Wednesday, July 21, 2010

This Post is Now Diamonds!

Just like everyone else on the planet (unless you work in marketing for Arrid), I love the Old Spice commercials. Check out this parody featuring my very own alma mater's library (Yes! Mormons are funny! You know, when we're not knocking on your door to share a message or making Utah the jello capital of the world).

Former coug or not, you might enjoy this.

Swan Dive!

Friday, July 16, 2010

Worst Time Ever

I hate 3 a.m. I hate it. I don’t hate many things but that unholy hour of the morning evokes a vicious loathing in me usually only reserved for tyrants, puppy abusers, that song from Titanic and nose whistlers.


I have had the unfortunate experience of running into 3 a.m. way more than I would have liked this past year (as well as its equally nefarious conspirators, 4 & 5) thanks to Landon’s apparent aversion to sleep. Even though we tried every sleep strategy, read every sleep book and talked to every parent who looked semi well-rested, Landon was a terrible sleeper for the first 9 months of his life. And I don’t just mean he would wake up a couple times. I mean he would wake up and then stay up for the next couple of hours screaming no matter what we did. Then he would only nap for 20 minutes during the day. One time I was so tired that I had a toddler-like meltdown, complete with floor rolling and staccato hyperventilation (Why! Wont! You! Sleep!?).

Like this, except not socially acceptable

So no matter what we did, our obstinate little guy just wasn’t having it. Fortunately, he eventually got bored of the whole make-your-parents-miserable thing and at around 9 months became a sleeping champ. I smugly thought I was through with 3 a.m. for quite some time.

Blasted pride.

Alas, 3 a.m. is back! It’s back in its insidious and menacing glory! It’s back in its tantrum-inducing and zombie-producing force! My greatest foe is five glaring neon lines on the digital clock.

Landon has kept us up the past few nights until exactly 3 a.m. with the angriest cries I have ever heard from him. We have found nothing wrong– no fever, earache, sore throat, or tummy problems. He’s not cold, hot, wet, itchy, hungry or thirsty. He has his paci, blankie, and even Mr. Naners the sock monkey. But each night it’s the same thing – wake up around 11 and refuse to go back to sleep until 3 a.m. That wretched hour where nothing good comes from the world.

Apparently separation anxiety has hit its stride turning my little snoozing champ into a blubbering mama’s boy. He refuses to calm down for anyone but me and promptly doubles over in agony the second I so much as think about stepping away from his crib. You’d think he had woken up next to Mr. Naner’s severed head.


So it looks like we’ll have to wait this phase out (why, oh WHY did I have to be so lovable??). In the meantime I will need to arm myself for a few more rumbles with that insidious sleuth. 3 a.m. – I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Apparently FDR Never Met a Balloon

When I was a little kid I was afraid of a lot of things. I guess you could say I had a sensitive little soul, but in reality I think I was just scarred from having four older brothers. One time, my brothers told me that there were bears hiding in the forest that surrounded our house in and they would come get me if I was playing on my swing set. My mom never understood why I wouldn’t play on the swing set that I had been dying to get and so sometimes she would make me go play on it. I would sit on the swing, facing the forest, and timidly pump back and forth all the while searching the trees with bug eyes for any sign of hungry bears.

want to play on the seesaw?

Another time, one of my brothers told me that he had something to show me out in the front yard. When I ventured close to the front door, he told me that it’s was the boogey man outside! then shoved me out the door and locked it while laughing from the window as I cried. How you can possibly become a fully functioning adult after that, I don’t know.

Giant child eaters and nondescript undead creatures aside, the top of my fear spectrum was dominated by two hideously terrifying things. Look down at your little Sparky – that precious dog with the fluffy white fur, saucer eyes and wagging tail? That thing was a ferocious devil demon to me. I couldn’t go over to play at friends’ houses if they had a dog, or they at least had to ensure me it would be kept away at all times.

Get it away! GET IT AWAY!!

Thunderstorms were also panic-inducing. I’m not sure why – maybe it had to do with the lightening that struck one of our trees in our front yard, leaving a perfect jagged lightning bolt shape. I guess I assumed that if a tree could get hit, so could I. One of the houses I lived in as a kid had a screened in porch. My family would gather together to watch the fantastic flashes of light and hear the sounds of the booming thunder over the trees. I hid under the kitchen table.

So with such a wussy for a Mom, I assumed that Landon would also exhibit some aversions to certain childhood experiences. Maybe the closet monsters would cause him distress or perhaps the tornado sirens that go off occasionally might be cause for concern. You can understand my surprise, then, when I found out that Landon is utterly terrified of balloons.

To you it's just a harmless celebratory trinket

To Landon it looks like this

Yes, balloons. The helium-filled balls of joy that are the desire of every carnival-going kid the world over. I found this out last week while joining a friend at Chick-fil-a (pre-kid I would never have stepped foot in this place. Post-kid, I see it as it really is: The Best. Restaurant.Ever. I even used emphasis periods because that’s. how much. I mean it.). Anyway, the staff kindly asked if Landon would like a balloon like the other kids and I said yes thinking he would like it. Apparently I don’t know my child at all. He cried from the second that balloon came near him. On the way home, I even had to pull over the car to get the balloon away from him because he was freaking out so much. We still have the pathetic, deflated, non-threatening shell of a balloon wafting on the floor of our living room and every time he sees it, he crawls past it at super warp speed as if the string is going to slither around and catch his little leg.

I’m not sure what to make of this fear. Should I be grateful that his life is peaceful enough that the only thing he can find to cause him grief is a weightless piece of rubber? Or should I be concerned that my kid is headed for many days of viewing the world from inside his locker? I am also not sure how to handle this. My husband (only half kidding) suggested the “flooding” technique in which you surround a person with the object of their fear so as to inoculate themselves against it. So do we tie big bouquets of balloons on every door handle and stuff his room full of them (I’m sure my pediatrician would love that) so that everywhere he looks it’s a frightening array of creepy messages like “Over the Hill!”, “Welcome Baby Girl” and “Congrats Grad!”? That is the stuff adult therapy is made of.

I favor the ignore it and it will go away approach (it’s worked with a lot of stuff so far, I’m seeing how far I can take it). I figure we just accept it as a quirky stage of childhood and move on. Besides, it’s only a matter of time that he will find something else that will cause him great distress.

Like girls.