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Today was going fine, until it suddenly wasn't and now it's 10:45 and I'm trapped in bed with a baby who is refusing to sleep and typing this on my Nook which is a terrible way to go about things.
Audrey just headbutted me. Bah.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to continue my Audrey update as today she is five months old. (Holy crap! Five months!)
Audrey is the most agreeable, happy baby ever, as long as you don't try to do something stupid, like put her down. Ever. :)
So, yes, we have not made any strides in naptime, or bedtime, or, oh, let's call it Mommy time. But that's okay. I can type over Audrey when she is sleeping on the boppy on my lap and Patrick and I are watching Thomas the Tank Engine's Snowy Surprise. Gosh but kids are fun.
Audrey is not great at self-soothing, but she does enjoy sucking her thumb. ACTUALLY she enjoys sucking her TOE and kind of healf-heartedly sucks at her thumb when nothing better is there. She is happiest when she is upright in some form, sitting (which she can almost do my herself but not quite) or lately standing. As long as she can grab your fingers, she can stand up for a while. She likes to dance but is not really interested in walking as yet.
She continues to LOVE her brother. He continues to love his toys and cartoons. He loves her too, but he wants you to know that she cannot play with his trains and oh by the way, when she cries it's too loud and he can't hear the cartoons so could you take her in the other room?
Audrey started rolling over when she was a little past three months old but she has gotten terribly proficient at it here lately. Gone are the days when I can set her in the middle of the bed and go brush my teeth.
We tried oatmeal, once, and I think Audrey liked it, but then the doctor lectured me that oatmeal was FROM THE DEVIL and I am sufficiently cowed and haven't tried it again. But soon. For sure at six months there's no stopping us and I might even rebel and do it sooner. HA.
We've had Halloween and Thanksgiving. Next up: Christmas. AND SIX MONTHS 
OLD.
I read an article in one of my mom's magazines on Thanksgiving about EEQ -- emotional eating quotient. It was kind of interesting; it said if you were too nice, you'd get fat. I might be paraphrasing. Basically, if you are too nice, you'd be more likely to take a handful of candy from someone's candy jar, just to be polite, or split dessert with a friend even if you don't want to, because they asked.
"Obviously, I'm too nice," I said to my mom.
But actually (surprisingly) I don't think that's my problem. My EEQ problems, neither of which was mentioned in the article are:
1. Food costs money. If I paid for it, I don't want to waste it. So I'm going to eat it. All. Didn't you mother ever tell you there are starving children in China?
2. Food tastes good. I like it. I might not be hungry, exactly, but if I've made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and I know they're sitting in the kitchen, then I'm going to go eat one. Or 10.
Just some food for thought, there.
Ha, I crack myself up.
Isn't there some sort of saying -- related to raising children -- where it takes three times to make a habit and three weeks to break it? Or something similarly scary? We are so screwed on Audrey's habits, but I think that's only half my fault and half her stubborn nature. Well, I guess half of her stubborn nature is also my fault, which makes it three-quarters my fault then?
Anyway, that wasn't what I was thinking about. What I was thinking about is that I was sitting here, doing some online window shopping and ruminating that I wasn't sure how I felt about Black Friday -- good for the economy? bad for small business? terrible for retail employees? good deal for me? bad deal for me? discuss. -- when it occurred to me that, oh hell, it's almost 11 and I haven't written anything on my blog. Then it occurred to me that after 22 consecutive days, it's still not a habit. I wrote earlier this month about having some difficulty with this exercise, and felt that I was sacrificing quality for quantity. I still think that's true, but I sort of stopped caring and I find that I do rather enjoy writing every day. If something fun DOES actually happen during the day, then I have a record of it. If it's something small, I still can just write that. I suppose it's a bit freeing to allow myself to blather on about nothing, but isn't that what having your own personal blog is all about?
HA.
Also, I have made a concerted effort to just post these as I write them and not go back to edit...
So, Thanksgiving. You know how you have images in your mind of how things will go? And then it never quite turns out like you think/hope/plan? Yeah.
After my one traitorous thought about the pies, I enjoyed making them. I was looking forward to how good they would be, how everyone would sit around with cups of coffee, eating pie and perhaps watching Christmas Vacation. Or maybe Armageddon. This would be after a nice dinner where we all sat around the table chatting idly. And that would be after we played cornhole and maybe took a nice walk, sort of a preventive measure for the upcoming calorie consumption.
The reality ... was somewhat less.
There's always something. Screaming, yelling, the boundless energy of a three-year-old, unexpected guests, the gravy left to boil ... undercurrents, cutting remarks, and that's Thanksgiving.
It was nice. The turkey was very good, the mashed potatoes as well. My mom made my grandma's stuffing recipe. Green bean casserole for my brother. And of course the pies.
And Patrick won at cornhole.
Yesterday, after I posted, I looked at my little posting calendar and thought two things. (1) Wow, look at all those links this month! This is awesome! and (2) Holy crap, there are a lot of days left in this month.
So, yesterday = success. Today = 10:30 pm and I have no idea what to write.
I baked my Thanksgiving pies today. I always do the pies. This was the first year where I thought, 'Oh. The pies. Again.' I blame Audrey. I also blame her for the storebought crust. I used to pride myself on making my own crusts. I am pretty sure I still did homemade crusts (they're not hard, just annoying) after Patrick came along, though I can't swear to making them last year. It's just, the storebought ones actually taste okay. It's a fair tradeoff. Traditionally, we have two pies: pumpkin and Caribbean fudge. I don't know how this tradition started -- I should ask my mom -- but as long as I can remember this is what we have done. (It is such a good pie, too. I mean, screw the pumpkin.) I always have pumpkin pie filling left over, but not enough to do anything with, so this year I dumped it into another pie plate, topped it with spice cake mix, oats and melted butter, and made pumpkin pie crunch. Or, fondly, pumpkin goo. I also make mini phyllo pecan pies. I'm not sure why we've never done pecan pies, but we don't.
Our other Thanksgiving tradition seems to be cornhole. You know, I grew up in the south. I have always lived in the south. I still always think it should be colder on Thanksgiving. This year it shouldn't be bad, the latest forecast I saw was 59. That's a bit warm but not like 'you better wear shorts or you'll be sweating as you eat your turkey.' Anyway, it's usually warm. We play cornhole. There's alcohol involved but, let's see, three of the last four Thanksgivings I've been pregnant (is that right? 2008, 2010, 2011 ... yep, guess so) and this year I'm breastfeeding, so ...
Oh, hey! There's Audrey. Turkey theme continues tomorrow.
For the most part, I don't do Christmas before Thanksgiving. I mean, I buy gifts, but putting up decorations? Listening to Christmas music? No. Except this year, I seem to have relaxed that rule. No Christmas tree, no real decorations, but I did pull out my Rocky Mountain Christmas CD over the weekend. Then, last night, I got the bright idea to check and see if Santa was already at the malls, since I knew they'd had their tree lightings already. Yes! Santa is at the malls! So, I thought we could go early, get the requisite Santa picture (Yes, I pay the exorbitant amounts of money for the crappy pictures. I like them.) while there were no lines, AND I could finish my photo calendars before December. Win!
Patrick has had differing reactions to Santa throughout the years. His first Christmas, he did not see Santa, as he was five days old on Christmas Day. Second Christmas, he was sick with daycare crud for almost the entire month of December. Horrible mother that I am, I took him to TWO malls while he was home one day with a fever. He cried. His third Christmas, I took him by the mall on a snow day. He loved waving to Santa. He did not want to get anywhere near the man. Last year, I wasn't even planning to attempt a Santa picture, but I happened to be at the mall at the end of November, and Patrick INSISTED on waiting in line and going up to sit on Santa's lap. He grinned for the picture. It was adorable. I thought we were set.
This year, Patrick has been so excited about telling Santa what he wants for Christmas. He has an ever growing list. So I asked him this morning, did he want to go see Santa. He said yes. I also told him he could go play with the trains at Barnes & Noble so he was all in. He even wore his special Christmas t-shirt. We got to the mall. He played with the trains. He got me to buy one, even though I had insisted beforehand that we were unequivocally NOT BUYING ANY TOYS TODAY. He bounded toward Santa's house. There were two people ahead of us. This was cake. I got in line. Audrey was rebelling against the stroller, so I was carrying her while pushing the stroller. I started chatting with the mom ahead of me, who had an older baby with her. Audrey was flirting with this baby. The mom said, "Oh look, they're both smiling!" I said, "Yeah, right up until they get on Santa's lap. This one--" pointing at Patrick "--SCREAMED for his first Santa picture."
At this point I noticed Patrick cowering by the little lamp on the rustic North Pole bridge that signified the Santa line. "I don't wanna see Santa," said Patrick. "I'm scared."
Oh dear.
I cajoled. I bribed. I threw Audrey under the bus. Patrick was scared. Finally I said, "I am going to get Audrey's picture with Santa. You don't have to go up there."
When it was our turn, I took Audrey up. Santa had a southern accent. He said hello to Audrey. She grinned gummily at him. He was charmed. Patrick was cowering behind the stroller. I asked him if he wanted to come up. He finally came over, stopping about three feet from Santa. He managed to get out, "I want the castle with the yellow door and Rocky the Rescue Train..." and then it went downhill. Santa said, "Can you come over here so I can hear you better?" and Patrick disappeared behind the stroller again.
There was no turning back now. I plunked Audrey down on Santa's lap. The flirty grin disappeared. Audrey looked confused. She looked every which way but at the camera. Finally she looked straight ahead for two seconds, blinked, and then screamed bloody murder. Luckily we caught her in between blinks.
So, last night's entry? Wasn't just supposed to end like that. However, the subject of said entry was being ... high maintenance, so in the interest of NaBloPoMo I hit 'post' instead of 'save as draft' and here we are.
But. I'm not ready to finish it tonight, as Audrey is now navigating 'to roll over in my sleep or not to roll over in my sleep' and it is a bit rocky.
Today, Patrick made a pool for all the toothbrushes. In his potty.
It was that kind of day.
How can it be possible that Audrey is nearly 5 months old? Chances are, we will not have another baby so I am trying to enjoy everything. It's easier said than done though when you're dealing with all the little things.
Anyway. Audrey is at best a high needs baby and at worst, well, let's call her a challenge. We got lucky with Patrick, he was so low key and easygoing, so I suspected it would be harder this time around.
Audrey has been able to roll over, both ways, since the beginning of October. She still doesn't roll over all that much because she doesn't tolerate being put down. At one point last week, I finally decided it was getting ridiculous and resolved to let her put herself to sleep at nap time. She had just eaten. She was drowsy. I turned on some white noise and got set to go comfort her -- without picking her up -- every five minutes. After 47 consecutive minutes of top of her lungs screaming, she won that battle of wills. I picked her up and nursed her to sleep. She proceeded to sleep for 16 minutes.
So I made these pumpkin snickerdoodle latte cupcakes today. They were okay. I love pumpkin spice lattes. I love snickerdoodles. I love cupcakes. But it didn't really work for me. They didn't taste like PSLs. Or snickerdoodles. I mean, they were decent, but the espresso flavor does not shine through. The pumpkin flavor doesn't shine. The butter somehow doesn't work as well as oil tends to in pumpkin receipes. They were dry.
Maybe they will be better tomorrow.
However, as a vehicle for cream cheese frosting, they serve their purpose. Looking at that recipe again, I just realized there was supposed to be cinnamon in the frosting. I have done that before and like it but it wouldn't have helped the cupcakes. Also, that recipe as made makes a TON of frosting. I used half of the cream cheese, half of the butter and a third of the powdered sugar, frosted the cupcakes generously (but not piped that high) and there was still some leftover. I also didn't sprinkle on the cinnamon sugar. As my dad said, "Maybe a little cinnamon -- they don't need more sugar." And I say that as someone who loves sugar.
In other news, I had my first gingerbread latte of the season today. My brother and I went to Harris Teeter to get coffee and almond paste and Guinness and stopped for Starbucks. We were debating which winter drink to get. I was going for gingerbread but then HE got gingerbread and at the last minute I went with a caramel brulee latte. Then we traded sips.
"Oh, I forgot how good that caramel is," said my brother.
"I did NOT forget how good the gingerbread is," I said. "I should have gotten that."
"No, the flavor of yours is much better," he said.
We traded.
And finally, it's not the holidays until you listen to Rocky Mountain Christmas. Best Christmas album ever. John Denver rocks. HA.
