Friday, February 22, 2008

Fuzzy Footie-Pajamas

Hey kids! If you want to do a really cool science experiment, put a disposable diaper into the washing machine and run it to see the diaper explode...If, however, you just want to get the laundry done as quickly as possible with no complications, don't do this. Somehow this morning when I was loading laundry into the washer, a used (just wet, not poopy) diaper snuck in amongst the pile of clothing. I didn't realize it until I was switching the laundry over to the dryer and realized there was a bunch of soft white, rather nasty smelling foam coating the sides of the washer. I then found the diaper underneath my wet, rather nasty smelling shirt. So then I had to clean out the washer, re-do the laundry, and hope there aren't any lasting effects on the machine or on my clothing. Yuck.

On another note, it's cold. And I'm not very stoic about it. Thus far I have refrained from mentioning on my blog that it's really, really cold here, but to make up for it, I inform my husband (who can feel it just fine for himself) 5 to 10 times a day. In fact, I'm about 95% more whiny about it than Isaiah, which isn't saying great things about me since he's 2 and I'm 24. Not only is it sinisterly cold outside, it's pretty darn cold inside too since we live in a very old home (which I do actually love) that sort of just lets the cold seep in all over. We have compensated by purchasing an electric blanket and a space heater so that for much of the day, I can sit under the former and next to the latter with a cup of hot chocolate warming up my hands. Isaiah doesn't really care for the electric blanket, because he doesn't like being under blankets in general, and he's pretty nervous about the space heater, which is fine by me because I don't want him to touch it. For a while I thought I had given birth to a son who really couldn't feel the cold too much or at least wasn't bothered by it, but apparently even Isaiah has reached his limit of cold. For the past three days when I have woken Isaiah up in the morning, he has refused to get out of his fuzzy footie-pajamas. Really, I can't blame him. If I had fuzzy footie-pajamas, you might see me refusing to get out of them too. So, since I have clothing for Isaiah in all sizes up through 1st grade, I've just picked out some clothes that are usually a little big on him and put them over his fuzzy footie-pajamas. The upside of this is that Isaiah is nice and warm, even when we go outside, but the downside is that he has been wearing the same pair of green fuzzy footie-pajamas for three days now, and I'm starting to feel like a pretty gross mom. I guess tonight during his bath, we'll just substitute them for different fuzzy footie-pajamas and hope it's acceptable. I had never realized until now how much he loves his pajamas. At various points throughout the day, he will look under his shirt and happily exclaim "Green jammies!" Ah, simple pleasures.

I brought the camera to our music class again on Thursday as well as some extra prints from last week to share with Ava's parents and the teacher. I got more pictures of Isaiah, and in this batch he's actually smiling in a few. Last time I brought the camera, he was hungry because I hadn't given him a very good snack and grumpy with me for not bringing him enough food. So this week I was filling him up before we got to class with anything he would eat plus some apple juice for good measure. By the time we pulled our van up, he was getting grumpy with me for stuffing him like Hansel and Gretel. It worked, though. I really want to ask Ava's parents this next week if they would want to get together for a play-date since she and Isaiah have such fun together, but I'm actually nervous about it. I normally meet other parents through church or mutual friends, so going up to someone I have relatively little interaction with to suggest a play-date seems weird. I feel like I'm looking for an actual date instead of a play-date. If they say 'no thanks' is it rejection of Michael and me or of Isaiah. It really shouldn't be this big of a deal, right? I guess I'll just have to try and see.


Mama P said...

You can always offer the parents some pot first and see if they bite. If they do, you know what kind of parents they are. If they don't, and look at you in horror, you can know what kind of parents they are. And... depending on what YOUR reaction is to my little experiment will tell what side of the fence you are on.

Or "Hello, my name is.." works, too.

LOL. Anyway, thank you again for all your emails. Sincerely, me... who, for the record, living in L.A. my whole life practically, at almost 40, has NEVER smoked pot. No joke. Zoloft? Sure. Pot? No. I'm weird that way.

Nite nite.

momma's heart said...

What a lovely blog, Ashley. I've felt that same awkwardness about approaching other moms. You write beautifully, and you're so young! You must have had wonderful teachers, or literary-family influence?

Thanks for stopping by my blog and praying. It helped! Things are going well. Glad I found your blog!