Healthy, happy...handfuls

Finally, maybe for the first time in 2009, our entire family is perfectly healthy. No, this statement will not jinx us...I say firmly, and with the utmost confidence. And even if it does, I'm choosing to enjoy my healthy, happy, handfuls while I can. H, H, and H...that's referring to the kids, not the husband. Dan is certainly happy and healthy, but is not his typical handful right now, thanks in part to March Madness. And the fact that I will now let he and the boys talk above a whisper when near me. And that I cooked some mean chicken enchiladas tonight.

So what makes tonight blogworthy? Bathtime. Again, kids, not Dan. Typically people think of bathtime as a chance to get a stinky, sticky child more presentable, but around here it's the time when a mother can get to know the inner workings of her 4 1/2 and 3 year old's minds. I shut the door and pretend like I'm not listening as I'm 2 feet away checking my 6 million friends' statuses (stati?) on Facebook. Here's what I heard tonight: (Oh and if you somehow have the notion that I'm a perfect mother or that my boys are saints, please stop reading right about now.)
Bathtub babble:

While playing a game where one boy has his back to the other and turns around quickly, saying, "Hey, you ___" Examples included, "Hey, you bubble," and "Hey, you faucet head" and my personal favorite that was repeated multiple times by Jake, "Hey, you Miley Cyrus from Hannah Montana." (Just for the record, I don't let my 3 and 4 year old boys watch Hannah Montana, but they do watch some shows on the Disney Channel where Miley Cyrus appears at every commercial break.)

Ty: "Jake, I just want to have some beer and watch Toy Story."











Jake: "I wonder if Syd from Toy Story knows Miley Cyrus from Hannah Montana."

People who think our family is perfect can resume reading now. After Ty hits Jake (wait, stop again) Jake says, "Don't hit, Beebs." Ty replies, "YES, I CAN hit because I'M the boss." Okay, start reading now, Jake states, "Beebs, you're not the boss, because you know who the biggest boss of all is? Jesus."


Thank you, brother Jake. I'll just close us in prayer. "Dear Lord, please don't let either of my sons think Miley Cyrus is cool in any way under any circumstance. Ever. And please keep Ty from falling off the wagon. And remind us daily that you certainly ARE the boss. Amen."

R.I.P. Mustache March

I'm sooooooo sorry to say that although I very much wish to give in and post a picture, Dan's stache is history. Those of you who were ufortunate enough never to see it will have to continue to imagine its greatness. Invision its glory. Are you picking up any sarcasm here? Good.

There's a possibility Dan was feeling bad that I've been so sick the last few days and wanted to cheer me up by shaving, but there's a higher probability that he realized I was making gagging noises every time he kissed me. Side note: I just started antibiotic #3 for 2009, trying to get rid of a brutal sinus infection which is currently threatening to make my head pop right off my neck. Gotta love how this spring break is starting, though there's no way it would ever take over as Worst Spring Break of All Time after last year's doozy.

So, Mustache March was short lived at our house, sniff sniff. I know Dan wanted to make you proud Curtis, but I have to say that I'm thrilled that sentiment didn't last long. And that it was never documented on camera. Just in some beautiful poetry.

Oh, upper lip, upper lip...your fur will not be missed. Upper lip, upper lip, at least now you'll be kissed.

March-stache's and middle schoolers

Well, Curtis, you should be proud. Dan has embraced Mustache March (thankfully he's only been at it for about a week, the whole month would have done me in.) Our brother-in-law Curtis has a pretty wicked stache going on right now, and the creepiness of it all amused Dan so much he thought he'd take a whack at it. Now I will admit that there are plenty of men who look great with a mustache, my father-in-law one of them, but Dan and Curtis...not so much. Dan hadn't shaved in quite a few days, then on Saturday evening when I realized he shaved everything but the mustache I believe my exact words were, "you do NOT have a mustache right now," followed closely by, "you're not actually going out in public looking like that," and subsequently, "you realize you'll be sleeping on the futon until that thing is off your face."

My lack of enthusiasm only spurred Dan on, which I should have realized would be the case, but I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. By the way, I'm deliberately not posting a picture because I'm refusing to look at his face long enough to capture a photo, besides the fact that this is not exactly the type of Kodak moment I'd like to save for all time.

