I found you, my love!

At long last, my blog and I have been reunited. I've counted the seconds, minutes, hours, days......
OOOORRRRRRR
I lost my blog :c
I wish I were kidding. There are times when having 5 or 6 throw away emails is not helpful. Fail.

Moving on, moving on....

Having two kids has been interesting. Logan is a great big help, most of the time. Jax cries. And sometimes growls. I have this gut feeling that Little Man is going to introduced to spankings a lot earlier than Logina was.

The first week was the worst, though. I was in labor for 40 hours, and Jax was in the NICU for several days to make sure his head was ok (seriously, he looked like a little alien. Had I not been so worried about him, I probably would have laughed every time I saw him. I am not a terrible mother). Then, 3 hours before we were going to be discharged, Jaximillion's bilirubin results came back, and he had jaundice. So he had to stay, and we had to scramble to find somewhere close to sleep because Cape Fear sucks donkey balls and will not let a nursing mother stay with her child. Which meant every 90 minutes I was drove back to the hospital to feed him.

Whatever, they suck. After a day of phototherapy we were able to take Jax AND Logan home, but the next day Jax and I  were back in a hospital because his jaundice got worse instead of better. Wake Med let me stay there, though, and kept Jax in the room with me. And rent movies. And they gave me bottled water. Two thumbs up, Wake Med!

Poor Logan didn't know what to do during all of this. Of course he was out of school for a few days and staying with his PaPa, and that was way fun, but Logan was as excited about Jax being born as Steve and I. The first time he saw him, Jax was teeny tiny, swollen from birth, and had the creepy alien noggin. Long story short, Logan didn't want to touch him. It took almost two weeks for him to do so, and the moment will forever be etched in my mind.

Logan: "Look at how tiny his hands are! Look, he knows I'm his brother! He's holding my finger!"
Me: "He is. That's because he loves yo.......What are you doing??!!"
Logan: "Why you hitting yourself, FlapJax? Why you  hitting yourself?"

Ahhhhh, the sweet sweet memories........

I don't know where his mind wanders off to...

     A few days ago, Logan and I were walking to the little post office in our subdivision. It a nice walk, as long as it's not the same temperature as the surface of the sun. We usually chit chat about nothing on these quick strolls through the neighborhood, but on that day Logaloo was unusually quiet. After a few minutes, he grabbed my hand and started swinging it, looked up with his big brown eyes, and told me this little jem:

      "Kati, when I hide and i have to squoosh all down, I always try to poop. But I haven't been able to yet......" (at this point, he looks down and shrugs, and then quickly looks up at me) "Quit laughing, it's true!!!!!!!!"

     

Excuses, Excuses

I'm finally getting the hang of this whole stay at home mom thing, and I'm starting to really enjoy. Especially because I get to see all the stuff that Logan does that makes a perverse sense.
Case in point:
Tonight, as I was walking out of the computer room to make sure he'd brushed his teeth and was getting ready for bed, he was coming out of his room and shutting his door. That should have been my first clue, because we're pretty open. Doors are only shut for bed or changing. But, whatever, I've caught him eating out of the trash when he's not even hungry in the past month (his reason:"It looked yummy!"), so I'm learning to ignore some of the more mundane things he's doing.
5 minutes later, he comes to me with a fake look of sincerity and remorse on his face-you know the kind, where someone looks sad, but can't keep a smile off their face-and informs me that his bedroom door is locked. From the inside. When I sit him down on the floor to wait for Steve to finish his Modern Warfare mission and ask him why he did that, this is the reason I got
"Because....." and at this point he starts to cry big huge fake tears "I didn't want to go to bed".
It's a reasonable excuse, I suppose. Except his normal bedtime during the summer is 930, and he got that bad boy moved up to 830 tonight.