taking turns tending to a very fussy baby, hubby and I got up and mindlessly went through the motions of our morning routine and went our separate ways to work. When I got to my desk, I received this text message:

Hubby: Did your coffee taste normal today?
Me: Haven't tried it yet. Why?
Hubby: I'm not sure, but I may or may not have put OJ in my coffee instead of milk.
Me: Ew.

So that's our life in a nutshell right now. Hopefully it will get better and Baby Girl will learn to sleep again, but for now we drink our coffee black.

Monday, October 20, 2014

The Shit We Put Up With

A really funny thing happened yesterday. Well, if you ask my husband, it wasn't really funny at all.  But that's only because it happened to him.  I got to hear the play-by-play, so to me, it was hilarious.

We had a fun day planned this Sunday. We were meeting some friends of ours for breakfast and then taking our babies to the pumpkin patch. The mommies were excited for two reasons: 1. Breakfast is awesome, especially when you don't have to make it or clean it up; 2. The pumpkin patch offers some great Fall photo ops! Despite the fact that it was pretty fucking cold out, we were determined to get some cute shots of our little pumpkins sitting amongst the actual pumpkins because that will be adorable and no one has ever thought of that before, right?

But first, breakfast. Baby Girl can sit up on her own now, so that means we can put her in a high chair at restaurants. And that means I can finally use that fancy high chair/shopping cart cover that I got at my baby shower! It was perfect. Not only is it pretty, but there are a few rattly toys attached to keep her busy while we wait for food and it protects her from having to touch or, god forbid, lick any nasty goo that the last baby left behind from their breakfast. As we are eating, my friend says "Look at her. She is so calm and content at the table." I took a break from my plate full of bacon to glance at her, realizing now that she had stopped babbling for quite some time. "Oh, that's not calm. That's her poop face."  Lucky for me, my husband eats like it's his job to be the first one done at the table. And because he's such a gentleman, he knew he was on diaper duty so I could finish my meal.

As he picked her up from her fancy seat cover, the look on his face turned to a combination of panic, disgust, and an immediate regret for scarfing down his food so quickly, as he felt the warm wetness that was all down her leg and now in his hand.  "Shit. Hand me her extra clothes." Shit was right. She pooped right through her diaper, onesie, jeans, AND the fancy seat cover! Boy was I glad I still had bacon on my plate. He knew there was no changing station in the bathroom, so he opted to change her in the car to avoid laying her on the bathroom floor.

Hang on. I haven't even gotten to the funny part yet...

The rest of us continued eating our breakfast and chatting, only to realize that Hubby had been gone for over 10 minutes now! I only noticed this when I saw the bottom of my coffee mug. That means I actually got to finish my coffee and that rarely happens. When he finally returned, all he said was "That was not pretty. We should keep plastic bags in the car." And I could tell he did not care to elaborate.

As we walked to our separate cars in the parking lot, PTSD started to set in. "No, really. That was awful. Like, the worst blow out ever," he said with empty eyes. "Oh, come on. You should be used to baby poop by now," I told him. "It got on my face," he said discretely, trying not to let our friends just a few cars away hear him. "What?! How the fuck did you manage that?" I blurted out, which they did probably hear. "She kicked me with a shitty sock," he said both embarrassed and traumatized.

My response: "BAAH HAHAHA! That's hilarious!"
Hubby: "No, it's not."
Me: "This is so going in the blog."
Hubby: "I know."

So we continued on our way to the pumpkin patch with the shitty clothes and seat cover rolled up in a stinky ball in the trunk (because I'll be damned if we are going to miss a cute photo op because of a shitty sock to the face).  We did end up getting some great photos. And now, for those of you who have had the pleasure of viewing them on my Facebook page, you now have an explanation as to why my child is wearing an orange shirt with a pumpkin on it with grey sweatpants that have bunnies on the feet. We were much more coordinated than that in the morning, I swear!