Adorable. Freaking adorable.

This is Bean. He is five. Today I'm going to share with you the ridiculously adorable (but mostly ridiculous) things he says wrong, but I don't have the heart to correct. I know that someday he will be all big and smelly and teenagery, so I'm choosing to cherish this junk as long as possible.

I'm going to have to spell the incorrect words phonetically... both because they aren't real words and so you can get the idea of what it is he's saying. There are a few cute phrases as well. Here we go...

1. Brave-orite (Favorite): "Batman is my brave-orite!"
2. Moozed (Used): "I moozed the crayons at school."
3. Zizzors (Scissors): "I need to cut with the zizzors."
4. Nember (Remember): "I nember him from my old school."
5. Tah-got (Forgot): "I almost tah-got my coat."
6. Reg-yer (Regular): "I want some reg-yer milk." (as opposed to chocolate milk)
7. Mame (Name): "What's your mame?"
8. "I don't know idea."
9. "I don't want to listen to Christmas season right now!" (Christmas music)
10. Mare-cuh (America): "Look at this Captain mare-cuh!"

I know there are a couple more that he says that crack me up, but my brain stops working after 9 PM, of which it is. I will correct him soon... but let me enjoy this for a minute! Jeez.

Free Keurig???

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The new "R Word"

When you look at this little boy, what do you see? I see a boy who has a hold of my whole heart. I see a little boy who has one of the best laughs in the entire universe. I see a little boy who has grown more in a year than most people do in a lifetime. I see a little boy who I couldn't live without. I see my sweet little Cakes. Do you know what I don't see when I look at this little boy? Autism. But guess what? He has it.

Tonight while Husband was on his lunch break clear the hell in Asia, we had a quick video chat. He told me a story; a story that both choked me up and infuriated me at the same time. It goes a little bit like this...

Husband recently overheard a conversation in his shop between some guys, one of which was drawing a picture. Somebody asked, "Are you an artist?" and another fellow said "No, he's autistic.". Husband ignored this first encounter. He thought it perhaps seemed innocent and he was irritated, but bit his tongue. Tonight the same fellow was on the computer at work looking for some one on the internet to ask them a question. While doing so, he referred to said person he was in search of as autistic much like the other conversation, but this time in a much more derogatory manner. I can't remember the exact phrase he used as I was in too much shock from hearing the story to recall. This time though, Husband approached him and said "Excuse me, why are you saying that?! My son has autism and it's not [bleeping] funny!"

Autism is not funny. It's heartbreaking and it is not something I'd wish upon anyone. My beautiful little boy does not have an easy life. He goes to full-time preschool Monday through Friday from 9-4. He has two hours of behavioral therapy three days a week. He's done all of this for a year straight. In this year, he went from saying zero words to 15-20 words. He's gone from having a complete meltdown both at home and in public to hardly any meltdowns at all. He's gone from injuring himself when he's overwhelmed or overstimulated to calming himself rationally. He's four years old and he's learned all this. Is he "normal"? No. Has he met the "milestones" set for his age group? No. But you know what? He's by far the smartest kid I know. He may not do typical things the way he's supposed to, but if you met this little boy, you'd understand that he's far beyond his years in intelligence. What's more, this little boy is one of the loves of my life and I will fight to the death for him.

Autism is not a derogatory word, joke or put-down. It is is a developmental disorder that appears in the first 3 years of life, and affects the brain's normal development of social and communication skills. It is not funny. It is not something to be taken lightly. It is not the new "R Word" and I will do my best to make damn sure it never gets to be that way. 

The Wee turns ONE!

This was me about 11 months ago. There was a whole lot of baby in that belly. I have to thank my dear friend Jessica of Gertie Lu Photography for capturing me this way. I don't know how she did it because I did not look like that all the time. Hardly ever for that matter. I was usually wearing sweat pants, one of Husband's shirts, no bra and had food stains on my belly looking entirely disheveled. It's how I roll.

The Wee was a dude we waited awhile for. Husband traveled 200+ days a year from August 2009 to this July as he was on the maintenance crew of The Thunderbirds. He went to airshows anywhere from 5 days a week to six full weeks from March to November every year. Because of all this traveling, it made it hard to think about having babies, let alone conceive them. Not only that, but Husband was the only dude on the team who did his specific job during the vast majority of his three years with them which meant he had to go to every show whether he wanted to or not. Once he found out he had a counterpart arriving by the end of the 2011 season to assist him, we decided it was time.

