What happens at the Pendleton Library . . .

"Man it feels good to be a gansta'"

"I think I'll text that cute baby Marielle!"

Whom are you texting Marielle?

"IDK my BFF Beau?"

"What? You don't have any more snacks Miss Emily? No! I refuse to hear that!"

Now if I just nebulize these three gears to coincide with the four proactive phosophatic trifactas, I can blow this place!

OOOO snacks!!

Now let me get this straight it goes, "Oops I did it again" *shake shake* I played with your heart...

Um...could I get some service here please?

The Fabulous Life of Madeline

Mom, I think I have a beta-carotene imbalance! Oh wait....it's just that sketti you gave me!

I have scaled Mt. Austin victoriously!

A beautiful backdrop for dinner al fresco.

Austin will do ANYTHING for a treat!

That dog is freaking me out!

Our new hideout

Madeline and I have claimed this land for the Fultons! We ventured into the concaves of the library and found this super cool playroom. I have never seen another human being there. (That doesn't stop me from wiping everything down first!) It's a nice break from our house!

Work It!

Mommy got (another) birthday present early!! It is what she's been BEGGING for! *No, not diamond earrings from Tiffanys* a Camera!!!!! We found this cool play room at our library! There's never anyone there!

Daddy likes to scare Madeline. (How mean!)

What is this creepy thing cleaning the floor?

Madelin, oblivious to the Zoomba, enjoys her flower.

MOM this is SO good!

!

On first birthdays....

as I am up to my NECK in First birthday party plans - I found this classic Dave Barry column I had to share!


IF ONLY DADS PLANNED BIRTHDAY PARTIESBy Dave Barry
Things are tense in our house. Our daughter is about to turn 4, which means we have to hold a birthday party, which means my wife is, at the moment, insane. Like many moms, my wife believes that a child's birthday party requires as much planning as a lunar landing - more, actually, because you have to hire a clown. Serious moms plan birthday parties months in advance, choosing a theme - Bob the Builder, Disney Princesses, Snoop Doggy Dogg, etc. - and relentlessly incorporating this theme in every element of the party, including invitations, decorations, music, games, craft projects, snacks, cake, entertainment, favors, little gift bags for the favors, ribbons for the little gift bags for the favors, name tags for the ribbons for the little gift bags for the favors, and on and on until the mom has lost all touch with human reality.If you want proof, go to one of the Internet sites devoted to birthday planning, such as birthdaypartyideas.com, where moms report, in detail, the deranged lengths to which they have gone to stage birthday parties for small children. They sound like this:"Our theme for Meghan's third birthday was 'The Enchanted Fairy Forest.' To create a 'forest' in the family room, I made full-size 'trees' out of fiberglass, which I painted brown and festooned with 17,000 'leaves' I cut by hand from green felt, accented with live squirrels that I caught using a galvanized-steel trap baited with Peter Pan creamy peanut butter. For the 'forest floor,' I brought in four tons of mulch with a Lawn Boy yard tractor. For the 'sky,' I used the actual sky, which was visible because I removed the ceiling and roof with a chainsaw, which is when my husband, Ed, left me, but the overall effect was well worth it."You think I'm exaggerating, but that's only because you haven't browsed birthdaypartyideas.com.It would be different if dads planned birthday parties. First off, the party would be about a month after the child's actual birthday, which is when Dad would remember it. Dad's party theme would be "delivery pizza," which would also serve as the cake, the craft project and the party favor. The entertainment would be pulling Dad's finger. The kids would have just as much fun.But of course dad is not entrusted with birthday-party planning, at least not in our house, where the entire massive burden falls on my wife, causing her to become increasingly unbalanced. Last year, our theme was "The Wizard of Oz," and my wife decided that, among many other touches, we needed to transform our front walkway into a Yellow Brick Road by covering it with a roll of yellow plastic that she bought from the House of Really Slippery Surfaces. On the day of the party, it was raining, so I suggested that maybe, for safety, we should not do the Yellow Brick Road.Do you remember "The Exorcist," the part where Linda Blair's eyes get really weird and her head rotates 360 degrees? That's a mild version of how my wife reacted to the suggestion that we would not have a Yellow Brick Road. Her feeling was, yes, there could be injuries, even deaths, BUT WE WILL HAVE A YELLOW BRICK ROAD. And so we did.Our theme this year is "The Little Mermaid." My wife was happy about this until she found out that another girl in our daughter's preschool class was having a birthday party two months before our daughter's, and her theme was ALSO "The Little Mermaid." It's the kind of nightmare you think always happens to other people, but never to you.The other girl's parents are very nice people, but because they used my wife's theme, she viewed them as the enemy. She feared that their party would be better than ours, and these fears worsened when we got to the enemy house and discovered that the enemy mom had used a professional party planner, who had not only done serious undersea decorations involving gauze, but had also provided, for entertainment, a mermaid, a pirate AND a sea goddess."A sea goddess!" my wife said, and the despair in her voice was real.But she is not giving up. She spotted some weaknesses in the enemy party's game plan: For example, there was no clown. If you can imagine. My wife has located a clown that she believes will kick the sea goddess's butt. My wife has other plans, which I will not reveal here, because you never know who could be reading this. Suffice it to say that when the day comes, we'll be ready. For my part, I will do exactly as I am told.But if I hear a chainsaw, I'm gone.