I shook my head when Dan went to school on Monday morning, hairy lip and all. Little did I know that my hatred for the stache would be publicized in all of Dan's classes. He came home with 16 handwritten notes from some of his students telling me just how much they loved his new look. I knew he bribed them to write these notes, but I have to admit, some of them were doggone funny. A few had me laughing out loud. I'll share some of the highlights of the middle school passion for Mustache March (and I won't edit any of the spelling/grammar errors because they just add to the comedy):

"Dear Mr Stump's wife,
He looks tight in his mustache. :) It's cool." (a drawing is in the middle of the page, entitled Mr. stump w/his mustache) and then in large letters at the bottom, "It's friggen amazing."

"Hi Mrs. Stump,
You should let Mr. Stump keep his mustash Because when it gets Bigger then you set it on fire and roast marshmellows."

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
Mr. Stump's mustache is so cool & goes so wonderfully with his awesome complexion. You should welcome his mustache warmly."

And my personal favorites:

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
Today in class I realize something special is on Mr. Stump's face. And I notice that it was a lovely mustache on his face. Even though I'm a woman, I want a mustache identical to Mr. Stumps."

"Dear Mrs. Stump,
I can't wate until I go through puberty so I can have such a nice stash as that. I'll be sprouten that lip hair like it's a new pair of shoes...If you think about it, a stash even works as a food source. If you get food stuck in there, later on your hungry, so you use it like a vending machine, your tongue is the claw. "B1, Oh sweet, corn!" But now you see, a moustache has a great amount of advantages. Here's a poem about lip hair, called lip hair:
Lip hair, hip hair, when will you come?
Lip hair, lip hair, you'll never be outdone
Lip hair, lip hair, your just so sweet
I'll curl my lip hair rite down to my feet.
Oh stash, oh stash, you are so yummy,
I even saw a stash on the easter bunny
Although the stash that makes everyone pause,
is obviously the one on Santa Clause
Upper lip, upper lip, you'll soon be warm,
Oh taste buds, oh taste buds, you'll soon taste corn."

It's a shame Dan had to use these budding writers to promote such a cause as Mustache March. I'll give them kudos, but my intense disgust for the stache remains. Sorry Dan. Sorry Curtis. And VERY sorry to you, Jane, who has had to endure 2 more weeks of this than I. Not so "friggen amazing," is it?

Mr. Beebs

Happy birthday Tyler Daniel! My baby is three years old today. Yikes. I say yikes not because I'm looking back tearfully at pictures of my skinny (for approximately one day) newborn (he was 8 days early) or the dimpled cheeked crawler, or the roley poley toddler, missing the good ol days. Sorry, but I'm not mourning the fact he's not waking me up 29 times a night anymore. "Yikes" isn't even because I can't believe how time has flown. "Yikes" is because it's been three years and I still can not get over how much I'm in love with this child in spite of the fact that he can frustrate me more than any human being on this planet.

I reread the post I wrote on Ty's 2nd birthday, and I made a comment similar to this, but it is my blog and if you think I'm being repetitive, then you should probably stop reading these birthday blogs because I'll continue to repeat some of the same sentiments until these kids are 72. Don't count on the run-on sentences stopping anytime soon either. Hopefully there will be a day when I stop writing about Ty painting himself and anything within a 1 mile radius of himself with condiments, but I'm not crossing my fingers. Back to the birthday boy: I love that he genuinely thinks his name is Beebs. Tyler Daniel Beebs Stump. I'm thinking about trying to forge that on our copy of his birth certificate so he won't be devastated some day.

I love that after he got home from getting stitches last week he crawled up on his brothers bed and needed to wake him up to tell him he was alright.

I love that his nap time routine before I close his door is approximately 55 minutes long. Oh wait, honestly most days I hate this, but sometimes I appreciate the cuteness/quirkiness factor. I have to "make a fort" covering his bottom bunk with blankets. Then we play "find me 5 times" where I say "where's Beebs?" and get utterly confused until he pokes his head outside the blanket, ending in hysterical laughter. Then we do "rahrrrr 5 times" where I open the blanket and scare him, again...hysterical laughter. Then I ask him to turn on his music, and he opens the CD player and checks to be sure the correct CD (Veggie Tales Worship) is in there, inspects it thoroughly, makes a horrified face and goes on and on about how scratched the CD is. (EVERY DAY he appears shocked.) Then he gets back into his bed, telling me I have to wait until he lays down before I open the fort and cover him with a blanket. Then I get him water. It must be warm water. Then there's a kiss and a hug, where he tells me I have to "make a funny face when I hug you, like this..." and he gives a wild-eyed open mouthed expression he wants me to repeat during the second hugging process. If I don't do these things in exactly that order, or forget to count (out loud) the "find me"s or "rahrrr"s we have to start the process all over again.

