Ice Cream and Cookies

This morning, Jude and I decided that we needed some nice, warm cookies in our lives. And instead of getting heartburn from their usual buttery-goodness, I decided on a healthier recipe for my favorite: oatmeal raisin. 

And once these discs of deliciousness were mixed and baked, we've been eating them nonstop. When they're healthier you can eat more, right? Right. 

And tonight, I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, filled it with ice cream. dropped our last cookie of the night right in the center of it, and sat down on the floor. Jude followed closely behind, sat on my lap and looked over his shoulder whenever he was ready for a bite and to watch me take a taste of my own.

Hey, little man: you're not allowed to grow too old or too big to sit on your mama's lap and to share ice cream and cookies with.

Not ever. 

And this cookie recipe is definitely a keeper! Only 2 tbsp. of butter in the whole batter and they're so soft and yummy!

Little Boy Things

We're realizing that Jude's room needs to be updated from "baby" to "toddler."
And here are a few world maps we're considering hanging in his space from the genius designers over at These are Things.
Every little boy needs one of these, in my opinion. How else is a little man inspired to go exploring while sailing on the ocean blue and become an adventurer who travels to all of the most remote and exotic areas of the world, bringing along his telescope and pet monkey? How else? 

Can't I just suffer in my denial that I have a near two-year-old in peace? 

Alive Again

Hi there.
I haven't been sick-sick since the 24-hour flu of '98, and my luck finally caught up with me.
Last Sunday.
Fiercely. Mercilessly. And relentlessly. 
In summary, I sent Jude up to Nana and Grandpa's while I lost anything I've ever eaten or drinken, while writhing in labor-like pain. It wasn't until two days later that I could pull myself out of bed enough to realize I was still alive.
And once I indeed did fall out of bed, shower my pale body, and nibble on a piece of toast, all I wanted was to be with my little boy again and to have the CDC send me a "I Survived the Noro Virus" t-shirt. 
Because I deserve one. I do. 
Anyway. That virus was epic. I'll give it that. And I'm now even more of a germaphobe than ever. And I also know what post-traumatic stress disorder is. 
Today was the first day that I wasn't either sick or at work for Jude and I to spend together and I made it, so far, all about him. 

We bought a big blue ball. Which we've been playing with non-stop since coming home. 

And got a much-needed haircut. A combination of Valentine's ring pops from Grandma and Adventure Time were just the trick to get him to sit still. 

So handsome! Can't believe this little turkey is going to be 2 next month! Guess I should be planning a birthday party, huh? 

To be totally honest...

Buhhhhh.

I know I've been doing these a lot lately. But it's therapeutic. I swear. 
At least for me. 
And I LOVE reading all of your comments. 
So, to be totally honest:

-Sometimes binging on chocolate for an hour feels so good that I hit some kind of euphoria and don't care how much weight I gain afterwards. 
-I've literally been on the couch from 5pm until now (10:00) because I keep telling myself that I can't physically get up. I better not have to pee soon. 
-Victoria's Secret commercials piss me off. 
-I've been letting Jude wreak havoc around the house with washable crayons because I admire his free artistic spirit. 
-When did we all start taking ourselves so gosh darn seriously? Get your panties out of a knot, you psycho. 
-A few days ago Jude squatted down to poop and I ran him to the toilet and he cried the whole time. 
-I have an obsession with online shopping and returning everything when it gets here. 
-There's been a bagged-up newspaper in front of my door for the past 3 weeks and I'm afraid to throw it away in case it's not mine. 
-I often deflect the creepy, wandering hands of my old, male patients just in the nick of time. 
-I'm not entirely sure what store-bought meatballs are made of. 
-Today I had my first bite of liverwurst and nearly died. 
-I have some pretty sick stretch marks all over my stomach and whenever I look at them in dismay I think, "You're a tiger, dammit. You earned those stripes."
-Nearly every time I go grocery shopping, I come home and think, in triumph, "You're welcome, family. Now we won't starve." 
-I'm terrified of tsunamis and even get uneasy sitting near lakes. 
-When I was 11 I saved all of my baby teeth in my jewelry box. You know, for special occasions. 

Ok, now be honest with me. 

Drums

I'm just going to say it: this morning was pretty rough for Jude. 
Whenever the kid wakes up even half-an-hour before he usually does, the rest of the morning just goes to crap. I mean, seriously, how many times does it take for you realize that "Oh, I guess I don't want to eat oatmeal this morning," and, "Oh, maybe that means I can stop begging mommy to keep giving me some and then spitting it out and crying." 
What a whiney little squirt. 
In moments like these, I pull out the big guns. And today, it was every pot and pan I own, placed thoughtfully in a circle on the floor, and a chubby toddler plopped right in the middle of them with two wooden spoons. Let it all out, buddy, let it ALL out. And he did. With Sir Barksalot on his back. And a cautionary wince at every piercing swat. 
And then we ate Hershey kisses and went on with the day. 
Keep that in mind, all you amateur parents.

Oh, and Saturday, we went to the park. And Jude walked right past the baby slide and showed that steep, big-kid slide just how not afraid of it he was. Over and over and over again. Stop growing up, crazy.