Go Big Blue! (or pink as the case may be)

Have you ever seen a more beautiful baby??

Diaper Doodie

She was great at the grocery store. Just a little angel! Gramma always does a wonderful job entertaining her in the cart as I careen through the store with my own cart; it's my own little vacation.

The drive home she started to get a little fussy, but I expect that. Thursday schedules are a little rough because she never quite gets the nap she needs. As I unstrapped her from her car seat I told her what a good baby she had been and how nice a nap would be for her. She greeted me with her toothy smile and a stench that could knockout an army.

"Oh well" I thought to myself, "at least she didn't do it in the store." I plop her down on our makeshift changing area in a corner of the living room, and try to keep her occupied as I get her changed. It's quite the diaper. But, I get her out of it into a nice clean one, and let her crawl around in her diaper while I dispose of the nuclear waste and grab her a onesie. When I come back to the living room she's playing so contentedly that I decide to throw all the cold food in the fridge - an unexpected treat! I can hear her slapping her hands on the tile which lets me know she's found me in the kitchen. I put the frozen food away, make her a bottle, and swoop her up to get her ready for her mid-day "night night."

That's when I noticed the brown streaks on her face. What on earth did she get into? That chocolate bar I had for breakfast? I was sure I'd finished it all . . . It was all over her.

Holy Cow! It's her poo.

Her hands were full. To make it a little better, some dog hair had been added to the mix. She started to put her hand toward my face. I shrieked.

Just then the dogs went to the corner to check things out. I barked in my most stern voice to "GET AWAY!"

Too late. Big dog had a nose full.

O crap. Whom did I tend to first?

I hurried to her pack - n - play and cleaned off her hand and face. I run back to the living room where Big Dog is scratching his face on the carpet.

"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Madeline is screaming in her poo-covered jail house.

I douse some rags with water and clean off his nose and paws, knowing I can tend to the poor carpet later.

I still smell it everywhere. I realize it is all over me.

I run back to the pack-n-play and start to clean her off with wipes. It's like emptying the ocean with a spoon. I pick her up, trying to keep her on my already soiled side and take her up to the bathtub. We're greeted by a confetti like scattering compliments of Little Dog and her obsession for all things trash. I push it all out of the way with my feet and start the water.

I don't want to put her in her cute little duck tub, so I pull it out - but its suction cupped bottom actually works for once. I pull with all my adrenaline and we fall back against the wall. I toss it out the door and start to fill up the tub while not letting Madeline touch anything - including herself. I strip off her fresh diaper and haul her into the tub.

Mid-day bath! Cool!

I used about half the baby soap on her hands alone, cringing when I think about her using them at dinner. She's gradually getting clean, but the drain keeps falling shut, so she's surrounded by little floating islands of excrement. She splashed and screeches. I'm fighting a losing battle and I know it.

I wonder about covering her in Lysol.

I do my best and pull her out, only to get her poopie again when I put her on my hip. I wipe her down with a handful of wipes and carry her to the nursery. I diaper her up and grab the nearest onesie. It's dirty - there is a crust of some beans on the front.

Right now - it's clean enough!

I swoop her up and we settle into the rocking chair. By some stroke of luck I've managed to remember her bottle, and she eats away happily.

About 10 minutes later she's getting sleepy and I'm anxious to get downstairs and clean up mess #2. Big Dog comes in to investigate. He wipes his face on the carpet in his usual fall-is-coming way and shows me that I obviously wasn't thorough enough in my hurried rub down.

She finished her bottle and I got her settled into her crib. Obliviously of my plans she'd shattered for the rest of my day.

I cleaned up her carpet the best I could and headed downstairs.

There were hand prints and paw prints - everywhere. The "diaper changing corner" was a wreck. Insult to Injury? I spent hours yesterday vacuuming and shampooing the carpet. I hauled all of the living room furniture into the kitchen by myself and worked most of the morning on the living room carpet. I thought it would be a nice surprise for my husband.

My clothes are covered in poo, the living room corner is covered in poo, I smell like I've been living in a dumpster for the last year, and I can track her movements through the kitchen like a bizarre poopy GPS.

I can't wait for my husband to come home and ask, "So what did you do today?"

You gotta have Friends!

My best friend Jenn came over a week ago to hang out with me, and see baby Madeline. She couldn't believe how BIG Madeline was. :( Boo Hoo