tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38605299377158106122024-03-18T15:33:25.528-07:00Baby DursoA chronicle of the lives of little Johnny & Hank.Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.comBlogger471125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-10994365967339074082017-05-16T15:07:00.001-07:002017-05-16T15:07:33.825-07:00Ridiculously long video of MitchI've been neglecting the blog because I have a vast array of social media with which to keep everyone updated on our goings on. So I use Instagram and Facebook much more often than blogger. Also because I can update them from my phone, which is nice. <div>
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But today I took a ridiculous adorable and also ridiculously long video of Mitch being a baby that I had to post somewhere. And since Facebook and Instagram lend themselves more to short snippets than to longer diatribes and posts, I figured I'd put this here for you. Or for future me. Or neither. But at least is somewhere other than in the backlog of my phone. </div>
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Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-82688761606329961202016-11-22T03:00:00.000-08:002016-11-22T03:00:14.124-08:00Dear AmyDear Amy,<br />
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You are THREE years old today. Three. The last three years have gone exceptionally fast, but you definitely been a threenager for a few months now. </div>
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You are stubborn, determined, and persistent when you want something. And you are realllllllly loud when you don't get what you want. But then, when you're not being those things, you are fun, sweet, generous, and hilarious. Basically, you're sweet and spicy and I wouldn't change you one little bit. Not even when you're screaming at me for taking away the chair you were standing on to bang the buttons on the pool controls. That actually happened yesterday. And you cried for a good 30 minutes. </div>
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I went back to look at the last letter I wrote you for your birthday and discovered that I have yet to write a birthday letter for you. And I think that that's one of the reasons you are who you are. You have become the squeaky wheel when you need some grease, and you've had to be exceptionally squeaky with your big brothers and now your little brother around!</div>
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Things I want to remember about you:</div>
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<li>Your absolute delight at things you like. You lit up like the candle on your cake when we sang "Happy Birthday" to you at your birthday party on Sunday. </li>
<li>How you call Johnny and Hank "my boys". When you wake up next to me (usually) in the morning, sometimes you can hear them downstairs or in the play room and you'll pop up and exclaim "I hear my boys!" and run out of the room to greet them. </li>
<li>Equally adorable is how you call your set of plastic princesses from Grandma "my girls". "Mommy, do you know where my girls are?" Pretty stinking cute.</li>
<li>How your relationship with your Daddy blossomed this year. There are many nights when you rush into his arms when he comes home from work with sheer exhilaration that he is home and you can hug him. You guys have quite the time together. There have been many meandering trips through Vons or slow strolls through the strip mall together, just Amy and Daddy, because Daddy will do nearly anything for you. </li>
<li>Your love for sunglasses. You probably own five pairs of sunglasses and you switch them pretty evenly. </li>
<li>How you hum the Imperial March from Star Wars sometimes when you're coloring or doing another idle-type activity. Your brothers were huge into Star Wars this year and clearly, a lot of it rubbed off on you. You'll be able to hold your own in a conversation with any Star Wars dork, your brothers and cousin included. </li>
<li>The fact that you can and will talk to anyone and everyone, if you feel like it. We went to the Escondido Renaissance Faire a couple of weeks ago and you spent a good two hours in the mermaid cove, talking to and charming the heck out of all of the mermaids there. When Pa and Grams came to visit, you talked and talked and talked to them about everything. Showed them your favorite toys and roped them into playing pretend with you. However, if you aren't feeling like talking, and someone tries to loop you into a conversation, you are NOT going to placate them. Nope. Not a bit. And you might even give them a nasty look and a "huuuuynnh" type noise to boot. </li>
<li>Your imagination. You really get into pretend play and want someone (preferably me or Daddy) to play "girls" or "Ponies" with you. When you finally get someone to sit on the floor with you to play, you offer them a choice of which girl or pony they want to be and then say, "Now make them talk!" Johnny has gotten booted from many a play session by playing with your stuff "too funny". You have rules and standards and they must be followed. </li>
<li>Your sweetness and care with Mitch. You have been fascinated by him since he arrived, and are constantly asking to hold him or touch him or give him stuff. You desperately want to play with him, but settle for squeezing him a little too hard or running around him in circles while he's doing tummy time or putting a bracelet on his head. You're a fabulous big sister and have been very helpful to me whenever I need a burp cloth or some wipes. You're nearly always ready to help out. </li>
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So many wonderful things to remember, Amy! My hopes for you are that you don't change too much. I think that your stubbornness and persistence will serve you well in the world, but hopefully you'll learn to apply them in more tactful and thoughtful ways! And I hope that you never lose that ability to be vocal about what you need. Too often people, women especially, tend to let themselves be walked over because they're incapable or too uncomfortable to stand up for themselves. If you can speak up in ten or twenty years like you can now, I can guarantee more things will go your way and you will know yourself a lot better than the average person knows themselves. </div>
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I love you so much Amy! Sometimes I have to pinch myself because I can't believe you're ours. You are a bundle of spunky energy and I'm looking forward to another year of you keeping me on my toes! </div>
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Love,</div>
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Mommy</div>
Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-71295609134019507712014-11-17T18:42:00.001-08:002014-11-17T18:42:34.994-08:00Tooth brushingHi. <div><br></div><div>Sorry it's been awhile. </div><div><br></div><div>I struggle with what to blog about because so much of my life is ordinary and familiar to me that I feel like it would be boring for other people to read. Well, my little brother came to visit his weekend after being away for four months and it made me realize that blogging about the little stuff is okay, because I'm the only person who knows it and it might actually be interesting to someone choosing to come to this blog and read about the life of our family. Right??</div><div><br></div><div>So I'll start off with something easy. Amy is nearly one year old now and loves brushing her teeth. Well. Not so much tooth brushing I guess, as the actual toothbrushes. She. Loves. Them. Any and all she can get her hands on she sticks in her mouth. She will get up on the step stool in the bathroom and point at the toothbrushes saying "Ahhh! Dat?!" over and over until I grab one for her. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jC1RmSmoYJycbFYXSdY8Ke2NrAc3td7etqns_hChtXt1VeaOCiMn6a0wnyoxbKOQ4J_sLTT50Vb4ouRf18ixJn2Pt_0eeI61kNSWYj8cxyW-gCi-9n2KdVb3MM_0IewCX7SOGwYU6A/s640/blogger-image--280977966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jC1RmSmoYJycbFYXSdY8Ke2NrAc3td7etqns_hChtXt1VeaOCiMn6a0wnyoxbKOQ4J_sLTT50Vb4ouRf18ixJn2Pt_0eeI61kNSWYj8cxyW-gCi-9n2KdVb3MM_0IewCX7SOGwYU6A/s640/blogger-image--280977966.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I know. That face. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYQ2duf4xF9MCwL_PNY47r3zEC25lk_yty-skhlTGrhcMQSufHHsMPmsG6Z3VlCIXo_l0RDlZMphUjBY_YJiaYguWDt6qsTNJZk58dUa2WnpkQtdsqEKC63sZWyzelE0dd3f-P5Eqqg/s640/blogger-image-1110827348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYQ2duf4xF9MCwL_PNY47r3zEC25lk_yty-skhlTGrhcMQSufHHsMPmsG6Z3VlCIXo_l0RDlZMphUjBY_YJiaYguWDt6qsTNJZk58dUa2WnpkQtdsqEKC63sZWyzelE0dd3f-P5Eqqg/s640/blogger-image-1110827348.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47dMUd2ZrybcIUAd1RrDvB6_Jry_Lf6RSKq1o9NLpeB5FyFuVLFp-3DeM4doau9G0Mg0pm_02kKnBOGjxNyr-DV3E60YIybQvLwEBcQkZ7WDBSaK2w8GhAFa2ZslTUsJY0vTwP8UjLw/s640/blogger-image--2121980278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47dMUd2ZrybcIUAd1RrDvB6_Jry_Lf6RSKq1o9NLpeB5FyFuVLFp-3DeM4doau9G0Mg0pm_02kKnBOGjxNyr-DV3E60YIybQvLwEBcQkZ7WDBSaK2w8GhAFa2ZslTUsJY0vTwP8UjLw/s640/blogger-image--2121980278.jpg"></a></div>I know. That baby butt. She's actually brushing her teeth in this picture. It's pretty adorable. </div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-14927823282516134902014-08-31T19:32:00.001-07:002014-08-31T19:32:27.730-07:00Johnny and the neighborhood girlWe live on a cul-de-sac filled mostly with retired couples. There are a couple if families with high school or college-age kids, but mostly, they're people with grown children. Except for one family who has a nine-year-old girl (we'll call her C) and a two-year/old boy. <div><br></div><div>Johnny is infatuated with C. When he goes outside to ride his bike he has taken to asking, "I wonder if C wants to ride her scooter!" So finally, we went over to her house where I coached Johnny through asking if she should come outside to play. It was adorable. </div><div><br></div><div>C's dad: Hi Johnny.