Luckily for us, I'm friggin' fertile as they come. I removed my birth control March 7th and found out I was pregnant March 22nd. Yeah. True story. So, thus began my pregnancy journey, more or less alone. I knew I wouldn't have Husband home a lot, but that didn't make it any easier with what were then a four-year-old and and almost three-year-old. My pregnancy was rough. I had contractions starting at about 20 weeks and they went through all the way until the day I had him.

The Wee was a STUBBORN baby. He was breech (aka his bum was stuck in my pelvis) for almost all of the third trimester. I tried some weird stuff to get him to flip around. I laid with my butt on the couch and my head on the ground upside down whilst icing The Wee's head where it was positioned in my ribs because my doctor told me that it'd make him turn head down. Um... yeah... all that did was give me some insane contractions and I'm pretty sure I could hear tiny, maniacal laughing inside my stomach. My doctor also suggested I tried acupuncture on my feet because that apparently helps the baby turn, too. Well, it didn't.

I had all my babies at 38 weeks. My doctor knew this and was worried that since The Wee was not flipping around and since I was also dilated to a four at 37 weeks, Doc decided to do a manual aversion. Basically, from the outside of my stomach, they flipped The Wee head down. They gave me a spinal to do so just in case it put him in distress and they needed to do an emergency C-section. That crap felt WEIRD. Even though I had a spinal, I could still feel the two doctors performing the aversion squeezing the ever-loving shiz out of my stomach as well as The Wee slithering from one position to another. I was a little bit loopy at this point and I remember saying "Have you guys seen Alien? It feels like that's what's going on with my stomach right now, dude! Something wild is going to pop out of there!"  I'm cool. Now you know at least one very good reason why I don't drink.

All went well with the aversion though and I hoped they'd just induce me then so that he wouldn't flip back around, but they made me wait until my 38 week mark to do so. The morning I hit 38 weeks, my doctor called me and told me to come to L&D to have my membranes stripped. If you don't know what it is, you're lucky. That shiz is PAINFUL. Not only did she do it once, she did it twice within ten minutes. Awful. Freaking. City. She checked me again before I left and said I was maybe dilated to 4.5 and said to come back if I had any close contractions later that day and that if I did, she'd just admit me anyway to make sure The Wee didn't try to flip the wrong way again.

We were stationed in Las Vegas at that point and my parents lived about 6-7 hours from us. My mom and one of my sisters drove down after I told them about my morning just in case I went into labor because they were going to sit with my other two boys while I was at the hospital. About an hour before they arrived, I went to the grocery store to get a few things I needed. I figured the walking around couldn't hurt anyway. As I'm pacing the grocery store with my cart, I start contracting. I'm talking awful contractions. I was already there, though, and I wasn't leaving without my needed items because I'm stubborn like that. I'd stop every 6 minutes and bend over while holding the cart and moan louder than some people probably liked. I got some weird looks and I got asked if I needed an ambulance at some point. I just waved and yelled "I'M GOOD!" and would keep going once the contraction wore off. I pushed my cart to my car and then screamed as I loaded my groceries into my trunk. I can only imagine being a witness to this madness... typing it right now sounds pretty freaking hilarious as I recall how it may have been for a bystander.

I finally got home and called my doc to see if I should come in at which point I was told yes. My mom and sister were still not there, so my rad neighbor took my boys until they arrived. Because they don't let you eat at the hospital while you're in labor, I stopped at Jack in the Box on the way to the hospital with Husband. I chowed down in discomfort and moaned/screamed my way all the way up to L&D.

Once we arrived, I was admitted and was definitely dilated quite a bit more than I when I was there earlier. Once my doc arrived, I was told I had to wait until I got to a 7 before I could get my epidural. My anesthesiologist, as it turned out, was married to a lady who went to my high school, but was like 5 years older than me. So, we talked about that and cupcakes. Retro Cupcakes to be exact. If you're ever in Las Vegas... EAT THEM. They will melt your face. Once my epidural was done, however, I dilated to a ten VERY quickly.

Six hours after my arrival to the hospital, I had The Wee at 11:36 PM. 7 lbs 10 oz and 20 inches long. It was funny because my sister text me like 5 minutes after I gave birth to ask how things were going and I replied "I just pushed that dude out a few minutes ago. Updates soon.". She was pretty shocked that I'd responded when I was still being cleaned up from all that mess. Meh, whatever.

