Moving

No, not us, silly! We just moved! My blog is moving. Now you'll be able to find me at www.revandthemissus.blogspot.com . I'll be there, and so will Wiggle Man, and Hubba Hubba (only we'll be calling him Rev now--I mean, if I can't do it in real life, I'm surely going to call him that online).

Don't worry--I'll leave this up for about a week or so in case you forget the new address. I hope you'll all follow me over to my new place...see you there!

Teeny Man

Even when he was a baby, Wiggle Man looked like, well, a little man.



This is him, inspecting his first train. Considering he still plays with it, it must have passed inspection.

Wiggle Man continues to amaze us. I'm convinced he grows inches every time he sleeps, and today I have proof that my boy is paying close attention to what he sees on tv. In a touching mother/son moment, we sat on the floor reading a book about trucks. Some sort of large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor was on the page, and Wiggle Man pointed to it and said, "George."

I was thrown for a minute, until I remembered the Curious George episode where George goes to the landfill, and drives a tractor very similar to the large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor in the book.

Then Wiggle Man pointed to his head and said, "hat." Because, of course, in that episode, George goes to the landfill to rescue The Man With The Yellow Hat's, well, Hat.

He's growing up so fast. I hope I can keep up.

Lucky Seven

Seven years ago today was my first date with this hunka hunka burnin' love.



(This is one of the few pictures I have from his ordination service--this is from before the service.)


Here we are, in all our youth and glory, on our honeymoon.


Somewhere, there are pictures from when we were dating. But those are on film. I know. Perhaps I'll bust out the scanner. When those pictures actually get unpacked. So, look for those sometime, I don't know...next year, or something.

Nutmeg and Cinnamon

I love this thing.



Fall would be so tedious without my apple peeler/corer/slicer. Before this lovely invention, I had to do all this by hand. The horror.

Even with a broken handle (the repair, by the way, will be a boy job) I whizzed through those apples to get to the good part: dark brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. This was the first time I've grated my own nutmeg and cinnamon. It was a little extra work, but worth it.

There you have it: my first apple pie of the season. Inspired by Julie, whose blog you definitely need to check out. We went to college together, so I can tell you that as cool as she seems in her blog, she's just as sweet and cool in real life.

Another Big Day

We've had quite a week in our family. Not only did Wiggle Man turn the big 0-2, but tonight Hubba Hubba will add another title to his name. Hubba Hubba is many things: Husband (obviously), Father, Son, Brother, Friend, Killer of Spiders and Other Unidentified Crawlies...but tonight, he adds Pastor.

Tonight, surrounded by friends and family, Hubba Hubba will be ordained as a Minister of the Word and Sacrament. In a way, it's the culmination of a journey that began when he was in high school, got detoured for a bit, and began again one fall night as we sat in his car and he told me he felt called to ministry. I knew then that one day we'd be here--he'd be ordained, and we'd be preparing to start serving a church--our new family in Virginia. (Still working on a blog nickname, guys.)

So, babe--congratulations. I plan on telling you this about a million more times today, but I'm so proud of you.

Party Time!

Now We Are Two

From this:

To this:

Happy Birthday, baby.

Wiggle Speak

As we've been meeting new neighbours and friends, I'm noticing I've been translating for Wiggle Man a lot. This reminded me it's time for another installment of Wiggle Speak. So here goes:


Sigh: (No, not the sound, I just don't know how else to spell what he's saying.) 1. Outside

Das: 1. Thank you.

Hoo-hoooooooo: 1. Train. 2. Thomas The Tank Engine. 3. Sirens

Cook: 1. Cookie. (Not that he eats cookies, mind you. He thinks fig bars and animal crackers are cookies. I'm content to let him linger in ignorance.) 2. Tacos. 3. Cook. Eg--what does Mommy do in the kitchen? Cook. What does she cook for you? Chssssssssss.

Ba-Ball: 1. Ball. 2. Baseball. 3. Target. (Wiggle Man calls Target the Ba-Ball store, because of the giant red cement balls out front. He tries to push them every single time. He also claps and cheers when we tell him we're going to the Ba-Ball store. Mommy has taught him well.)