</div><div><br></div><div>Johnny: uh.... Uh... My bike goes so fast!! It takes rocket fuel! </div><div><br></div><div>Me: Do you want to ask if C can come outside? </div><div><br></div><div>Johnny: I'm riding my bike! Does C want to ride her scooter?!?? (Spoken at the loudest volume possible.)</div><div><br></div><div>C: I have some homework to finish and then I'll come outside. </div><div><br></div><div>Johnny: Okay!! </div><div><br></div><div>And then C came out and ran around with Johnny and Hank and played along when they "fixed" their bikes and used tools with them. It was adorable. </div><div><br></div><div>Until Johnny says, "C, do you want to come in my house and see my stuff?" Before I can step in and say "uh, that's not a good idea" because our house is a MESS, C has said "Sure!" And they've taken off for the door. Whoops. </div><div><br></div><div>Since then, I've been trying to talk to Johnny about asking me before inviting people into the house and also not just knocking on C's door whenever we're outside... especially when I'm trying to get packed up so we can go somewhere. Because that's happened. </div><div><br></div><div>It's fun to see him want to be around someone and interact with her so effortlessly (kind of). He's been a pretty independent and introverted kid, not liking large crowds and hiding in his room when parties get to be too much for him. Turns out he does enjoy people and is flexing his social muscles. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gbvmO06oHYycg1lhrbairj3LFZekaSeJmfPx8X_58TmNmumhsesO30oegLfZOQimlGX8vYHa4zXyXKG0QBw3RFhQLh3oOK440GHtt6RMD5xEzlo2M08ilSr6I3NKXn3mWupwe5aLNA/s640/blogger-image--1490236908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gbvmO06oHYycg1lhrbairj3LFZekaSeJmfPx8X_58TmNmumhsesO30oegLfZOQimlGX8vYHa4zXyXKG0QBw3RFhQLh3oOK440GHtt6RMD5xEzlo2M08ilSr6I3NKXn3mWupwe5aLNA/s640/blogger-image--1490236908.jpg"></a></div>C is untangling Johnny's shoelaces from his bike pedal. Afterward he said, "Thank you, C!" and pedaled off. It's nice to see him learning manners too. ;)</div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-72459338369829593312014-08-07T09:26:00.001-07:002014-08-07T09:26:54.570-07:00Go Fish!When we went to Oregon for my cousin's wedding in May, my mother-in-law got the boys a special "Go Fish" deck of cards. We didn't end up playing it on the trip, but we've played it plenty of times since we got home. And it's hilarious. <div><br></div><div>Hank and Johnny don't hold the cards in their hands. Instead, they lay them flat on the table, facing up of course, and the game ends up being pretty fast since, you know, there aren't many secrets. Hank will take a look at Johnny's cards and say, "So, Johnny. Do you have a.... starfish?" And Johnny will look at his cards splayed on the table, pluck up the starfish and exclaim, "I DO! Here you go!" And both boys will be all surprised and excited. It's adorable. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQZsfE_GkPjJUnzD8wUo7gEdzsVM6Xmcvua0u59zSVNQ0vFalawv_QPX-eS-c0Od_gUu2Zm87fUITVSY6uUGw3RgyCO6EHcRbVUWFI3_F1t5YSEFNNI5oCi1oju73rZlgHPHopRlOFg/s640/blogger-image-814163787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQZsfE_GkPjJUnzD8wUo7gEdzsVM6Xmcvua0u59zSVNQ0vFalawv_QPX-eS-c0Od_gUu2Zm87fUITVSY6uUGw3RgyCO6EHcRbVUWFI3_F1t5YSEFNNI5oCi1oju73rZlgHPHopRlOFg/s640/blogger-image-814163787.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3y6YrF-MA8x1Au7w3RraBw4Ix_Zi99bUV58S4eOm-q0owYwAdcUy6nkgdR4YmRZCkPty0bTm29_TK1RLlB_KoLrLfOsvTzmSNovYJwVn1Gq7PZMpy4F_ZxT-3hoSBdOeWn9kAzWNt5Q/s640/blogger-image-894857293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3y6YrF-MA8x1Au7w3RraBw4Ix_Zi99bUV58S4eOm-q0owYwAdcUy6nkgdR4YmRZCkPty0bTm29_TK1RLlB_KoLrLfOsvTzmSNovYJwVn1Gq7PZMpy4F_ZxT-3hoSBdOeWn9kAzWNt5Q/s640/blogger-image-894857293.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-59238749370860478642014-07-28T19:16:00.001-07:002014-07-28T19:16:01.294-07:00Beach daysI've been trying to hit the beach once a week this summer. Because the beach is awesome. It yields lots of vitamin D, fun times, and usually a nap. <div><br></div><div>We usually go to one particular area up by Cardiff called San Elijo lagoon because the water is calm, there's a small beach area and lots of rocks to throw. However, it's kind of a bummer to access. So today we went to Fanuel Park which is by Mission Bay and my brother, Scott, and his girlfriend, Crystal, came with us. It was a blast! The boys had so much fun running in the water with Uncle Scott and Aunt Crystal, splashing them both endlessly, and digging in the sand with their earth movers. Amy and I hung out on the sand. She ate a little of it. I did not. By the end, Hank was practically falling asleep sitting up, so we called it a day. </div><div><br></div><div>Amy's sand mustache:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJiaD1PGOoqtfJrCJfeX9rUx36B2gds_FLST0UL3qPWHqO8km-y_dkrFtiYSMxR1xXA_dTBWpg9WoTBpWvdEpOAmaHfdEtp4zMkujiJQEKmF1LD_8ykihYA6tCwNBFPZSJ-twgT7EEQ/s640/blogger-image-113529281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJiaD1PGOoqtfJrCJfeX9rUx36B2gds_FLST0UL3qPWHqO8km-y_dkrFtiYSMxR1xXA_dTBWpg9WoTBpWvdEpOAmaHfdEtp4zMkujiJQEKmF1LD_8ykihYA6tCwNBFPZSJ-twgT7EEQ/s640/blogger-image-113529281.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJj-DGw1oggaIldqUPyyv1fdE5xv0lWRB4JiY6KLIJTmeNJ8SPnZ9rYej3t8JM0moNWLh2O7aHQoFsxRKWNOVvDvgyfl4C3gzP7hnVG9-5S9KJ2n78mhKPv0MDEZE_KKXXplnI0jKrQ/s640/blogger-image--86628580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJj-DGw1oggaIldqUPyyv1fdE5xv0lWRB4JiY6KLIJTmeNJ8SPnZ9rYej3t8JM0moNWLh2O7aHQoFsxRKWNOVvDvgyfl4C3gzP7hnVG9-5S9KJ2n78mhKPv0MDEZE_KKXXplnI0jKrQ/s640/blogger-image--86628580.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Johnny cannot keep his pants up. Therefore I need to remember to put sunscreen on his butt. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9Zzip8CdaiEGU9TrZxcuP5VGEgHsGVPNmdIRI64wo-zdcDuBA7lcp8gsgYRb8zLVVtYSleuvsrPxTcs4JcQIlZIFvVXgGNveCjpW4YvlERDAMPBystuD8Qwad0l2pmRPhN4b9lvtAg/s640/blogger-image--1478848933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9Zzip8CdaiEGU9TrZxcuP5VGEgHsGVPNmdIRI64wo-zdcDuBA7lcp8gsgYRb8zLVVtYSleuvsrPxTcs4JcQIlZIFvVXgGNveCjpW4YvlERDAMPBystuD8Qwad0l2pmRPhN4b9lvtAg/s640/blogger-image--1478848933.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbv_pkvCLAboObjI-jaynh9dDgeita4pch-P_YQwBr4_ZJy5oXsPKKDPfquXAmBr2dMTopqPUNZ_tjkirjA5A3laUm48TL2gB34Y5-C84AQ6yx4b8SkltdEXiW0kl0zBO03sA1-KtKA/s640/blogger-image--922250636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbv_pkvCLAboObjI-jaynh9dDgeita4pch-P_YQwBr4_ZJy5oXsPKKDPfquXAmBr2dMTopqPUNZ_tjkirjA5A3laUm48TL2gB34Y5-C84AQ6yx4b8SkltdEXiW0kl0zBO03sA1-KtKA/s640/blogger-image--922250636.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5SQMsSUca71-jJKmp1kvtYa8HRfKdbRjKRcJBsmmz-66aFWuf17u0bwbkqotmgfmuGfo-JfW1pq182rKbLeO6WZSk4loEZwSrbnY_6lVIrg8ldy_sM4rk8WBoe75OMqLH8K8yvHhgg/s640/blogger-image-37210352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5SQMsSUca71-jJKmp1kvtYa8HRfKdbRjKRcJBsmmz-66aFWuf17u0bwbkqotmgfmuGfo-JfW1pq182rKbLeO6WZSk4loEZwSrbnY_6lVIrg8ldy_sM4rk8WBoe75OMqLH8K8yvHhgg/s640/blogger-image-37210352.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3QOrlnX2qrQbM4JG5QcqfNuJVOBCuu4hVXHVQUsBgAv9TwXjxFg66MgElrn6S6KLIsoE0dI7D0uNtL9RqHI7IYaPqvwkuPioMUu_k7yVA5Wg4VkhqXZ7v6zDQYF7CCiryNBDZMmrMA/s640/blogger-image--848555522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3QOrlnX2qrQbM4JG5QcqfNuJVOBCuu4hVXHVQUsBgAv9TwXjxFg66MgElrn6S6KLIsoE0dI7D0uNtL9RqHI7IYaPqvwkuPioMUu_k7yVA5Wg4VkhqXZ7v6zDQYF7CCiryNBDZMmrMA/s640/blogger-image--848555522.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpQeuzEjlcNmizrZ7Pzb4BY6lKA6_PVripdtRwXG7klyCK3Hd2-Pf2b7of4NgdqV5yQ_f-Hj2uqDBafQuY0isL_ktT8pem5QGkVkTAMbRe9Ix7R3TWhgkZ4E2cZfAmY4wUsKugKXY2Q/s640/blogger-image-1784028297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpQeuzEjlcNmizrZ7Pzb4BY6lKA6_PVripdtRwXG7klyCK3Hd2-Pf2b7of4NgdqV5yQ_f-Hj2uqDBafQuY0isL_ktT8pem5QGkVkTAMbRe9Ix7R3TWhgkZ4E2cZfAmY4wUsKugKXY2Q/s640/blogger-image-1784028297.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEs0__4MTnFLrmpYDoes3V7qt8RO2vqJ0GybENal-8cUm-hTiXue3niyKYY-znszyAfQ79UqkkDQJ9VKTc7UkLIkzwPBx9cOBg7QpEt1tjyH2qloH9CvyqsT_nCsaW4v2MXkgdTMDyyw/s640/blogger-image--1601198799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEs0__4MTnFLrmpYDoes3V7qt8RO2vqJ0GybENal-8cUm-hTiXue3niyKYY-znszyAfQ79UqkkDQJ9VKTc7UkLIkzwPBx9cOBg7QpEt1tjyH2qloH9CvyqsT_nCsaW4v2MXkgdTMDyyw/s640/blogger-image--1601198799.jpg"></a></div>Thanks for the fun time, Uncle Scott and Aunt Crystal!</div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-81014141301806394442014-07-27T09:30:00.001-07:002014-07-27T09:32:06.617-07:00But first, lemme take a selfieI never really post photos of myself. Probably because I never take them. And when I do I don't want to show them to anyone because I look like... well, a mom. A haggard one. Dark circles under the eyes, wrinkles making themselves known, hair in disarray, and a Target T-shirt covered in food, spit up, or dirt do not add up to a glamorous picture. However, I realized that I look infinitely better when I take a picture of myself and one or all of my kids, so I think I'll be doing that more often. Especially with Amy because she <i>loves</i> seeing herself in the camera. :) Little ham. <div><br></div><div>This is my favorite smile of hers, the closed mouth, fluffy cheeks smile:<br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNgbqjUwmzoLIhLCHGVqCh90MAIVN1Tv7d8udmoccgTt64YdPUhnNjSFe4T9M-NCvDE1dsMF4_r3N8CzZtRTFKf5ug4oZyvu2Ms6IVlgEsEnB-6crqZ0cBI4NM6YCxohrKZUo9CeGTQ/s640/blogger-image--1758663490.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNgbqjUwmzoLIhLCHGVqCh90MAIVN1Tv7d8udmoccgTt64YdPUhnNjSFe4T9M-NCvDE1dsMF4_r3N8CzZtRTFKf5ug4oZyvu2Ms6IVlgEsEnB-6crqZ0cBI4NM6YCxohrKZUo9CeGTQ/s640/blogger-image--1758663490.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPU5olw5rulkjsA-fQZ3A1A1WLhTI-MOB6onVe-25lfqYVTj4-MBy4whnHWAG1KOb6nvh295ztxSncG_cTaQj0MpwWpThX7GsDn02iorC6sPlXHR8Fkyty-tqbvdCAI-EIu7E-Sk5mA/s640/blogger-image-1483352128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPU5olw5rulkjsA-fQZ3A1A1WLhTI-MOB6onVe-25lfqYVTj4-MBy4whnHWAG1KOb6nvh295ztxSncG_cTaQj0MpwWpThX7GsDn02iorC6sPlXHR8Fkyty-tqbvdCAI-EIu7E-Sk5mA/s640/blogger-image-1483352128.jpg"></a></div><br></div> </div></div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-16999877256278019092014-07-25T00:09:00.000-07:002014-07-25T00:09:56.040-07:00Amy is 8 months old!I wrote this post a few days ago, only to have it disappear when I put Amy down in her crib. So this was actually done on today she turned 8 months, but technology hates me.<br />
