das Vorlagenrennen

If you were, say, a power-crazed dictator bent on creating a master race, you would not chose myself and SuperHubby to be in your breeding stables.

Between the two of us, we have the genetic capability to create bald, diseased, mutant children who like superheroes.

Seriously.

We're talking family histories of at least three types of cancer, heart disease, diabetes, glaucoma, Crohn's disease, hairy arms -- you name it, we got it.

I was feeling pretty bad about this, especially for Tom, until my mom told me the World Health Organization (or some agency like that) had released a study saying that children raised in overly-sterilized environments are more prone to a variety of health conditions, including Crohn's.

So at least we've got that one licked.

I Choose Kathryn

Seems I was so busy yesterday that I missed out on Blog for Choice Day. But Kathryn, over at Daring Young Mom, did not.

Her post is so incredibly awesome, so well written, that I'm not even going to try to one-up her. Instead, I'll just link to said post.

Way to go, Kathryn.

The Hulk

A while ago, Gramma taught the Tominator how to "show his muscles." Now, on the command, "show me your muscles" he clenches his fists and bends his arms in the age-old body-builder pose. My son will be no Mr. Milktoast.



Usually he does his muscles when he's really mad or frustrated, so we get a hilarious grimace going on with the arms. But he's grinning like a fool in this shot.

Reason #642

why I love my son -

He is convinced I am this chick.



We have a box of Ritz crackers with Rachael's picture on it. During snack time today he looked at the picture and then back at me. His face lit up and a devilish smile stole across his lips.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, poking poor Rachael in the eye. "Mama!"

No matter what I said, he could not be convinced that the girl on the box was not, in fact, me. Don't know what that says for his eyesight, come to think of it.

But hey, he thinks I'm cute, famous, rich and an excellent cook. Can't beat that.

Nerd Squared

Further evidence that we are raising a nerd:

At 17 months, one of the Tominator's favorite pastimes is to take himself up to his bedroom, climb up in his rocker, turn on his CD player (which we keep stocked with Mozart) and read a book. To himself.

I am both extremely proud and afraid for him.

So far the score is:

Jock: 1 - He likes to watch football. He's the only one in the family who feels this way.

Drama Geek: 1 - He has an unhealthy fascination with my blush brush.

Nerd: 2 - Aforementioned book/music thing; also the superhero obsession.

Puberty is going to be so hard for him.

Devolution in the Maternity Ward

Lest you think gestating is all about feeling baby flutter and attaining a round, happy glow, I would like to share the dark side of reproduction.

The side of pregnancy that makes you look less like this:



and more like this:



Embarrassing as it is to admit, I have more than a few stubborn chin hairs, which I meticulously remove with tweezers whenever I can see them. God help me if I ever lose my eyesight or my tweezers; I'd give my bearded husband a run for his money. But this is a sexy look, don't you think?



Well, of course pregnancy makes it worse. Something about hormones, I suppose. Last time around, the worst problem I had was that I developed linea nigra. Which was kind of neat, except that it didn't cleanly bisect my belly, but veered slightly off to one side. I am just anal retentive enough to be bothered by that, and I was glad when it finally went away after Tom was about six months old.

But today, I discovered the insult of all insults. Just above my right breast, I noticed a peculiar hair where no hair had grown before.

A dark, curly chest hair.

Aagh! It was quickly dispatched to the land of unwanted follicles, but I pray it won't come back. I can just barely handle all the testosterone in the house as it is - heaven help us if I start producing large amounts of it too.

It's bad enough that I inherited the hairy-arm gene from my PawPaw, worse yet that I keep hoping the ancient Egyptian fashion trend of uni brows will come back in style so I can give my poor tweezers a rest.

But a chest hair! Come on.

Just throw a banana in my cage every now and again, and I promise to keep my poo to myself.

Oooo eeee oooo!

Calling All Superheros

We have a small obsession with superheros in our home, and it seems to have transferred to our offspring.

Tom, while proficient with more than 50 baby signs, isn't really speaking yet. He tries, except that most everything comes out sounding like "daptzzzz," with a long, spitlicious raspberry at the end.

Everything, that is, except for the names of superheros. We don't let him watch any superhero DVDs - they are pretty violent, even though they are cartoons. But boy, does he love to look at the pictures on the DVD cases. "Man!" he will shout, pointing frantically to high shelves where we keep the audio/visual supplies.

What he wants, of course, is this:
After he flips through the cases a few times, he usually loses interest and heads over to the nearest phone to make a call.

"Highs!" he says, waving away. "Batzz! (Spits forcefully all over the mouthpiece.) Mannn!" He continues having the same conversation over and over for about five minutes. The caped crusader must have the patience of a saint. Either that or my son has an in with the leaders of the Gotham underworld, and Bats is getting some good information.

His other favorite superhero is this guy:

For those of you who are not giant nerds, this is a superhero called The Flash. His superpower is that he can um ... run really fast. I know, creative.

