something different.

WARNING: No cute pictures are included in this post of Mr. Namesake. Please do not be disappointed. If you have come to this blog for the sole purpose of viewing pictures of an adorable little boy, please kindly click the x in the top right corner. I promise this will not become a habit. Mr. Namesake is hiding from my camera these days. and in preparation for our long-awaited family pictures this weekend, I am allowing Mr. Namesake a short reprieve from my paparazziness.

I believe this cooler weather is inspiring me to use attempt a little bit of my creative side. I admire Martha Stewart (her craftiness, NOT her character) and I always love trying her new recipes and projects. Here's my latest attempt....

You will need an ordinary pumpkin. (I used a Funkin. Mainly because they are reusable year after year.)


Print out your address, initials, etc., in a large scripty font. I chose to do my address. I used Edwardian font in Microsoft Word in 600 pt size. Tape the template to your pumpkin, and using an awl (purchased at Lowe's) or another sharp object, transfer your template to the pumpkin with evenly (or not so evenly) spaced dots.


Here's what mine looked like after I transferred the pattern.


Cut a hole in the bottom of your pumpkin using a small saw or knife.


Enlarge each of the template holes using a drill fitted with a teeny tiny bit. (I used a 5/62".)


Now light 'er up!


Pretty, huh?


I tried to use a candle to light up my Funkin. Not so smart on my behalf. Synthetic, made in China, lead-laden, styrofoam pumpkins do not tolerate heat from an open flame. Learn from my mistake and go with a battery-operated candle. Or your husband's hunting spotlight.

I hope you enjoyed this little break from the usual. I promise to post more of the celebrity real soon.

18 months, 2 days.

Where does the time go? Since P was born, I lose track of time. Very few days of mine creep by. Most days are gone in the blink of an eye. Heck. Eighteen months and two days are gone in the blink of an eye. How is my precious baby boy eighteen months old already? Oh, how I wish time would crawl. Somehow, I cannot recall how or why, I completely missed P's eighteen month birthday. This is a big one, too. A whole year and a half. He'll never know I missed it. Taylor thinks I'm crazy that I even care about an eighteen month old birthday. But, I do care. Very much so. Because my little man is growing up. And I want to soak in every bit of the memories. Thank goodness for this blog that will serve as a good reminder of P's childhood days.

Where does he think he's going with those?


Um, buddy. Don't even think about it. I have fourteen years, five months, and twenty-eight days until I have to worry about that.

old.

Tonight, the Georgia game was way too stressful to watch and I needed a distraction, so I turned to Photoshop for help. I can edit for hours. It's kind of soothing. And because I am still flying by the seat of my pants in Photoshop Land, my photos usually end up with some psychedelic, tungsten-toned, sandpaper-textured funkiness. I have a lot of fun distorting my once decent photos into silly wacky ones, but I am quick to hit the "Delete Layer" button. But then I start all over again. It's an addiction really. Try it sometime.

I cannot even recall what actions and textures I applied to this picture, but I kind of like how it turned out. Lately, he reminds me so much of myself as a baby. This edit reminded me of an old, stained photo from my own childhood. We resemble each other so much at this age. My love is growing for this faded, stained, peeling, decrepit, old photo I accidentally created.


I really need to beg my mom to dig out my old baby pictures. (Hint, hint, mom.) As soon as I get them, I promise to post some side by side comparisons. You will be amazed at the similarities.

rock climber.

P is a little monkey these days. I'll turn my back for two seconds and the next thing I know he's standing on the couch. Or on his firetruck. Or he's halfway up the stairs. He loves to climb over and under the dining room chairs. And he thinks his mama and daddy are playground equipment. His daddy is the monkey bars. His mama is a swing. Or a tunnel. Or maybe I'm the slide. It depends on the day. Either way, he climbs on everything, including us. He wears us out. But he also makes us laugh 'til we cry.

It was a good thing he found this rock the other day at the reservoir, because he was getting a little bored of the solid ground.




If he could speak in complete sentences, I'm sure he would of yelled, "I'm the king of the world!"


He was so proud of his climb. But he was scared to come down. At least he still needs his mama for some things.

fun guys.