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Anyway! Look at this baby girl. </div>
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This is what she looks like in the morning when she first wakes up. I KNOW. She's so happy to be awake and to find that I'm there next to her. She's just the happiest baby ever. Seriously. The poor thing hardly ever gets to nap and when she does, it's in the car seat or in the wrap on me and only for about 45 minutes. And then at night I have to juggle her and her brothers' bed time (though I do have John around to help) so she often doesn't get to go to bed when she's really tired. Regardless of her lack of sleep, she's pretty happy all the time. </div>
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She is also quite the grown up when it comes to food. Amy is not the biggest fan of purées and chooses finger foods all the time. Thus, she gets them. I also feed her stuff off of my plate and she's liked just about all of it. Enchiladas, back beans, spinach, corn, watermelon, eggplant parmigiana, etc. The only thing she doesn't seem to like is bananas. Still. So strange. She's also drinks water like a champ. I give her a cup occasionally because I would LOVE to skip the whole sippy cup thing, and she can drink from it with my help, which I find impressive... But maybe it isn't? Perhaps all 8-month-olds are capable of this? No idea. I didn't do that with the boys. </div>
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Amy is also moving all over the place. I was commenting to my brother the other day about how different her mobility is from the boys'. I mean, once the boys could move they were <i>scrambling. </i>It may have been a little uncoordinated, but it was fast. Amy, on the other hand, is very deliberate. Right hand, left knee. Left hand, right knee. You can almost see her saying that to herself in her head. It's adorable. </div>
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She's doesn't have any teeth yet, but since she still nurses, I'm more than okay with that. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that she'll go at least a year without getting a tooth. That would be <i>fantastic. </i></div>
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Anyway. This girl is just amazing. Amazing Amy. </div>
Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-19096704490245688872014-07-20T20:14:00.001-07:002014-07-20T20:14:54.996-07:00Fancy waggy baby!For whatever reason, none of us call Amy just "Amy". John and I call her "Amy Baby" which is from an amended song John started singing to her when she was born. With the tune of "Santa Baby". It's quite adorable. Johnny and Hank were calling her "Amy Baby Bucket" for awhile, though I guess Johnny does actually call her "Amy" most of the time. Hmmm. <div><div><br></div><div>Anyway. Hank has taken to calling her a "fancy waggy baby" and that's the first thing he says when he sees her in the morning. He wakes up (usually in bed with me and Amy, holding a fistful of my hair), looks at Amy and says, "What a fancy waggy baby!" </div><div><br></div><div>I don't know. But it's cute so I'll blog about it. </div></div><div><br></div><div>And now, naked baby pictures! </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsa_Dj2EzRCD8kSN-b6VseIWUHJwnbnQGFL0C0CRLy4ybUWgFECatbcn2Bfwa4xZiY5mlOzajsx299Nyd4fvQPEzfC6iZeLYKCVKo2Uby_U5c8iBwWr11UvBOSoJ8Y0eTRLanpd5Tkg/s640/blogger-image--883501327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsa_Dj2EzRCD8kSN-b6VseIWUHJwnbnQGFL0C0CRLy4ybUWgFECatbcn2Bfwa4xZiY5mlOzajsx299Nyd4fvQPEzfC6iZeLYKCVKo2Uby_U5c8iBwWr11UvBOSoJ8Y0eTRLanpd5Tkg/s640/blogger-image--883501327.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3eSFRuBQV7F1j3GAXdo414Km0nHbF1pXBka7wXixLl63Np6X5R-I305wK9QjtLWkwy-QOoHOJ1NQJ00VVzrcoyJDEluJnsmSDTX6c1bc_-EYiDWWcYBKHw4TJXGYNYtzO-SXzFz-kg/s640/blogger-image--447527444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3eSFRuBQV7F1j3GAXdo414Km0nHbF1pXBka7wXixLl63Np6X5R-I305wK9QjtLWkwy-QOoHOJ1NQJ00VVzrcoyJDEluJnsmSDTX6c1bc_-EYiDWWcYBKHw4TJXGYNYtzO-SXzFz-kg/s640/blogger-image--447527444.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-42803111639141887942014-07-15T19:41:00.001-07:002014-07-15T19:41:56.527-07:00For the love of Legos<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUnkctjBWGtKSey0cN0JzDHrWulysZP8wUbCNO70GIZlzcLprLpxqobOjp9nevc_5xWkRhKVmh8KumV2u1XD1wVI_hNe0fd-RqmpE-UqrQfBtWciSAHHsZDCxro_YYQ_F_ygBhiudBA/s640/blogger-image-719326920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUnkctjBWGtKSey0cN0JzDHrWulysZP8wUbCNO70GIZlzcLprLpxqobOjp9nevc_5xWkRhKVmh8KumV2u1XD1wVI_hNe0fd-RqmpE-UqrQfBtWciSAHHsZDCxro_YYQ_F_ygBhiudBA/s640/blogger-image-719326920.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We are now a real LEGO household. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Up until recently, Duplos ruled our home and I was okay with that. Because they don't hurt nearly as much when you step on them. However, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hank bought himself a tow truck lego set in February and asked to assemble it a couple of months ago and actually did it. With my guidance, obviously, but I tried really hard not to do it for him. I asked questions like "Which ones do we need for this step? Where does this one go?" And then Hank would say, "This one goes there!" and he'd rather adeptly place it where it should go. There was very little correcting on my part. I was impressed. Really impressed considering the kid wasn't quite 3, and he had the fine motor skills to put together a tow truck made of teeny tiny LEGOs. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Then, as you all know, he had a LEGO birthday party. So guess what he got as gifts? LEGOS! </font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">He LOVES these things. He's not usually one to hang out alone, but there are many times I have checked on him to see where he went and have found him putting his LEGOs together in his room by himself. He's made planes, trains, a Bat Garage, wrecking ball cranes, trucks, cranes, etc, etc. Sometimes he uses the instructions with my help, but more often he just sits on his floor and builds. </font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mdIeOCwiW4T1ZvL0X9ePRgOtcQEH2oslUpbYsxun6vh55b59kALntc0U-WZtuYa9kbtSmvBa4Vu5pLBqrlvD-m3TE9eUAehbyBV5ec_TWmv8dxpkGBtWOJ8Htgnk7T-LL6-Xwb9sTA/s640/blogger-image--1431252973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mdIeOCwiW4T1ZvL0X9ePRgOtcQEH2oslUpbYsxun6vh55b59kALntc0U-WZtuYa9kbtSmvBa4Vu5pLBqrlvD-m3TE9eUAehbyBV5ec_TWmv8dxpkGBtWOJ8Htgnk7T-LL6-Xwb9sTA/s640/blogger-image--1431252973.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARRHPn-QvrlQ5NIFj-R74NypuIyae95socydwYTDzdS1TukjT48EDQoXK_jmtteQpzKeVHQ-rTwLJMZ3_Qng-GtzFxqHujeETAdmtldk8YlbrQ87sd8Wgyh64Q6-BySwoaSmLB6nMmA/s640/blogger-image-2006200061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiARRHPn-QvrlQ5NIFj-R74NypuIyae95socydwYTDzdS1TukjT48EDQoXK_jmtteQpzKeVHQ-rTwLJMZ3_Qng-GtzFxqHujeETAdmtldk8YlbrQ87sd8Wgyh64Q6-BySwoaSmLB6nMmA/s640/blogger-image-2006200061.jpg"></a></div><br></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">It's awesome. </font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Even though they somehow travel around the entire house and cause gigantic fights between the boys over which block belongs to whom, they do more good than harm.</font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Except to my feet. My poor feet will never be the same. </font></div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-74520480090335643112014-07-09T09:35:00.001-07:002014-07-09T09:35:32.808-07:00Hank's 3 year check upHank has his three year check up a couple of weeks ago and he passed with flying colors. He stood on an actual scale to get his weight (and stayed still!) and followed directions to get his height against the wall. And then he followed MORE directions when he had his vision test. Covered the correct eye, kept his feet on the line, told the nurse the names of the shapes he saw... I was a proud mama. He had a little trouble with the hearing exam, though. He had on headphones and was supposed to touch his nose when he heard a sound, but he just touched his nose the the whole time. Not bad for three! <div><br></div><div>Height: 41 inches - 98th percentile</div><div>Weight: 41 pounds - 99th percentile </div><div><br></div><div>He's basically enormous, as I expected. </div><div><br></div><div>He even enjoyed his check up this time around. Dr. Zaguli commented on the game we were playing (Go Fish) and Hank told the doctor all about it. It was really fun to watch him interact with the doctor as he was getting checked out. He answered the doctor's questions, asked his own questions, and was just charming. When asked why he was still in diapers, and not using the potty, Hank replied, "I don't want to." Well. Okay then. Luckily, I've been here before and know that I can't push the toilet use thing. And the doc didn't press me to, either, as he also knows you can't force it. Plus, diapers are waaaaaaaay easier than having a somewhat-potty-using child. Cleaning diapers is way easier than cleaning underwear after an accident. And I'm not looking forward to having two children that can stop me in my tracks with a "Mommy, I have to poop!" I tell ya, it's stressful dealing with ONE boy who waits until the last possible second... I imagine two will be a challenge. Hopefully at least one of them wil be fully toilet-able by the time Amy gets around to it. <i>::crosses fingers::</i></div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-92014182671293611052014-06-28T21:22:00.001-07:002014-06-28T22:12:48.534-07:00Hank's birthday party<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The birthday boy! Who also didn't want me to take pictures of him. </td></tr>
