As a lifelong music-lover, fewer things warm my heart as much as when my kids take a liking to a particular song.  Granted, when they are really young, it's often aided by repetition on my part, but it seems that they really do begin to respond to certain music...rather, certain songs, and I will play them to their little hearts' contents, just so long as it's not something terrible like a Spongebob or Dora song.  (My tolerance is low, I know.  The kids don't miss out, though.  Adam's tolerance is very, very high.)

At just over a year old, Patrick's favorite song was "Downtown" by Petula Clark.  We sang it constantly.  He asked for it constantly.  This lasted about 10 months, though he still asks for it and can sing along like he just heard it yesterday.  Other favorites are "Bushel and a Peck" from Guys and Dolls, Bing Crosby's "MacNamara's Band," (which he has deemed the Patrick Song), all Christmas music, and the newest addition, The Beatles' "Yellow Submarine."  A pretty typical kid's musical library, really; catchy songs, to which he can easily sing along (and does...all day long.)

Little Leo has just started to pick up on certain songs, discovered by accident as we're driving along in the car.  I actually really like them both (only two), so we listen to them fairly frequently.  One will calm him or put him to sleep every time.  This works like a charm.  This really was discovered by accident as he was having a meltdown in the car.  The song started to play, and there was silence...until it ended.  This, naturally, meant that we listened to it on repeat the entire way home.  The song?  Zee Avi's "Bitter Heart."  Have a listen:

 And then we come to the song that helped us discover that our little Leo also liked to sing, and that his cute little scratcy voice is also expressed in song.  While it's not my favorite song from Into the Wild, it's definitely one of them.  Good work, little Leo.  Enjoy!

Facebook, I Hate You...sometimes

I've reached the point at which I am almost exhausted with Facebook.  (I don't Tweet, and shoot me if I ever do, but I'm exhausted with that, as well.)  There is just a maximum that we need to know about people.  For close friends and relatives, I can't get enough.  There are also people who I creepily look forward to hearing about because they have funny or interesting lives.  I admit it, I FB stalk a little.  However, the vague-booking, the constant updates, the drama-ridden shots at other people...it is tiring.  It usually leads to my immediate sign off.  Which brings me to my point...why do I do it?  Why do I care so much?  Ugh.  I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook.  Which is why I am considering deactivating again.  I'm just tired.  There is only so much that I want people to know about us, too...but then, I think, I have this blog.  Isn't that the same, kind of?  What started out as a way for me to chronicle our lives for the kids has turned in to a bit more.  Then again, I like to think that this is a little different.  If people come here, they actually want to know something, read something, or see something, and I'm not just forcing it on them.  I don't even know if that reasoning makes much sense.  So be it, I suppose. 

Ugh, it's Saturday, and I'm in a foul mood.  After an absolutely lovely shower for my good friend, Faithe (who probably never reads this, but if she does, she should know that she is one of my favorite people in the world.  I wish everyone could have their own "Faithe"), my day just kind of went downhill.  It just turned out to be not my day.  I would like to hit the reset button, for the second day in a row.  Adam leaves for another business trip tomorrow, which always bums me out.  My luck runs out when Adam is gone. My life gets flipped upside down.  Last year, I did it (unsucessfully) with just one child.  This year, I am managing two...and class, a final, class presentation, English and Chemistry homework, one job interview, one working day as a new Student Nurse, and a doctor's appointment.  I also need to find childcare to cover all of those events.  Boo to all of it.  I'm very grumpy.  I wish I had a live-in nanny for the week. 

We'll survive, though.  We always do.  I'm just hoping that next Saturday gets here fast, fast, fast. 

Date Night

Last night was Valentine's Day for us, which meant a dinner out without the kids; it was a bonafide Date Night.  And it was fantastic.  For an hour and a half, we had adult conversation that only touched on the kids a few times.  We found that we had a lot to talk about, which was a nice surprise, considering that most of our conversations center around who ate, who slept, who needs a talking to, and who needs to be where and at what time.  For under two hours, we dated.  I love it. 