How many days straight did it rain in Atlanta? When you have an almost 18 month old, it feels like an eternity. We have attempted just about every indoor activity I could come up with. Finger painting, building forts, watching episode after episode of Momo (Elmo's World), pumpkin carving, sing-alongs, coloring, toddler cooking lessons, box scooting, stair sliding. You name it. We've tried it. We've tried everything just short of building an arc and floating away from this water-logged town. P and his rain boots are BFF's these days. At least we're getting some use out of them before he outgrows them.


My sister lives in Douglasville, which has suffered the brunt of this weather system. Her school has been canceled for a week. No water, cable, or internet. I-20 has been shut down and half of the back roads to get to their house have been washed away. They are literally stuck on D-Ville island. I've never seen anything like this.

So when the sun showed its bright, cheery face yesterday for the first time in ages, we took full advantage. We headed down to the reservoir to soak in some rays and to burn some toddler fuel. And we met some really fun guys along the way.

Well, hello handsome.


We found some short, stumpy guys.



And some tall, lanky guys.


Guys that ran in crowds.



And some that stood alone.


We sure had fun with all of the fun guys that we met. Don't worry. I wouldn't let P touch them. Try explaining "poisonous" to an almost eighteen month old. He didn't get it. So I used my sure fire scare tactic that works every time. "P, don't touch. Their hot." P ran around from fungi to toadstool, yelling "dot, mama, dot." He searched, and squatted, and pointed. And yelled "dot". A lot. P loved our little 'shroom hunt. And so did I.

happy fall y'all.

fratastic.

In 17 years, our little man will be a lock during fraternity rush. He already fits right in.


His legacy status will just be the tip of the iceberg. Broken in Georgia hat with curls hanging out around his ears, gray New Balance kicks, and, not to mention, his killer outgoing personality. He was born Greek.


Oh, he makes his daddy proud. And he makes his mama worry. His mama knows how those fraternity boys can be....


Next pair of tennis shoes will be Stride Rite.

snoozerator.

I promise I'm still here. I'm on Round 2 of this terrible virus. P's on Day 14. We are just doing what we can do in this household to keep Taylor from catching our funk. The makers of Lysol loves the Rice family these days. So, for the meantime, blogging has been put on the back burner while I care for myself and poor little P.

Despite his sickness, P is still a happy little camper. He is still playing his heart out. Just napping a little longer and more often to recoup. He took a five hour nap the other day! Taylor and I tip-toed into his room to make sure he was still breathing. Yes, I still get those occasional, irrational fears that he will stop breathing in his sleep. Especially lately because he is taking cold medicine. And I'm a pharmacist. And I know about all of the drug warnings and rare side effects of cold medicine. Where was I? Oh, yes. So, we checked to see if P was still breathing. He had been napping for five hours. We decided to wake him up from his slumber so that he would still sleep that night. We tried everything to wake him up. We rubbed his back. I kissed his head. We played music. We talked to him. Nothing. He was out for the count. He looked so peaceful and happy. (I rarely get to see him sleeping. He falls asleep on his own. My baby is all grown up and will no longer let me rock him to sleep. Sniff sniff.) So, of course, I seized the opportunity and ran and got my camera. I took one picture and he jumped strait up from a dead sleep and started talking and laughing and carrying on. Who wakes up this happy?






Besides the disheveled hair and boogers in his nose, he doesn't look sick, does he? Of all things, the camera woke him up. For some reason, my camera makes him edgy. I'll have to remember this trick when he is a teenager and won't get up for school.

put on your party hat.

A mean and nasty cold virus did not stand in the way of an awesome Labor Day weekend at the lake spent with Amy, Nick, and their two kids. I was sick Thursday, Friday, and Saturday with a fever, snotty nose, sore throat, etc., but just as fast as I got sick, I got better. The boys had an absolute blast playing together. They played nonstop from sun up to sun down. They partied hard. All weekend long. And amidst all of the partying, P did not forget to wear his party hat.