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Planning Hank's birthday party this year was way more fun than it has been previously because he has attended enough birthday parties to know how they go and what to expect. Thus, he actually had ideas this year about what he wanted to do for his birthday party. He said he wanted one big party, a bounce house, chocolate cake and delicious food. Okay then, kid. You got it. When I threw out some ideas for a theme he immediately latched onto the Lego theme. "The little ones, not the big ones (Duplos)," he specified.<br />
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He even made his own guest list. He had a clear idea of who he wanted to come (both friends and family) and wow, did he want a lot of people there! We had fifty people descend on our house for Hank's big celebration and I was panicking about how I was going to keep all twenty children occupied and how much food I needed to adequately feed all those people. Turns out, I needn't have worried.<br />
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I'm lucky enough to have really helpful family in town who are more than happy to bring food or other party essentials. Thanks again, family, for all of your help! You know who you are. ;) </div>
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Hank had a blast. All of his favorite people were there, his favorite food es served (mac and cheese and fruit salad), and he had a huge bounce house with a slide in it. Oh, not to mention chocolate cake with Legos on it. </div>
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The kids made lego cookies with colored frosting and M&Ms on top for their favor.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quite the pile of presents. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bouncing on Daddy's shoulders is always more fun than doing it on your own.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think he liked his cake.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johnny did too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Lisa and cousin Jack. It's a little blurry, but this is the best one of the set I took. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids were giggling and squealing so loudly when Uncle Dylan and Aunt Lindsay got in the bounce house with them. It was SO CUTE.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OrHYTB-XUUYO9d78FHmV_d4beameO0kUBDqf1OT5jpFrQYFX-_x2BL9LLzY4ZtTWZ48P5sc3nfOC0_OFSBjxc2tUy7b-qQGA8EpzcyJzExt_Wm5OUHTyJcf_JjZV_pCodqYU79uxoQ/s1600/IMG_8837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OrHYTB-XUUYO9d78FHmV_d4beameO0kUBDqf1OT5jpFrQYFX-_x2BL9LLzY4ZtTWZ48P5sc3nfOC0_OFSBjxc2tUy7b-qQGA8EpzcyJzExt_Wm5OUHTyJcf_JjZV_pCodqYU79uxoQ/s1600/IMG_8837.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tired birthday boy reading his card with Uncle Scott.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yep. It was a successful party. And Hank got more Legos than he knows what to do with. And more Legos than I can keep track of, which means my feet are already battle-scarred.Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-30517455416621887522014-06-25T19:14:00.001-07:002014-06-25T19:39:54.529-07:00Real food and Amy<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Amy loves food. </span></div><div><br></div><div>The end. </div><div><br></div><div>Just kidding. So I put off starting Amy on solids because I'm lazy. First off, it's such a mess to feed a baby solids! Not just because of the process to get them <i>in</i> the baby, but also when it comes out. Breastfed baby poop is delightfully non-stinky and water-soluble. I can just toss the diapers into the wash without any other steps. Not so once said baby begins solid food. Secondly, I have to prepare baby food. I have to buy it, cook it, purée it, and then thaw it when she's ready to eat it. It's way easier just to pop out a boob. Thirdly, I have to pack some for our outings. On top of the food I already pack for the boys. And sometimes myself. It's just... a lot of work I wasn't going to start doing until I had to. </div><div><br></div><div>Then she started grabbing our food and sticking it in her mouth. Like my pizza. Or John's forkful of enchilada. So I started her on food. </div><div><br></div><div>Her first "official" food was puréed and thinned avocado. She wasn't real impressed. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxVPPYQQYwDZbFrb1Evqph7rrE6KRsyu9MSGwfGw8oYcExzyTJ0OfK5JK-9Aornqp49PevP8qJCuvP27eJKxJu8j0ZtTNFuUMgkTQVACyrL05dJe-SvEFbpq3MJJ1kDa3vwYpq6nK0w/s640/blogger-image--748788127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxVPPYQQYwDZbFrb1Evqph7rrE6KRsyu9MSGwfGw8oYcExzyTJ0OfK5JK-9Aornqp49PevP8qJCuvP27eJKxJu8j0ZtTNFuUMgkTQVACyrL05dJe-SvEFbpq3MJJ1kDa3vwYpq6nK0w/s640/blogger-image--748788127.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>So I took that to mean she wasn't ready and waited a few weeks. Her first real food was half a cucumber, because I thought she was teething and I figured a cold cucumber with sharp-ish points on it would be a welcome relief. Then she hollowed out the middle with her gums and ate it... Oops. I didn't really intend for that to be her first official food, but oh well! No pictures to show for it either. </div><div><br></div><div>Then she ate half a peach because I was busy cooking up apples for applesauce and Amy was <i>losing her mind </i>in the high chair. So I handed her half a peach. And I'll be damned if she didn't eat most of it. </div><div><br></div><div>Since then, I've managed to purée some foods for Amy and she's loved nearly all of them. Carrots, brown rice, yogurt, apples, mango, and sweet potatoes are what she's tried thus far. She gnaws on full slices of watermelon, too, and LOVES IT. So far the only food she has flat out hated is bananas. A little strange, that. I thought all kids loved bananas. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgFxWImkzs1QItZ0v0wMod_B37uBvJGDS0lNh1McMXYZjF5e_8jkQ_75zEGdjZBuIm11MnCxX185xz5BSlA90qa0uNlG4TGKZxrUg7O1Khx3iTDQQ5XlAZqL2HxBlud3WBpPo3TwViA/s640/blogger-image--984867736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgFxWImkzs1QItZ0v0wMod_B37uBvJGDS0lNh1McMXYZjF5e_8jkQ_75zEGdjZBuIm11MnCxX185xz5BSlA90qa0uNlG4TGKZxrUg7O1Khx3iTDQQ5XlAZqL2HxBlud3WBpPo3TwViA/s640/blogger-image--984867736.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Kx3gcfm1GmbzM_jYiErgpHFakbYgOU98N_CbH2ZXQGJ6XDxT0Z_ExXp4rNxggfIe2LA-h3Fe4feLjC5PKlb6QEfz4Gfy91SANxr1ZtHAbB2oboSH9OHxND7UecDCfF5zcJNWab_QOg/s640/blogger-image-2026231802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Kx3gcfm1GmbzM_jYiErgpHFakbYgOU98N_CbH2ZXQGJ6XDxT0Z_ExXp4rNxggfIe2LA-h3Fe4feLjC5PKlb6QEfz4Gfy91SANxr1ZtHAbB2oboSH9OHxND7UecDCfF5zcJNWab_QOg/s640/blogger-image-2026231802.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B3IdmaewklLP2YoAUciaqHVLzpzNMTZ7RR475ZMyUOUa8oVlSe8KCOK9KPcJ4xU2Xl9XFAJQkdlNDqMnbXfV62zANXWYPdFzoedB36_f3q7uTymADTYhsKnSq3fxMXnwhWzFm4bZtw/s640/blogger-image-498114678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B3IdmaewklLP2YoAUciaqHVLzpzNMTZ7RR475ZMyUOUa8oVlSe8KCOK9KPcJ4xU2Xl9XFAJQkdlNDqMnbXfV62zANXWYPdFzoedB36_f3q7uTymADTYhsKnSq3fxMXnwhWzFm4bZtw/s640/blogger-image-498114678.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>She will eat purées, but much prefers larger chunks of food (like Hank's quesadilla...). She would also much rather steer the spoon herself. She's already quite independent! </div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-84959082715901081592014-06-24T19:45:00.001-07:002014-06-24T19:46:38.088-07:00Getting back in the saddleTwo of my favorite people, my brother, Dylan, and his girlfriend Lindsay, are leaving at the end of next month. They are off to Michigan to gain more knowledge/experience/cold weather at the University of Michigan and. I could not be prouder of the two of them, truly. However, their leaving means that I need to dust off this blog and get better at posting about the minutia. I promised them I would try. And since I owe them for countless hours of babysitting, not to mention fond memories and a good chunk of my sanity, it's the least I can do. Thus, I downloaded the blogger app to my phone so that I can blog while I nurse Amy to sleep when I'm allowed to take the time to do so. <div><br></div><div>So this is my test run to see if this thing actually works! I'll even include a ridiculously adorable picture of Amy in the bath, because CUTE. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEJ09d3LeOzZyB7Ismvo6eSEUSzJqCmyIucfCPbQx9ka1kJZjOnoIGrqi4S8i6FLSWsjAyeh18dkiCOWOaAmONuMQfvZAgTsFYtkLm5u4HzmDoa9tCM9d40MIRqH8804fLZQoMSZFGA/s640/blogger-image--112123378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEJ09d3LeOzZyB7Ismvo6eSEUSzJqCmyIucfCPbQx9ka1kJZjOnoIGrqi4S8i6FLSWsjAyeh18dkiCOWOaAmONuMQfvZAgTsFYtkLm5u4HzmDoa9tCM9d40MIRqH8804fLZQoMSZFGA/s640/blogger-image--112123378.jpg"></a></div><br></div>This girl LOVES the bath. Especially now that she can sit. And she gets them way more often now that she's eating solid food. She tends to hoard chunks of watermelon in her onesie and I can tell you firsthand that watermelon has a pretty rank smell to it after sitting in a warm onesie for a few hours. But more on solids later. For now, publish test! </div>Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-9314742171206203312014-06-17T06:00:00.000-07:002014-06-17T06:00:07.868-07:00Dear HankDear Hank,<br />
