Wednesday, August 21, 2013


So after many attempts to not introduce gun play into The Boy’s world, I have accepted that it is a natural part of his DNA to be fascinated by fire arms.  It might be genetic because Juanito has a substantial fascination with things that go boom and gun collection.  Well, I’m sure it’s not substantial, not by his means at least.  But having been raised in a house where there were hunting rifles and shot guns in my dad’s closet, we were raised with what I call a healthy fear of guns, so any guns are bad guns.  Don’t touch don’t handle kinda policy does that to you.  Juanito’s biological dad, who was actually present until he was seven years old, was not only a state trooper, but also retired army and marines.  Guns were a daily part of his childhood and he was raised with a healthy respect AND proper handling.  I don’t have the ease with guns around like Juanito has so we’ve agreed that no guns until The Boy (soon to be Boys) are older and understand the ramifications of handling a gun.  The specific age is still being discussed and more importantly will be determined by the maturity level of The Boy(s).  THAT we agree on. 
Therefore we did not encourage water guns or toy gun or any toy that had an aim/fire aspect to it.  But still food was aimed and freakishly accurate shooting sounds were made with forks and toys and cars and green beans.  Eventually, the term “shoot gun” came into his budding vocabulary well before other more appropriate words.  Like please, thank you, dog, Mom…..  We have enacted the point and shoot rules that you do not point and/or shoot a person or an animal.  You can shoot the house, you can shoot the bushes, the trees, but do not shoot Mom.  Or Cass.  Or Alfie.  We’ve had to pass this rule on to Grandma’s house as well. 
Last night before dinner, The Boy was outside while Juanito grilled some chicken, and came to the dinner table with a broken water gun that has spent the better portion of the Arizona summer laying in the rocks in the blaring sun.  The mere fact that this plastic thing is still together is a miracle, let alone still working.  Well, it’s not working since half of the parts are somewhere else.  But yet, The Boy was glued to the gun.  It was at the dinner table and it was next to him while he was curled up watching Disney Channel before bed.  It was a bone of contention when it was time to go to sleep and the rule “don’t sleep with your gun” was in forced.  Sometime between going to sleep and waking up the gun went missing.  Thankfully.  Because when The Boy woke up his first question was “where’s my gun?” 

I’ve read articles about the pros and cons of gun play.  I accept that this is apparently a very innate part of my son being a boy.  I know that we are teaching him good manners about gun play.  And when the time comes that Juanito gets to take him shooting for the first time he will be taught the right and wrong way to handle a gun and himself around a gun.  Until then I am sorry if my child shoots you with his green bean, fork, sun-eaten pieces of a water gun or even just his hand. 

Tuesday, August 6, 2013


So I've really sucked at this whole blogging thing lately haven't I?  Well my apologies to the pygmies.  I would say that life has been busy these days between raising a three year old and growing a baby, but damn it, I know other bloggers who are doing it and taking super cute belly photos in their maxi dresses.

I for one will not be rocking a maxi dress.  Its August in Phoenix where the 120 degrees has been replaced with 70% humidity and 107 degrees and the idea of a maxi dress screams swamp ass and diaper rash.  Lo siento friends for that visual instead. 

My other reason for not claiming that I've been too busy is because we're about to get a whole lot busier.  I was emailing a friend the other day and it all came tumbling out that between the upcoming nuptials of a friend and all that goes along with that and other planned events we have about 5 weeks left to get ready for Tiny's arrival.  You see The Boy was four weeks early.  I had my damn shower a week before he showed up.  Poor planning on my part maybe, but totally unexpected.  Regardless of what my mother thinks. 

So my goal this time is to have everything done before I turn 36 weeks.  This means I've got to get my expanding ass in gear. Oh, and this time I have this stupid ass idea to make the crib bedding.  Because I'm a slave to Pinterest I guess.  Hell, I even made an idea board.  Like this is some fashion line I'm creating.  But Tiny's room, if you go by the idea board, is gonna be awesome.  Now, my iffy execution will be a completely different story.  So we need to paint and sew and put the crib back together.  We need to wash clothes and see what we need this time around.  We need to buy a few items.  We didn't find out until the end of bottles with The Boy that Dr. Brown's bottles worked well for his reflux so we only have two.  We're gonna need a few more.  Lots to do and time is dwindling down.  Have I mentioned the daycare saga?  Oy.  That is its own post within its self.  I think I'll save that little morsel until there is a happy ending.  Right now, not yet.  But fingers crossed!

To add insult to injury, I guess, I am super tired these days.  Tiny is sucking the life out of me.  For example, I swear to all that is holy that I made the bed on Sunday and sorted laundry and fell asleep for and hour and a half.  Its ridic.  We had a window installer at the house a couple of weekends ago replacing the upstairs windows and I fell asleep on the couch.  All white trash with my pregnant belly handing out.  I didn't have the common courtesy to at least snore my head off in the privacy of my own room.  Juantio apologized and explained that pregnancy takes a lot out of me.  How kind. 

So yes, lots to do, little energy to do it and not a lot of time.  For some this is when they shine.  For me this is when I get canker sores from stress.  Oh, and the list making is in full swing.