Us adults enjoyed ourselves as well. We soaked up some sun and fit in time for some major relaxation. (Well, as much relaxation as you can get with three crazy kids.) I'll post more pictures later. I am still trying to catch up on the laundry and my sleep. Happy short work week to everyone!

pop goes the bubble.

Pop Goes the Bubble is the song that I heard loud and clear as I rounded the corner towards P's classroom today at pickup time. Sung to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel. I peek my head in the classroom to witness a room full of one year olds dancing and singing and popping bubbles. What caught my attention the most was how incredibly enthusiastic the teachers were about singing this made up tune. I tip my hat to these incredible teachers. They have so much patience to work with kids this age. I know first-hand how much patience it takes to deal with one child. But six of them? No way could I do it. And these teachers are creative. Do you know how long a one year old's attention span lasts? Not very long. I guess that's why the sample schedule that I received from P's teacher at the beginning of the year consists of about a trillion 10 minute activities. Ten minutes sounds about right. That is their max. Maybe fifteen minutes, and by then you have definitely lost them. I would run out of creative activities after about 30 minutes. P is really beginning to enjoy school. He is learning in leaps and bounds and he is making new friends with his peers and teachers. Drop off is still very difficult. The teacher has to literally pry him out of my arms. But the crying ceases before I even exit the building, so that makes me feel a lot better about the situation.

After hearing "pop" and "bobles" a thousand times today, I realized he must not have gotten his fill at school, so I pulled P's bubble machine out of the garage and let him "pop bobles" until his heart was content.

"Are you sure this thing works?"


He is always interested in how things work. People tell me he'll grow up to be an engineer. Or a construction worker. (I'm not lying. People really have told me this.) I'll choose engineer.


I love that you can see the reflection of our house and the sky in the bubble. If only I had a macro lens.....(hint, hint)


"Bobles!"


Pop! Pop!


We're off to the lake for a long, extended weekend with friends. Happy Labor Day!

boots.

Do you remember this post? It's hard to believe that was only a little over four months ago. Now that his rain boots actually fit, he is a much happier welly wearer.

Or is he?


Yes, he is. Believe me. I just have to throw in an unhappy picture every now and then so that one day when I look back at this blog I'll be reminded that he was not always happy. Just most of the time. He loves his "boats". He plays in his "boats". Eats in his "boats". And he would love to wear his "boats" to school, but I haven't given in just yet.

See?




He's a happy little man. And curious. He loves him some rocks. And some water. With this combination, my little boy could of played in the rain all day. But I was getting wet. And so was my camera.


I have promised myself to take some video of him soon. He has changed so much in the past couple of weeks. He is learning new words every day. His latest word is work. "Dada, wurk." He can jump as high as Michael Jordan. And he can run as fast as Usain Bolt. But he trips too much to win an Olympic medal. All I know is that when he hears the phrase "diaper change", he jets too fast for his mama to catch him. I think I'm ready to potty train. Is he? Hmmmm....he does pee in his daddy's closet. Does that equal readiness?

dat.

"Dat" is probably the most commonly used word of P's rapidly expanding category. It can mean one of several things. It can mean cat, that, or most likely, hat. P is obsessed with hats. He's not really into wearing them. He just likes to put them on so he can take them back off again. And he loves to dress other people up in hats. Baseball, coonskin, cowboy....he is not choosy. Any hat will do. And this plastic fireman's hat worked just fine.




He makes me laugh until my sides hurt. He takes this hat business so seriously.






Thanks to our strange neighbor for using his air hose for yet another project to trick out his jacked up truck. He kept P entertained so that I could snap a ton of pictures.

17 months.

Lover of motorcycles, Momo (Elmo), Stove Top stuffing, rocking chairs, hide and seek, and heights.

Talks your ear off. Favorite words include yeah, hello, Momo, bubbles, (ba)nanas, alrighty, boom, oh boy, and butterfly.

Smart as a whip. He can recognize tons of objects. He'll point out bears, cats, dogs, birds, monkeys, babies, bananas, butterflies, and much more.

Enjoys his time spent at school (finally!).

Sensitive and sweet. Curious and courageous. Energetic and entertaining.

Have I ever said how much I love this boy? Oh my gosh, I love this boy. He brightens my world.