I love that he pretty much loves his birthday present more than his own life. If that kid doesn't play the NBA someday, it's not for lack of practice or enthusiasm that's for sure.
I think it's terribly appropriate for him to have a scab on his forehead for his 3 year old pictures.

I think listening to him butcher a joke and roar with laughter at himself is one of my absolute favorite pastimes.

I think that God has amazing plans for this independent, stubborn, thoughtful, passionate, lovable, hilarious child.

I think when he tells me out of the blue, "Mama, I LOVE you," that I'd stop the world to hug him. I LOVE you too baby boy. Happy birthday. And many many many many more.

We have a winner

Ty wins the unspoken contest. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd have to take one of these boys into the ER. If I'd have been a betting woman, I'd have put my life savings on Ty. Way to come through for me, honey.

Picture the drama: 8pm last night. It was bedtime. So close, and yet...BANG. I hear a loud noise in the bathroom and Ty starts crying immediately. Now I know the whiny cry and the angry cry, and the minor bruise cry, but this was the I-have-seriously-hurt-myself cry. I ran into the bathroom and saw (stop reading here if you're squeamish) blood literally squirting out of Ty's forehead. Blood all over the floor, running down his face, and onto his legs as he looked down at the horror that was our bathroom floor. He had been trying to jump over the step stool, got his feet tangled and bashed his head open on the toilet bowl. Glamorous, huh.

I knew instantly we were headed to the ER. It wasn't that large of a cut, but it was gaping. And gushing. I looked at the fairly new (and light colored) towel hanging on the bar and decided to go for toilet paper instead while I yell for Dan to come help me. Toilet paper is not the best choice for gushing head wounds, just FYI. I got a rag from the hall closet and pushed it on Ty's head which made him a bit upset. I picked him up and calmed him down with the idea that he was going to get a bandaid. He is in love with bandaids. If he had cut his arm off, the thought of a bandaid probably would have made him whoop for joy. And indeed, he did stop crying and I got the blood down to a trickle and pressed the bandaid in place.

Before we left I washed off his legs and feet and got most of the blood off his face, changed the already saturated bandaid, and I drove to my ER (I own it...oh wait, I just work there) while Dan stayed and put Jake to bed. Sweet side-story: Jake doesn't ever remember sleeping in a room by himself. He was climbing up into his top bunk without his bro underneath him, and he stopped half way up and hung his head. Dan said, "are you ok, buddy?" and he shook his head and started bawling. "Beebs hurt his head!" He was so worried about Ty. Such a loving big brother!

We got to the ER at about 8:45, and they put a topical anesthetic on Ty's head and we waited a half hour for that to work. I was preparing myself for the worst. I've held down many a screaming child during the stitching process, so the visions in my head weren't pretty. When they laid him down on the stretcher, I got up there with him, and held his hands while the other nurse (thanks, Julie Cappoen!) was holding his head. The physician assistant is also a friend of mine, and I could tell he wasn't exactly looking forward to the process. Almost 3 year olds are not typically the easiest patients. Ty got a bit of fear in his eyes, but I tried to distract him by telling him we'd get a treat on the way home. He had decided on a chocolate milkshake by stitch number 3. He winced a few times and said, "mommy, that's owie" but never pulled back or screamed or shed a single tear. Can you say PROUD MOTHER?

Oh my sweet baby, I couldn't have asked for a better ER experience with my child. Everyone kept saying how tough and brave and sweet he was. Yes, I know, my son: perfection. (Please don't read any of my previous posts if you think I'm serious.) We left the ER at about 10pm, just over an hour total. For those of you unfamiliar with ER's, that's extraordinarily fast. Thanks to all my co-workers who made it worth the half-hour drive and passing by another hospital!

Ty sipped a two-dollar and forty-nine cent small milkshake (seriously, JackInTheBox, we're in a recession here) all the way home, a huge grin on his face. He was out like a light by 10:45, and he slept in until 8:40 this morning. He's totally fine today, acting like nothing is wrong at all. Huge goose egg and stitches, what?

Now that I know what a great patient Ty is, I'm considering recreating that same bathroom scenario tonight so we can sleep in again tomorrow. Just kidding. There was too much blood on the bathroom floor to clean up. Not worth it.