Nom-nom: 1. Food, usually Subway.

Tuuuuuu: 1. Two. 2. Any other number. Eg--how many feet do you have? Tuuuuuuu. How many fingers do you have? Tuuuuuu.

And to finish up, a little Wiggle Eats. We took Wiggle Man to a Chinese buffet for lunch today. My son? Wanted nothing to do with the chicken nuggets they had. Instead, he ate an egg roll (filled with the usual cabbage, etc.) and lo mein. Odd boy.

Movin' On Down (South, That Is)

A thousand apologies for my absence—I’ve spent the last week amidst boxes. Boxes and boxes. Boxes of boxes. It’s been a little ridiculous. But all for a good cause—we’ve moved to our new home in Virginia, and couldn’t be more pleased. Thank you to everyone who helped unload boxes, move furniture, put together furniture, bring meals—we’ve been overwhelmed by your love and generosity.

I’ve been thinking—I have blog names for everyone I write about (except myself, of course.) How should I refer to y’all (I’m practicing being Southern) from our new church? I’m taking suggestions for your collective nickname.

My goal today (which was my goal yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that) is to finish unpacking the kitchen. Who knew I had so much stuff? Seriously—some of this stuff has been packed away so long, I’d almost forgotten I had it. However, I’m proud to tell you that only two boxes remain to be unpacked in my kitchen. (Let’s not talk about the counter, which is covered in dishes to be washed. My poor, poor dishpan hands.)

Wiggle Man seems to be settling in just fine—he’s very proud of his new “big boy” room, and tries to show his choo choos to anyone who drops by. He’s been sleeping in his “big boy” bed every night, and hasn’t rolled out of it once. He has, however, figured out that he’s no longer actually trapped in a crib, and has tried to sneak out and play when he should be napping. What he hasn’t figured out yet is that Mommy has ears like a bat.

Anyway, I think I may go back to my boxes for a bit—hopefully I can post a little more regularly as things settle down.

Another First

Wiggle Man is churning through the firsts this week. He said "bye" for the first time this week. And we had our first "procedure."

Here's how our story begins:

Wiggle Man and I were sitting on the deck Sunday after church. It was idyllic, almost. A beautiful day, a well behaved child...I should have known. We hadn't been out there long when Wiggle Man came limping up to me, whining and pointing at his foot.

I know, I know. He should have had his shoes on. Lesson learned.

So, I pulled him up on to my lap to examine the splinter that, sure enough, was sticking out of his chubby little foot. Using my super Mommy powers, I quickly grabbed the end of it with my fingernails and pulled it out.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, there was a whole lot more to that splinter. I had just pulled the tip off. What was left was like a small tree or shrub, stuck there in my little man's foot. He was not impressed with our attempts to remove it. He was not impressed with the idea of it remaining, either.

Once we got in bandaged up, Wiggle Man decided he felt better. Me, not so much. But I was hopeful that bath time would soften and loosen things up, and it might just, you know, come out on its own.

Not so much.

Nor would it come out after another "session" with Dr. Hubba Hubba. Dr. Mommy had no luck, either. Even Auntie M, with her nursing background, was unable to remove the shrubbery. So, the next morning we headed off to the pediatrician's office for the procedure.

Dr. D asked Wiggle Man where his boo-boo was. Wiggle Man obliged, pointing to his foot. Dr. D thought he was kidding...until he looked at Wiggle Man's chart.

"Oh," he said.

Yeah.

The plan was for me to hold Wiggle Man up to my chest, so he couldn't see the doctor poking and prodding. Hubba Hubba held Wiggle Man's leg still. Dr. D did his thing.

For 15 minutes. Maybe longer. I certainly wasn't looking at my watch, or anything.

No, I had to look into the screaming red face of my son, who chose this moment to say "Mama." Only it was more like this: "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa!" It broke my heart to not be able to do anything besides hold him, tell him every story I could think of, and finally just tell him Mommy loved him, over and over again.

20 minutes later, he was smiling and eating pancakes at McDonald's. Me? I'm still a little traumatized.