<br />
You turn three today. And I'm not surprised in the slightest.<br />
<br />
Honestly, you've astonished everyone in the last year by only being two years old. Most people guessed you were three, some even guessed you were four or five, but no one suspected such a verbal, capable, physically-able child with gigantic feet to be a mere two years old. Which is pretty much the same thing I wrote in your <a href="http://babydurso.blogspot.com/2013/06/dear-hank.html" target="_blank">letter to you last year</a>. So really, it's about darn time you turned three!<br />
<br />
This past year has brought a lot of depth to your character.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>You started caring about friends and getting excited to see them at various play dates. Blake and Asher and Dax and Drew are your go-to's right now, but you have a pretty good memory for faces and names when you want to remember them. </li>
<li>You have started fighting back with emotional warfare when Johnny pushes your buttons. Johnny will say something kind of mean to you and you'll respond in kind, "I'm going to scratch you all over and put you in the trash so the garbage truck can come and take you away!!!" (said with all the vehemence a pissed off 2-year-old can muster... which is a lot). </li>
<li>You've gotten really good at negotiations and compromise... when you want to be good at it. Your daddy loves to tell the story of you and Johnny going down to Twin Trails park with him and how you both wanted to ride the push-tricycle. Johnny wanted to ride it all the way to the park and half of the way back, but you said that it would be more fair if Johnny rode it to the park and you rode it home. You've also gotten pretty good at getting a few more minutes at the park/museum/friend's house. I'll say, "Okay guys, do you want to leave in ten minutes or fifteen minutes?" And you'll respond, "Um, how about seventeen minutes?" I nearly always agree. Because what's two minutes in the grand scheme of things?</li>
<li>Your memory and ability to tell me things you remember is incredible.</li>
<li>You will nearly always answer questions truthfully, thus I've learned (often the hard way) that if you tell me Johnny went that way because he wanted to see some flowers, then I should believe you. Because you have yet to be wrong about important things like that.</li>
<li>You've gotten adventurous when trying different foods that you haven't been interested in previously. If Daddy or I are eating something different from what you have, you'll often ask for a bite.</li>
<li>You have become a <i>little</i> more cautious. You broke your arm this year and have become a little more careful... though I think I may be the only one who notices this change. Everyone else still thinks you're reckless.</li>
<li>Your favorite movie is now Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. And you will watch it over and over and over.</li>
<li>You can now build with LEGOs and have even put together a tow truck kit with a little guidance from me. Pretty impressive, actually.</li>
<li>You can ride a big boy bike with training wheels. Really really fast.</li>
</ul>
But some things haven't changed.<br /><div>
<ul>
<li>You still like me to cuddle with you when you fall asleep at night and you'll often come into bed with me, Daddy, and Amy early in the morning. </li>
<li>You LOVE Oreos. Obviously.</li>
<li>You still enjoy pulling my hair out. Despite my begging and pleading with you to stop.</li>
<li>You are still obsessed with all things construction. Workers. Trucks. Earth movers. Tower cranes. Caution cones. All of it.</li>
<li>You love to make messes. And think destroying things is HILARIOUS. </li>
<li>You are still thoughtful and kind about certain things, like making crafts for other people. You were so excited to give Daddy his Father's Day card that we made at a play date. Same for the Easter crafts for Grandma and Grandpa. And the Valentine's Day card for Daddy. </li>
</ul>
<div>
Seriously, kid, your personality has really grown this year. Every day I see more evidence that you "have your own head" as the Germans say. You have your own thoughts about certain things and can be stubborn and impossible to persuade about them. But then everything else? You go with the flow. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just an indication of how different you are this year from last year can be seen in your party planning. Last year, I said, "Do you want a construction party?" and you said, "Yeah." Then I went down the list of people to invite and you just said "yes" to all of them. This year? I asked what kind of a party you wanted and you said "Lego party." I tried to persuade you to have a Play-doh party or maybe a balloon party, but no. Legos it is. Then we made the list of people to invite and you came up with 75% of the names yourself. And then you even turned some people down when I suggested them! Not something that would have happened last year, but I love that you've become selective with the people you want to be close to you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I love that you have strong opinions on things. Really, I do. Yes, it's exasperating when you want to have Oreos for dinner and NOTHING ELSE WILL DO, but I know that eventually your insistence on such trivial things will change to be insistence on things that matter. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also love that you have a sense for fun. You can have fun anywhere doing practically anything. You're game for all sorts of activities from learning to throw a frisbee to painting a canvas. It makes you a lot of fun to be around. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope that ability to find fun wherever you are never changes. And I hope that you are persistent in keeping fun in your life, no matter what you are doing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, Hank. I love you so much. Even when we have a tough day, know that I love you and still think that I'm incredibly lucky to be your mom. And hopefully, at the end of those tough days, you're still okay with being my son. :) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love you buddy!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Love,</div>
<div>
Mommy</div>
Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-74087548060620223682014-04-22T09:14:00.000-07:002014-04-22T09:14:10.389-07:00Amy is 5 months old!I may be losing it. About a week ago, I was so proud of myself because I remembered to take pictures of Amy the day before her 5 month birthday and planned to post them that night to the blog... but then I realized that HANK'S birthday is the 17th, Amy's is actually the 22nd (today). "Whoops," I thought. "No biggie. I'll just post the pictures I took for the actual 5 month birthday a week early."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3rqfrwaa6I_Kl7OmsGMXf3zgUdnilXKwCosnMBouKpd8JTr6fHRTcroqJLjvjNAx2GEEVzMKlSTUcWQ4UmRlSfjyzQpT5FJgiWekZ3yCQsyYd9WwgC6-vHDncgmkNQos8DMlP9SdWA/s1600/IMG_7616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3rqfrwaa6I_Kl7OmsGMXf3zgUdnilXKwCosnMBouKpd8JTr6fHRTcroqJLjvjNAx2GEEVzMKlSTUcWQ4UmRlSfjyzQpT5FJgiWekZ3yCQsyYd9WwgC6-vHDncgmkNQos8DMlP9SdWA/s1600/IMG_7616.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
Notice anything WRONG with this picture?? Apparently I can't count. And the worst part is I didn't even notice until I went to edit them for this post. Good thing I took some other pictures that didn't have that dopey and incorrect "4 month" sign in the background.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYMRoR3vuyWRTCIll2GbON66mKyQo1kBCEzRy62fwoAeuRZZvqemC-JvBoZO6fD_v5V7QQHTNgmI3nNR50nnNhQoQWMcgkYcz2DMoL8_KH-augep3q4lv6k1lYpzzbBnLqSBlQh2DDA/s1600/IMG_7590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYMRoR3vuyWRTCIll2GbON66mKyQo1kBCEzRy62fwoAeuRZZvqemC-JvBoZO6fD_v5V7QQHTNgmI3nNR50nnNhQoQWMcgkYcz2DMoL8_KH-augep3q4lv6k1lYpzzbBnLqSBlQh2DDA/s1600/IMG_7590.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EYES!!! And LASHES!!!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjDUtM6rT2g8ISgJHknPSitmuL7_AJ-3IgK-RJ5WbFD32IMU-Wb0nTu2DDtDdX8C8bv3CzB6g5cI_PvWWc0I5jNLP4idWEXbumEi8SGPc0aGglsz-EGBsbDhFSuXVbaTYM1iW_l73-g/s1600/IMG_7663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjDUtM6rT2g8ISgJHknPSitmuL7_AJ-3IgK-RJ5WbFD32IMU-Wb0nTu2DDtDdX8C8bv3CzB6g5cI_PvWWc0I5jNLP4idWEXbumEi8SGPc0aGglsz-EGBsbDhFSuXVbaTYM1iW_l73-g/s1600/IMG_7663.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vwwr7Il_LpsITgMQXwmXYoJQSRFV3QC752tdoeWsoUFscrpp0B1EBYb5NCdxL7QXQWKQpP0_4wxhB6eYOFKddWXcBdJmDJTOGyo7uzKpb-GvEcAsTXWEazs4GbJuHJJZ-TQ_nOCk6Q/s1600/IMG_7667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vwwr7Il_LpsITgMQXwmXYoJQSRFV3QC752tdoeWsoUFscrpp0B1EBYb5NCdxL7QXQWKQpP0_4wxhB6eYOFKddWXcBdJmDJTOGyo7uzKpb-GvEcAsTXWEazs4GbJuHJJZ-TQ_nOCk6Q/s1600/IMG_7667.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yay for grasping stuff!</td></tr>