Well, Tom LOVES The Flash. Tom has a bowl with a picture of the flash on the rim, and he'll carry it around saying "Fash, fash" and running around in a circle. He thinks it's great. I have no idea how he knows what The Flash's superpower is, since he's never seen a show featuring The Flash, nor is our precocious son reading comic books - yet.

I think it's hilarious, although it has SuperHubby a bit worried.

I say he's just getting a head start on his career. He's already training as Indestructible Boy. This child can run his head into the side of toilet, fall down a flight of stairs, and keep trooping like nothing even happened. Seriously folks, he once gave himself a black eye while removing a shoe, and didn't even cry. Hot cheese spilled on your hand, leaving a first degree burn? Brush it off! There are more important things to destroy do than worry over a little scalding.

And really, what career has better bragging rights for mom?

"Oh, your son's a pediatric cardiologist? That's nice. My son saved the entire world from an alien invasion last week."

What more could I want?

Will You Salute?

*UPDATED*

Just running this up the flagpole ...

I am thinking of starting an online Bible study group. I led a women's Intervarsity Bible study for three years in college, and really, really enjoyed spending time in the word while getting to know other like-minded young women. The studies were non-denominational and based on workbooks.

I would participate in a Bible study here, only my church doesn't offer one. I have gone to Bible studies offered by other churches, but the reception has been friendly but strained - after all, I am not one of them. So.

I was thinking that perhaps I could start a Bible study for some of my online buddies. I would be interested if following the format with which I am most familiar - the Bible study workbook/guide. They are usually fairly inexpensive and not difficult to find.

The study would be open to all believing Christians, or to people who are interested in learning more about God's Word. We could have a weekly chat where we could discuss the questions and passages for the week - and also take some time to get to know each other on a more personal level.

Would anyone be interested in participating?

Please let me know via comments or by email at goslyn(at)gmail(dot)com.

*UPDATE*
Thank you to those of you who have shown interest. I am going to wait a few more days and see if anybody else would like to join, then I will email each of you to discuss workbook options and meeting times.

One of my posters wondered why I didn't just start a study at my own church, and I feel like I should address that question, as it is a good one.

We are Catholics, and have always been very active in our church, especially in the music ministry. I had inquired last year about starting a women's Bible study, and was told that I could do that and a priest would be happy to help me organize, etc. But with a newborn infant, I just didn't get my act together.

When a new Monsignor was assigned to our church a few months later, the feeling of the church changed. Instead of being appreciated and encouraged in the work they do to help grow the church community, active volunteers were handed lists of rules and regulations for church participation.

Although the church offers theology courses, taught by a priest, I get the strong feeling that independent Bible study groups are no longer being encouraged. So, that's why I'm not starting a study at my church.

Parenting: The Game Show Theory

Wanna know how to raise intelligent, well-behaved kids, while still getting in plenty of quality time with Pat, Alex, Howie and other game show hosts?

Click here!

You may win one million dollars!

I Blame Global Warming

Today has been a very unusual day around the Wishful Thinking household, and I think it has something to do with Al Gore.

Well, at least Al Gore would want to tell you about it.

The temperatures soared to the mid-70's here in eastern Pennsylvania. Our average temperature this time of year, according to NOAA?

27.1 degrees.

Everything is confused. My roses are sprouting, my iris are poking through the ground, and my gladiolas have popped their heads up, thinking that spring has surely arrived.

I spent most of the day airing out the house, taking advantage of the nice weather to get rid of that funky closed-up winter house smell that it seems only myself and my uber-sensitive pregnant nose can smell.

It's just weird to be able to open your windows in January and not freeze to death.

Then, just as my fairly elderly washer was preparing to rinse out my load of whites, it decided not to drain, and ended up spilling over onto my basement floor. Which wouldn't be a problem if my basement was empty and clean like my neighbor, E's, basement is. But no. We are packrats, or just have too much stuff or too little space or possibly all of the above. So several cardboard boxes o' crap got soaked in the process.

Now I have to decide if it is better to spend a minimum of $250 to fix the washer, or just suck it up and buy a new one for twice that. Ugh. And I have to clean out the basement. And figure out where to put this junk.

Since we've never had even a hint of trouble with this washer, I choose to believe the weird warm weather had something to do with it's demise.

Where's my snow?

Splish Splash

Don't you just love it when you are using a public restroom and you are wrestling yourself and your coats and bags and toddler out of the teeny, tiny stall, and you look down to realize that he has reached into the partially-flushed toilet to splash in the water, soaking his shirt up to his elbows?

What, that doesn't happen to you?

A Kicking New Year

Last night, I lay in bed watching the the bright-green numbers on the clock change. 11:52. 11:53. 11:54.

A flutter rippled across my belly, just below my navel. I waited, hardly believing what I was feeling.

Then a volley of kicks and punches errupted, and I could feel him working his way back and forth along my stomach.

"Tap, Tap, Tap" went his feet, happily tattooing out a rhythm on my abdomen.

"Thump, thump, thump," went my heart.

Happy New Year (Sort Of)

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
- from T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock