Young at heart

I saw an elderly woman as a new patient a few days ago. She was darling, like so many of them are, with her SAS loafers, giant "stone age" cell phone in her over-sized purse, multiple rhinestone brooches on her lapel. You get the picture.
While performing my physical exam, I thought I saw a hearing aid in her right ear. I moved her hair to take a closer look, and whaddya know? Twas a Bluetooth earpiece for her cell phone.

You go, girl.

Crazy going slowly am I

I know it's been a month. Sorry. I've been busy.

So I've fought the good fight against mommy-hood for these last 2 years. I wear skinny jeans and stilettos. I rage against the minivan. I still go to girls' movie night and book club and whatever else I want (as long as Nick doesn't mind being home alone, please and thank you). But there's a few tell-tale signs that I'm fighting a losing battle. Such as what, you ask?

I was in procedure clinic today, wrestling with the ultrasound and a really, really big knee. Like I stopped halfway and busted out a longer needle big. As I was fidgeting with the positioning and driving my needle, I caught myself humming under my breath.... "Graham cracker. Did you say graham cracker? And a chocolate bar, I've got one in my car!"

Yes, folks, I now sing kid songs even in my non-mommy down time. Oh my. If you see my eyeing pleated front, stonewashed denim, please wrestle me to the ground and point me toward the Banana Republic light.

Great moments in parenting: dandelions

So Nick and the kiddos (still so so weird to use the pleural form - may take me months to adjust) and the doggies and I were relaxing in the backyard yesterday afternoon because it was one of a handful of truly beautiful days here in H-town. Nick was playing fetch with Izzy and wrestling with Dallas. I was lounging in a deck chair holding Archer, and Ellison was running around in circles, which is apparently normal toddler behavior. And then a wonderful thing happened.
She toddler-ran up to me (kind of like normal running but involves a lot of arm flailing) and brought me a little gift - my first bouquet of weed flowers. It was actually kind of sweet. "Hee, mommy. Dare go. All fo' you." (Here, mommy. There you go. All for you.) I got a little case of the warm fuzzies at her generosity. I even started planning the scrapbook page in my head. But before I could whip out the phone to take a picture, little goober wadded them all back up in her grubby little fist and ran away.
B: Elle, bring me back my flowers!
E: No. Dese my fows. Esson's fows. [No, these are my flowers. Ellison's flowers.]
B: But you gave those to me! I wanted to take a picture!
E: Vigorous head shaking from the other side of the yard

Well, it was a beautiful moment while it lasted.

Older but not wiser

This post has been in the works for over a week now. But I just keep finding better things to do. Like sleep. Or start (and rapidly abort) potty training. But the latter is a story for a different day; it's still just too soon to relive that pain and suffering. But on to the actual post.

The birth of my second child (now that's a phrase to make you feel old) has occasioned a bit of reflections on the habits of my youth. And I'm afraid that I've probably reached a point in life where I should alter a few of my behaviors.

For example, I think that if one carries the word "professor" in one's job title, one should probably not wear tiny cotton running shorts into public. Ever. Even if one can "pull them off." [OK, this hypothetical, third-person "one" business is too hard to keep up. You all already know I'm talking about myself. So let's keep going, shall we?] So my favorite running shorts (some of which I have actually had since freshman year of college) should probably stay at home.

Along the same lines, I probably need to keep up with my manicures a little more closely. Meaning, I shouldn't go for days on end with really (and I mean really) chipped nails. It just sort of screams "insecure 7th grader who fidgets and picks at her nail polish to avoid looking you in the eye." And thankfully, that just isn't me anymore.

And back to the whole mommy business - maybe I should cease and desist the eating of ice cream by the pint directly from the carton. For breakfast. I mean, I only let Elle have 1 teeny weeny little bite from my bowl. It's sort of the height of ice cream hypocrisy, and it should probably stop. Nah, this last one stays. She'll just have to settle for waiting until she's old enough to sneak ice cream without me knowing to follow my bad example. And speaking of, I'm now in the mood for froyo. So perhaps Elle and I (sorry, Archer) will go indulge in a little Menchy's.

Hasta luego!

That's what she said, part II

So Ellison is definitely getting to the age where she says lots of funny things.

I was using Nick's Xbox fitness app the other day, which necessitates use of the Xbox controller. Ellison knows the Xbox (and its controller) are daddy's and that these items fall under the "no touch" category. She walks up to me with a look of consternation on her little face.

E: Mommy, no no. Gih tha daddy. [translation: Give that to daddy.]
B: Huh?
E: No, no, gih tha daddy. Thas daddy's. [translation: That's daddy's.]

Nick and I both cracked up. Also, she's really gotten into the "good boy" thing and says it whenever Nick or I do something that pleases her, such as buckle her properly into her car seat.

That's what she said

So Ellison comes up with some pretty funny things to say. Acknowledging that many of them are only funny to Nick and me, here's one I think might hold broader appeal. And remember, you have to read her line with a little toddler voice.

A little background first... she likes to mimic us talking to the dogs. She frequently tells them, "Get back," "Move," and "No, no, bad dog." The other day I fixed something she'd broken.

B: OK, sweet pea. Here it is. All better.
E: [smiling] Good boy, Mommy. Good boy.

No longer pregnant Bethie

So the last time I posted, it was about Mexican food and baby names, remember? Well, a lot has changed since then, my e-amigos. I'd just settled myself into the fact that I had 1) no idea and 2) no control over when Widget would make his debut. So just like when you swear off boys for reals and then meet the love of your life the next day (no it's true), it happened just like that.
I spent all day last Saturday cleaning and scrubbing, and we enjoyed some art at Tim's solo gallery opening that evening. Elle makes a pretty lousy third wheel, so we headed home early and hit the hay.
I woke up around midnight with some abdominal pain. I decided to pay attention to it but that if I fell asleep before it came back, it was nothing. Well, 2 hours later I finally woke Nick up. I was just so worried about being one of the crazy preggos who cries labor wolf; I wanted to make sure it was the real deal. So then Jen and Chile came over around 3:00 am (seriously, only a good friend would do that), and Nick and I took off to the hospital. He apparently didn't actually feel my pain like so many men seem say in the delivery room because had he, he would have driven a LOT faster.
So there's all the usual hospital happenings, like paperwork, peeing in a cup, paperwork, witty banter with the nurse to drop subtly that I'm a doctor so she knows I know what's going on, EPIDURAL! (props to that anesthesia resident), and some more papers to sign. Several hours later, abracadabra, alakazam... we have a baby!
Archer William Scholz is now home with us whether he likes it or not. Elle loves giving him hugs and kisses, and Gramzie is over the moon for her new grandson.. Nick and I are settling into a little sleep-deprived routine, and life in general is resetting nicely to our "new normal."

I'm too tired to be much wittier than that right now. So in lieu of jokes, I've got pictures. Razzle dazzle, 'em, right?