So this brings me to today...

The Wee is ONE today! This dude is, by far, my chillest baby. He's happy all the time and he is a major smarty pants. I am constantly impressed by how rad he is. This picture was taken yesterday, so it is the most recent portrayal of the cuteness that is The Wee. I love him bad. I know that's not grammatically correct, but I don't care. It's how much I love him.

I'm sad that Husband couldn't be here to partake in his first birthday, but we had cake last weekend in which Husband was able to witness via FaceTime. God bless Steve Jobs and his Appley friends. So grateful for the technology that makes all this happy junk possible. So, Happy Birthday WEEEEEE!!! We love your whole little face!!

My spazzy sleeping habits

I have always had a problem with sleep walking and talking in my sleep. My dad said that when I was little, you could walk into my room at 11:00 PM and on the DOT, I'd start talking. I don't really know why, but it's just one of those super awesome things I do.

After I had my three boys, I did another awesome thing in my sleep. I'd usually have them sleep in our bed for the first couple weeks after being born until we got them on a schedule. Every single time I'd finally move them out of our bed with all three of them, I'd "wake up" in the middle of the night (aka sleep walking) ripping the blankets and sheets off our bed looking for the babies. I'd be freaking the freak out, screaming "Where's the baby?!" all the while Husband was sleepily trying to get me to chill out. I usually would snap out of my sleep walking frenzy and lay back down.

Another time, I was really into a ridiculous facebook game called Cafe World. It was short lived, but when you're a stay at home mom and Husband is traveling 5+ days a week (at the time anyway), you do what you can to keep your mind busy. I'm not proud of it. Once while Husband was actually home, I arose amidst my slumber and ran to the top of the stairs screaming "They're here! They're here! They have guns, they're going to rob us!" which obviously shot Husband out of bed in a panic. He ran to where our gun was locked up and loaded it and eased his way quietly downstairs to check on what I'd be screaming about, all the while I'd laid back down and was fast asleep. When he came back after evaluating the lack of people with guns, he asked me what my problem was. Turns out I was dreaming my virtual Cafe was being robbed and I'd acted it out while totally passed out.

Last night, Bean woke up to bad dreams and came to sleep in my bed. He took Husband's empty spot next to me and we both went back to sleep. At some point I had a dream that there were TWO Beans. One was real and the other was an imposter of the spy persuasion. I'm not sure what exactly I'd done in my sleep, but I woke myself up holding the sides of Bean's sleeping face and had been yelling something at him, though I'm not sure what. I was startled awake by the sound of my own yelling. I have no idea how Bean slept through it, but I'm glad he did. I really need a reality show of just me sleeping. I'm pretty sure I'd be rich.

Beanisms

My five-year-old says some CRAZY junk. I had to document said junk for future blackmail as well as for your entertainment. So thus begins the Beanisms (at least the ones I can remember, anyway)...

Upon seeing a wiener dog: That thing is so cute, I might DIE. 

Me: You know you're awesome, right?
Bean: Yeah. I know you're beautiful, 'specially for dad. 

Bean: Mom, do you like helping kids? 
Me: Yes, sometimes, why?
Bean: Can you help one now? (Long pause and a sigh) It's me. 

My sister is watching my kids while I'm taking a night off. Bean rubs up against her unshaven leg...
Bean: I think you might be turning into a boy!
Sister: Why?!
Bean: Because you have hair on your legs!

Me: You're my favorite five-year-old.
Bean: Ugghh... I KNOW.

I was crying (happily) because some one anonymously paid to fix our car.
Bean: Did some one die? 

I got home from a party I did for the direct sales company I'm a consultant for. Bean shows me the above picture as he's cuddle up next to the cute, blonde teenage girl who babysat him and yells, "MOM! It's me and her! She told me she LIKES me! She's my lady!"

We pulled off the freeway to go to my parents for dinner. A homeless guy was standing next to the exit holding a sign asking for money. I said nothing, as this was a common occurrence at our last military base in Las Vegas. Bean: Looks like that guy needs a job. 

I'm certain I'll recall more or add more as he says more random stuff. So, this list will probably grow over time. For now, that's all I've got. He's so rad.