Adam and I have quite an extensive history, but, for the sake of simplicity, we'll say we've been married for four years and together for five.  For those five years, we have been on a mission to make this family and to do well for ourselves (not monetarily well...just well.)  We want for nothing.  We work for everything...and I mean everything.

I laugh a little when I see status updates (FB, naturally) that refer to "Eight years of marital bliss" or the like.  Let's be fair.  Nobody has pure marital bliss.  We all get on each other's nerves.  We fight.  We argue.  We sometimes don't like each other, and that's just the simple truth of it.  So it goes when you live with people.  It was that way growing up with siblings and parents and it's that way now with our own families.  It's just life.  Though we have had a few knock-down-drag-out fights (two, to be exact), and more minor fueds than I can count, we live by rules that help to keep us in line.  If you know me, you know that is just how I am.  I'm a planner.  It's the way I live and, thankfully, Adam rolls right along with it.  Here are our rules:

1.) Be nice.  Whether or not we want to, voices stay low and we stay kind.  No cutting words.
2.) Share everything.  Everything we have is ours.  Our bank account, our savings, our retirement, our cars, even so far down the line as gift cards...we share everything. 
3.) Every decision is a joint decision.  Granted, there are things I don't know anything about (the water heater.)  I refer all of these decisions to Adam.  Though this part drives him crazy, we discuss everything.
4.) Kiss every day.  At least once.  There are times that I might roll my eyes at the same time, but we do it.  Sometimes, that little bit of affection is enough to cut any tension.
5.) Surprise each other.  We buy cupcakes for each other.  We make meals for each other.  In short, we help each other out, we lift each other up, we try to make some days a little more special. 
6.) Focus on what we have.  It's so easy to get caught up in what someone else has, what they're driving, their new job, their kid's fancy shoes, but at the end of the day, it's us.  Nothing else matters.
7.) WE'RE A TEAM.  This one should actually be #1.  It's the driving force in everything we do.  We might not always agree, but we're a team and that's just how things work.  More than one fued has been brought to an abrupt halt with one person saying, "We're a team.  Let's act like it."  I guess you could say it's our mantra.

Life is not perfect, but it's good.  We're always a work in progress.  What helps, though, is that we work together.  We have common goals.  Now that we've reached a few, I can honestly say that there are few greater feelings than that of a goal reached together.  We have a long, long life ahead of us, God willing.  At this rate, I feel pretty confident we'll be sitting pretty at 90.  Maybe not pretty, and more reclining that sitting, but you know what I mean.  Long live Date Night.

"I get it's a minivan, but I am truly jealous of your new car." -Adam Walden

We went to look at cars yesterday.  As of yesterday morning, I was sold on getting a Sienna.  It was almost for sure.  And then we went car shopping.  This is what we found:

Yes, yes, yes.  To be honest, I was not in love with it at first.  I was hesitant because I knew that VW and Chrysler had worked together on the engineering for this car, and I'm a true VW fan.  That little fact swayed me a little.  We got in a new one, and I immediately wanted out.  It just wasn't right.  But it wasn't the one I went to see.  The one I went to see is that pretty one up there.  And it's fancy.  And I really do love it.  And, despite any joint engineering, it's a VW.  Adam drove it this afternoon and I heard him rocking some Pearl Jam coming in the driveway.  He was reluctant about buying a minivan, but he loves it, too.  So much, in fact, that he's a little envious that I'll be the one driving it.  It's a pretty cool dad-car, too.   (We are definitely in our 30's and parents.  No doubt about it now.  We're super-psyched about a minivan. C'mon.)

That soccer mom goal is just so close.  It's.  Right.  There.  Truthfully, I'll probably be a Mathlete mom first, but I'll still have a cool van.

So now, Patrick John Edward is three years old.  Three.  Years.  Old.  It almost doesn't seem possible.  I think back at this day three years ago, and it's just surreal.  How does the time go so fast?  No, really?  Little did I know that tiny, strawberry-blond baby was going to grow up to be this cool. 