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Eventually the boys got involved since they're all about doing the exact opposite I want them to do... and then I couldn't get them to look at the camera at the same time. And Amy was just stunned by the shenanigans.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqADgV4ElLiP8FNdgeCx3YQ3bxn6C9vUAZ5qdjGenv6F-k2TaA7Bdrd0zhxH_qSpKM69k41X0kvLVFfcBnx5jVpG7BhsGCcGLDBu6m5gqqzYPVj6Kb5EnLjqutcYVB5fEwqk6_TnYxQ/s1600/IMG_7639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqADgV4ElLiP8FNdgeCx3YQ3bxn6C9vUAZ5qdjGenv6F-k2TaA7Bdrd0zhxH_qSpKM69k41X0kvLVFfcBnx5jVpG7BhsGCcGLDBu6m5gqqzYPVj6Kb5EnLjqutcYVB5fEwqk6_TnYxQ/s1600/IMG_7639.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hank, look at the camera!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EVEKUv5i_aTDnD2jf7YxmoBbUg-6cBrLXVqv7uQ8YmFkG4RNuTw70AIyc-itLgICVfz8aW6qsmdKLK4ZrvLhCOvGuSNgQg2s3DHBASphG5cy3Bc888YGWJGQUt0M9SIptdgHaQ7s1Q/s1600/IMG_7640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EVEKUv5i_aTDnD2jf7YxmoBbUg-6cBrLXVqv7uQ8YmFkG4RNuTw70AIyc-itLgICVfz8aW6qsmdKLK4ZrvLhCOvGuSNgQg2s3DHBASphG5cy3Bc888YGWJGQUt0M9SIptdgHaQ7s1Q/s1600/IMG_7640.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johnny, look at the camera!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6PGmssgk0DKAKaVmAgBmUCm_EZBEEkJnpMNyFNkLraTieJo3Jm37J3qgitU6plc0u9FvhICvB2Zx5AdtomzWXHy7Yqa3P32ZRC5e97HUgQzKwHeEvpR7VyRkIwaqS4K65NI4SxMsTw/s1600/IMG_7649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6PGmssgk0DKAKaVmAgBmUCm_EZBEEkJnpMNyFNkLraTieJo3Jm37J3qgitU6plc0u9FvhICvB2Zx5AdtomzWXHy7Yqa3P32ZRC5e97HUgQzKwHeEvpR7VyRkIwaqS4K65NI4SxMsTw/s1600/IMG_7649.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hank, look at the camera!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLykyLuqKHiL0Ji8KaJ7ltUMy9tDL1iPEnf1ce3DOowCnooYbr6wD4t9jU5TQ4XJiTHedk_dATu8ThlKm1GN-3h3rtsoycKhwR5WHsJ4HOweZ1LXp3BfBa6oZeTdEeo0q1FDUPwGQicA/s1600/IMG_7651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLykyLuqKHiL0Ji8KaJ7ltUMy9tDL1iPEnf1ce3DOowCnooYbr6wD4t9jU5TQ4XJiTHedk_dATu8ThlKm1GN-3h3rtsoycKhwR5WHsJ4HOweZ1LXp3BfBa6oZeTdEeo0q1FDUPwGQicA/s1600/IMG_7651.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johnny, look- oh forget it. </td></tr>
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Amy is doing really well. She's grasping things, putting stuff in her mouth, then dropping it. She can roll front to back and back to front and wants to sit by herself really badly. She's almost there, but not quite. She's so easy going and just rolls with whatever we're doing. She's still sleeping pretty well and is an excellent cuddler. She chills out in the ring sling, the Ergo, the woven wrap, the infant seat, and the exersaucer equally well. <br />
<br />
Johnny and Amy have the sweetest little relationship. She ADORES him and he adores her back. I mean, he does weird things to her sometimes, like lick her face or suck on her toes, but I'm pretty sure he's just experimenting with boundaries... at least I hope so. Anyway. When he gets up in the morning one of the first things he asks is where Amy is. He gives her big hugs and constantly wants to hold her. He tries very hard to be gentle with her and then genuinely feels bad when he hurts her. He tries to make her laugh constantly and she laughs with him when he's laughing. Eventually, though, he gets a little crazy with the fake laugh and it freaks her out. It's all pretty cute though. Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-11479874610759462192014-04-11T23:03:00.001-07:002014-04-11T23:03:57.269-07:00Amy's four month check up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1R6VXpydfX-ebdhXsA2WJbYA9XuD6soK1I397YrS2S_dfHI-99nIoAMpZ2GN7He7ltn-GbK4cLRCjzu22kfgFnrxMmU0UVT89weIII65NLCJPGTl4OyHSDjE0Rt1o-hnKP2AkAPQ7Mg/s1600/IMG_5136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1R6VXpydfX-ebdhXsA2WJbYA9XuD6soK1I397YrS2S_dfHI-99nIoAMpZ2GN7He7ltn-GbK4cLRCjzu22kfgFnrxMmU0UVT89weIII65NLCJPGTl4OyHSDjE0Rt1o-hnKP2AkAPQ7Mg/s1600/IMG_5136.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Amy went to the doctor a week ago. And aced everything. Like I expected anything else.<br />
<br />
Weight: 15 lb 8 oz (70th percentile)<br />
Height: 26.25 inches (96th percentile)<br />
<br />
So she's pretty tall/long. And skinny. Ish.<br />
<br />
Everything else checked out. She's sleeping like a boss. Eating like a boss. Holding her head up like a boss. She's totally winning at life. :) She had to get five (FIVE!!) shots this time, but she handled it fine. "Fine" meaning she cried like crazy and her whole head turned red until she nursed for a few minutes and then she was okay. Then she slept for twelve hours straight that night. Apparently getting shots is exhausting.<br />
<br />
In other Amy news, she's still the easiest baby ever. For serious. She's just... awesome. She's happy all day long, smiling at everyone and everything. She's now grabbing things and bringing them to her mouth and is SO thrilled at being able to hold rattles and shake them. I dug out some baby toys for her today and she had a blast reaching for the things I held out for her and grabbing them. Johnny really liked handing her things, too, but he tends to let them go too quickly so Amy dropped them every time. Oh well. Before he knows it, she'll be grabbing his hair and ears and whatever she can get her hands on that he doesn't want her to have. Not too soon, though Amy, mmmkay?Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-18902068272335154162014-03-29T05:00:00.000-07:002014-03-29T05:00:04.914-07:00Dear JohnnyDear Johnny,<br />
<br />
Yet again, I am apologizing for being late with your birthday letter. This year, though, your sister is my excuse. Her arrival three weeks before your birthday kind of threw me for a loop. You will understand this loop I speak of one day. <br />
<br />
For now, though, you are four. You have traveled around the sun four times on this spinning rock of ours. And wow, was this last trip through space a doozy.<br />
<br />
Age three was a tough one for us both, to be completely honest. I mentioned in your <a href="http://babydurso.blogspot.com/2013/01/dear-johnny.html" target="_blank">three-year-old letter</a> that you have your own preferences and personality and are incredibly independent. None of that changed... you just got more vocal about it all. Really vocal. And stubborn, too. You really made it clear this past year that you are your own person and nothing and nobody was going to change that.<br />
<br />
You spent a lot of time this year being very particular about how you wanted things to be and how they should be done by everyone around you. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out on which things I should follow your lead and on which I should put my foot down. I remember driving to the zoo one morning and you insisted that we go under a bridge, then over a bridge, then over, then under, etc, all the way to Balboa Park. Unfortunately, that's not exactly possible when driving on the freeway. Cue epic screaming tantrum from the backseat.<br />
<br />
There were a lot of epic screaming tantrums this year. And there were a lot of Mommy tantrums as well, though <i>usually</i> internal. For a long time, I had no idea how to respond to your freak outs. Nothing I did seemed to help. Eventually, I just realized that you needed to be pulled closer and feel more connection. I mean, you still wanted to get your blue bowl out "the first time", and there wasn't much I could do to make it the first time again, but you responded better to Daddy and me loving you while you got your feelings out than being ignored.<br />
<br />
That was the biggest lesson you taught me this year: Love is always better. <br />
<br />
And what an important, yet simple, lesson that is.<br />
<br />
So I spent a lot of time and effort working on gently guiding you through life with love and setting limits with love and helping you through your big emotions with love and guess what? It's really helped our relationship. For a while there, we were losing each other. Spending the whole day listening to you scream about the red plate that was dirty or the first time you couldn't have back was making me crazy. And looking at things from your perspective, having a mother that didn't empathize with your sadness over the dirty red plate you couldn't have or comfort you through your frustration over not getting something the first time had to be hard for you, too.<br />
<br />
But guess what? We did it. You made me a better person this year in so many ways, as you have every year of your life. <br />
<br />
Tantrums notwithstanding, I think the thing I will remember most from this past year is how gracefully you became Amy's big brother. You had already done the big brother thing with Hank, but this time you really got it. And you accepted it. And now you love it. Seeing you love Amy so much is wonderful, it really is. Even when I'm asking you to stop sucking on her cheeks and to get up because you're squishing her a little, just know that I think the love you have for your little sister is beautiful. I really hope that it stays that way. <br />
<br />
The smaller, tinier things I want to remember from this year of your life are:<br />
<ul>
<li>How good you've gotten at sitting still and smiling for the camera when I ask you to.</li>
<li>Your excitement over seeing your family members. You have gotten everyone's names down and remember everyone from visit to visit. (I will also never forget when you said to Grandma, "See ya, Gail!" It was hilarious.)</li>
<li>The look on your face when you ride the bike you got for Christmas. You're pretty cautious at first, but once you get used to a certain course, look out! You will get going rather fast on that bike of yours and the look of exhilaration on your face is priceless.)</li>