This kid brightens our lives.  His personality is almost too big to fit in that tiny body.  He is funny and clever and sharp-tongued and unbelievably smart.  He has the memory of an elephant.  While I usually don't care much for the word "amazing," that's what he is.  He amazes me. 

Here is what he's into these days:

1.) Buzz...always Buzz
2.) Superheroes.  Spiderman is the favorite, but he's recently becoming very interested in Ironman.
3.) Transformers
4.) His uncles (who he refers to as "pretty princesses")
5.) Absolutely anything that Grandad thinks is cool
6.) Singing with abandon
7.) Baby Monkey (If you haven't seen this video, it's asinine...and he loves it.  Admittedly, I kind of think it's funny, too.  It's been weeks and I can't stop singing the song.  Please see below if you want to know what I am talking about.)
8.) Dressing himself
9.) Airplanes
10.) Costumes

In addition, he's learned to spell his own name, can hold up three fingers to show you how old he is, and can tell you his birthdate.  Depending on what day it is, he will argue with you that he's not three, he's six.  He's also an excellent dancer, much like his father. 

Enjoy this excellent video.  Good luck getting the song out of your head, and good luck not singing it in that ridiculous voice:

God Can Be Funny

Patrick Tells His Birth Story

With Patrick's birthday approaching, I have started to tell him his birth story; where we were, how it happened, what it felt like, etc.  As it goes with most 2-3 year-olds, what you say and what they hear may favor each other, but are often quite different.  As we sit here on Day 2 of Snowtastrophe 2011, I am listening to Patrick tell us his version of his birth story.  It goes something like this:

"You got married because you were so sad I wasn't a baby.  A---a----a-and you didn't have me yet.  So then, I got growed in your belly.  I growed and I growed and then I was so big.  Then you woke up.  And you woke up because you said to Daddy, 'Baby Patrick is so big a-aa-and he needs to come out.'  Then I was here, and I was a baby a--aaa--and you were so HAPPY because I am so good.  But now I am almost three and you are sometimes mad at me when I pee my pants."

Yep, good job, buddy.  You summed that up nicely.

(Here's the real story, if anyone wants to read it.)

Correction:

I think I would like to retract my statement about Leo being relatively healthy.  After what has now been three weeks of constant illness (and not the ho-hum variety), I feel as though I misrepresented poor Leo and would therefore like to set the record straight.  Perhaps, at another time, I will say that Leo is relatively healthy.  For the time being, this winter has been a b*^%@ to my tiny baby.

First, the flu.  Or something like the flu, which ended in a body rash.  But not Roseola (we've been there.)
Then came a cold...a bad cold.  The runny noses were constant (kind of like a mucus fountain) and the poor little boy was just ill.  That progressed and progressed until he developed a cough.  Then that progressed and progressed until the cough became an entity of its own; one that sounded like it came from the depths of Leo's soul and would rock his tiny body so hard that he had tough time coming up for air in between the man-coughs.  That's what ended us in Urgent Care yesterday, on one of the slipperiest (is that even a word?) days of the year.  On top of an inch of ice, we bundled up and skidded my mom-car to Zionsville to see the greatest Urgent Care doctor of all time...my dad.  Little Leo has croup and an ear infection.  Ugh.

About the ear infection, how do I miss these so consistently?  Honestly.  I have caught a few, after the pus has drained and dried inside the ear...meaning after their little eardrum has ruptured.  These always makes me feel guilty.  Immediately.  Inside my head, I was cursing a little at another missed ear infection.  Mom points: 0. 

After two doses of antibiotics, Leo seems to be sleeping a little better, at least.  Last night was the absolute worst that we've had, so a little break from the coughing and wimpering is good for everyone. That poor baby is tired.  As of this morning, the coughing is about the same, but we have turned his room into a jungle-ish sauna and can simply stand in front of the freezer or walk outside to stop his coughing fits if they get too bad.  I'm praying that this is the last of it.  He's had enough. 

You blasted wintertime bugs...don't make me a liar again.