<li>The stories you make up about your creations. You make structures out of Duplo blocks, couch cushions, Magnatiles, just about anything! They all have functions and you tell everyone about the things you made at home and what they do. Like the really tall tower crane you made out of Duplos. Or the drill truck/tow truck/flatbed truck, also from Duplos. Or the mechanic shop you made from Magnatiles. Your imagination has really exploded this year and it is so much fun.</li>
<li>You can't keep your pants on your hips, so your butt crack is constantly hanging out. It's ridiculously cute. Promise.</li>
<li>You spent nearly three whole months completely naked. And then somehow that morphed into your ditching diapers. Once you decided were finished with them, you were finished with them. Easy as that (kind of). </li>
<li>You and Hank started sharing a room this year and you completely surprised your dad and me by being okay with the whole thing. You seem to really enjoy sharing a room with your brother. Go figure.</li>
<li>Smashburger played a big role in our lives this year due to my exhaustion from pregnancy and also due to your love for their chicken and fries. With too much ketchup.</li>
<li>Your obsession with gas, gas stations, and car washes. </li>
<li>They way you wear fancy black dress shoes and call them "boots". You correct EVERYONE who calls them shoes. "They're not shoes, they're boots."</li>
</ul>
There were so many good times with you this year. So many small moments that I will cherish forever. You had so many firsts this year, as well as a lot of lasts. <br />
<br />
I love you so much, Johnny. If could have any four-year-old in the world, I would pick you. Every time.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
MommyMama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-7201738362336446902014-03-27T21:34:00.001-07:002014-03-27T21:34:25.450-07:00Mommy MilestoneI think I'm doing okay at this mom-of-3 thing. No, really, I'm doing fine. Granted, Christmas thank you cards are still sitting on my desk unwritten, there are toys that have been shunted into corners and haven't moved in months, and dinner mostly consists of fish sticks, ketchup (but at least it's homemade!) and the occasional vegetable.<br />
<br />
But in terms of patience? And loving guidance? And keeping us occupied? I'm doing fine. <br />
<br />
So fine, in fact, that I walked with all three children to Smashburger. By myself. No other adults. Just me and the kids. And it was delightful. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All three kids fit on the double BOB. Amy was in a wrap on me, but wanted to be down after she dozed for a bit.</td></tr>
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Then we came home and I put all three kids down to bed by myself. LIKE A BOSS. John was out shooting for the evening, so I did the honors alone. I've done it a few times when John is working late or off to a shooting match, so I've pretty much got it down. Most times, it's not pretty, but it gets done.<br />
<br />
Honestly, going from two kids to three has not been horrible. I think there a few reasons why it's been pretty easy for me. For one, Amy's an angel baby. For serious. She sleeps (well, hopefully she'll go back to that after this whole 4 month regression nonsense), she hardly fusses, is always smiley, even when she's only taken a 30 minute nap and has no problem with being in a wrap on me for hours on end. For two, the boys have inexplicably gotten a lot easier recently. Johnny has pretty much stopped running away from us at the drop of a hat and both boys are usually okay with going to bed in the evenings. Granted, wake up time is still pretty early most days (Johnny was up before 5am this morning, ugh), but if bed time isn't a fight, it makes the early mornings almost worth it. For three, I've really lowered my standards a lot now that I have a third baby. As evidenced by the dinners we've eaten this week and the lack of cleaning that has happened in the last four months. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments where I can't look around the house without my head exploding over all the stuff that needs to be cleaned/put away/fixed, but for the most part, I'm getting better at letting it roll.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness. <br />
<br />
<br />Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-7760706190501427162014-02-08T05:00:00.000-08:002014-02-08T05:00:01.385-08:00The time Hank broke his arm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hank broke his arm. Most of you probably know this by now, but I figured I'd blog it for posterity... especially since I completely skipped his whole getting-stitches-in-his-chin experience last year. Oops.<br />
<br />
Rewind five weeks. We're at one of the boys' favorite parks. We met up with a friend and her two boys and had a delightful time. Johnny was digging in the sand with his excavator, making sure other kids knew not to get too close to it because it was his. Hank was running around the park and then sprinting straight back when a kid got too close to his front end loader, exclaiming "No! Don't touch my earth-movers!" Even kids who were ten feet away and not even headed in that direction weren't safe from Johnny's and Hank's protective postures. Amy was snuggled in the wrap on my chest, sleeping, as per usual.<br />
<br />
We did this for a couple of hours and then our friends went home. I, on the other hand, planned to stay for a while longer with the hope that a long car ride would induce a nap in one or both boys. The boys eventually abandoned their earth-movers, and decided to climb on the play structure there. Hank was hanging from a ring as he has done thousands of times before, but this time, Johnny pushed him pretty hard, and Hank landed right on his left arm.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I didn't see it all happen. A very pregnant woman was packing up her sand toys and I bent over to pick up a few by my feet to help her out (I was just there and remember looking at sand toys on the ground and debating whether I should just leave them there...) and that's when Hank fell. I knew almost immediately that something was wrong. Hank is a tough kid. He's the kid that whacks his head on something, he says "ow", then shakes himself and gets back up to play. This time, he wouldn't stop crying. His wrist looked a little swollen, but not like you would expect a broken arm to look. However, he wouldn't grab my finger with his left hand and my mommy intuition was going off, so I made a command decision and we left for the ER.<br />
<br />
I dropped Johnny off with John and Gail (my in-laws, thank goodness they were able to watch him!) and got John to meet me at Children's Hospital to help with Amy. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgps6H4ZRQykFCzDZ9Iv5pr1kZa4blVB7XXTx4esvjh8ejvPKg1OYWcDNNadFzSN9GCKuua0Vf_X13bw0GogGN5F347dS9fC4jkPvaz-KtezQa8cgXjsER-wRfwLvdrEXMsH-026J250g/s1600/IMG_4448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgps6H4ZRQykFCzDZ9Iv5pr1kZa4blVB7XXTx4esvjh8ejvPKg1OYWcDNNadFzSN9GCKuua0Vf_X13bw0GogGN5F347dS9fC4jkPvaz-KtezQa8cgXjsER-wRfwLvdrEXMsH-026J250g/s1600/IMG_4448.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the hospital exam room. He's so tough, this kid. Not crying about his broken arm, but definitely crying about the X-Ray that needs to taken.</td></tr>
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A few hours and a lot of tears later, it was determined that Hank had a small, green-stick fracture in his distal radius of his left arm... his dominant arm. He had a cast put on and only asked me to take it off ten or twenty times before realizing that I had promised him chicken strips, fries and a milkshake at Smashburger after we were done. Not bad for a two-year-old with an uncomfortable cast.<br />
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He just got it off a few days ago and is doing great. We're still avoiding parks since the bone won't be up to strength for another couple of months and I'm supposed to keep him from climbing too high. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Good one, doc. Hank is... a thrill-seeker, to put it mildly. Keeping him off a jungle gym would be like trying to keep me away from raspberry chocolate truffle cheescake: someone's head would come off in the struggle to get to the prize.<br />
<br />
Anyway. That's the story. Not all that thrilling, but we made it through four weeks of a cast without getting it soaked/ruined/broken. I call that a win.Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-31529833374819789002014-01-30T10:18:00.001-08:002014-01-30T10:18:36.659-08:00Amy is 2 months old!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9M9Hs3Wx5nLT8Sxo7AceVPOWf-bnhXCjyPYcd8o-cFz8N3aKgm4IJ9MdDHmS2vvQRTwO5KAlBAw36IogHoa5yiknlHrLPsIdwTpW6eYc4kyV0jxsMTCJn1c2WzIQ7q_XNVUqZlYY6Lg/s1600/IMG_7064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9M9Hs3Wx5nLT8Sxo7AceVPOWf-bnhXCjyPYcd8o-cFz8N3aKgm4IJ9MdDHmS2vvQRTwO5KAlBAw36IogHoa5yiknlHrLPsIdwTpW6eYc4kyV0jxsMTCJn1c2WzIQ7q_XNVUqZlYY6Lg/s1600/IMG_7064.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My SIL, <a href="http://liltrickster.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Lisa</a>, does a cool photo project of her sons every month in the same place so she has images of them growing up on the same couch from month to month.. I'm not going to claim that I'm going to do that, since I'm a huge flake, but I'd like to try. Because it's cool.</td></tr>
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This girl. She's stinking adorable. And has more clothes than Kim Kardashian's kid. Okay, that was an exaggeration. But she definitely has enough clothes to wear multiple outfits a day for a month. I'm not one to let such things go to waste, so every time she spits up on her clothes, or the boys smear their food on her, I change her outfit. Because it's fun.<br />
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She's honestly the easiest baby I've had thus far. She sleeps a solid six to seven hours at night and is pretty easy to put back to sleep. She takes all of her naps in a wrap on me, which isn't ideal, but I can't spend more than three minutes putting her down for a nap because I can't leave the boys that long. They're... destructive and can do considerable damage in the small amount of time I'm gone. (And in case you're wondering, yes, I've tried childproofing the house, but what I'm I supposed to do about towel rods or light fixtures? I can't really take them down as they are kind of necessary, but the boys have broken a few in the span of minutes.) However, it's kind of nice that she'll just nap on me because she'll sleep wherever we go and can sleep through really loud noises. Like battery-operated fire engines. And her brothers' screaming.<br />
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Now, I know that all of that "easy" stuff will change. I'm not naive enough to think that she's going to be easy forever, however it's obvious that she has a really mellow, easy-going personality. She got five shots at the doctor's office last week and she took them like a champ. I mean, she cried, but then was over it about ten seconds after the last shot was administered. She also is super smiley and will smile at anyone who smiles at her for more than 1.5 seconds. The people at our local bagel shop are in love with her. :) Can you blame them?Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-75001233047505030462014-01-21T21:05:00.001-08:002014-01-21T21:07:08.508-08:00Christmas 2013I'm finally recovering from the whole Thanksgiving-Christmas season and I might actually be able to write about it. Frankly, though, I don't remember a lot of the details. The whole thing was kind of a blur and I doubt that will change in the future.<br />
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See, there's Halloween, then thirteen days later, my birthday. Then 9 days later, Amy's birthday. Then about four to seven days after that, Thanksgiving. Then about eighteen days later, Johnny's birthday. Then twelve days later, Christmas. And don't forget New Years!!!!! Now, it may seem to the untrained eye that eighteen days is PLENTY of time to get ready for Johnny's birthday. But that's the thing: everything has to be planned out at least six weeks in advance so that everyone can mark their calendars for whatever celebration is going to happen because December is a busy month for everyone. And I'm totally not organized enough to make the whole birthday/holiday/another birthday thing run smoothly. <br />
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I digress.<br />
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Christmas was actually a pretty good time. We spent Christmas Eve with my family and the boys had a blast playing with their Gma, Uncle Scott, and Aunt Crystal, as they always do.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy showing off her "First Christmas" sleeper. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy and my Aunt Teri</td></tr>
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Then Christmas Day, we spent the morning lazing around and opening presents as the boys saw fit. See, Johnny isn't big on presents. I mean, he likes to get stuff, but he'll open on present, get excited about whatever it is and play with it for awhile before he can be convinced to open another one. I guess it doesn't have to be like that, I could push it and make him open gift after gift after gift, but he seems to enjoy taking it slower, and I'm down with that.<br />
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Hank, on the other hand, LOVES opening presents. He even asks Johnny to open some of his presents, and that actually works out pretty well since Johnny has very little interest in it. <br />
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This year, the big present from John and me was a bicycle for each kid. Well, a bicycle for Johnny and a balance bike for Hank.<br />
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Other presents were crayons, markers, big coloring books, books, and helmets, of course. I didn't want to go overboard on toys because I knew they were going to get lots of toys from other family members, and they can be pretty easily overwhelmed by stuff. Especially since they had raked in quite the haul not even two weeks prior for Johnny's birthday. (Well, Johnny raked it in, but he lets Hank play with a lot of his stuff.) So, I just got them things that we kind of needed anyway. It worked out well.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forgot that we went to the park to try out Hank's new tee</td></tr>
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Then we spent the afternoon with John's family and had a nice dinner with everyone. The boys had a great time playing with the toys from the Dursos and also playing with their grandparents and aunts. And for me, it was relaxing to let other people entertain my kids, hold my baby, and feed me. :)Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-11397685328819123032014-01-02T05:00:00.000-08:002014-01-02T05:00:05.198-08:00Amy's 1 month doctor visitI know. The last few posts have been all about Amy. Amy, Amy, AMY! It's just that she's had a lot going on and I want to get it down before it's too late to blog about. I guess that doesn't really happen around here considering how awful I am about blogging these days, but whatever. I want to get it down. So here we are.<br />
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The 1 month check up was routine and everything is going well with Amy Rose. The doctor knows me by name and seems to have confidence in my parenting abilities (I know, right?), so he just asked a few questions, accepted my answers, and said everything was normal. The only thing I need to do different is give her vitamin D drops. Which I haven't done with any of my children, but maybe I'll do it with this one.<br />
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Stats:<br />
Weight: 11 lb 6 oz - 90th percentile<br />
Height: 22 inches - 80th percentile (<-- hasn't really changed since birth, which is why she still fits in some of the newborn clothes)<br />
Head circumference: 15.5 inches - 99th percentile (gotta have room for that big brain!)<br />
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The doctor was impressed with her nursing blister and her weight gain. He joked that I must not be doing anything but nursing since she's gained so much weight. Funny, because he said the same thing Hank at the same age. Turns out I just have melted ice cream for breast milk. :)Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-49061859494997566282014-01-01T20:36:00.000-08:002014-01-01T20:36:13.129-08:00Amy is 1 month old!I missed taking pictures the actual day that she turned one month (Sunday), but I did note that it was the 22nd and she was a whole month old. Points for that, right? So far, she's a sleeping champ, rocks at nursing and is generally pretty mellow. Her brothers LOVE her. L to the O to the V to the E. LOVE her. Love her to the point of smothering her on a daily basis. She's not really safe from their affection anywhere, so I wear her often, which means she has no desire to be put down at all. Oh well. It's survival and I'm loving wearing a tiny baby. Eventually I can move her to my back so it's not so cumbersome to carry her around all day. Hopefully.<br />
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She's not exactly a month old in these pictures... but then, I'm about 13 days late in posting this, so who cares?<br />
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<br />Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860529937715810612.post-88830989237044776962013-12-29T05:00:00.000-08:002014-01-01T20:50:25.706-08:00Amy's birth storyTruthfully, I'm a bit daunted by writing this whole story down. It's long. And a little boring. Hell, I was even bored when it was going on. So, I'll try to truncate it here and there to see if I can make it more interesting. And shorter.<br />
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Okay. I wrote <a href="http://babydurso.blogspot.com/2013/11/i-am-40-weeks-pregnant.html" target="_blank">this angry post</a> about being 41 weeks pregnant. And then later that day (like noonish), I started getting twinges. Nothing major, but definitely something I wanted to pay attention to. Before long, around 3PM or so, the twinges became real contractions, irregularly spaced, but real enough to call my mom and tell her that I may end up having a baby sometime that night and she may just want to stay over at our house. Three hours later she arrives... and my contractions completely stop. And stayed stopped. Ugh. So, I just picked up our evening routine and put the boys down with John and went to bed.<br />
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I woke up at 11PM to strongish contractions, which were pretty irregular, but close enough to warrant getting out my iPhone to time them. This continued on until around 3AM... and then they stopped again. By that point, I was ready for some sleep, so sleep I did... until Hank woke me up at 4:30AM as is his custom. Sad face.<br />
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The morning went as it usually does, except for my mom being there to get ready for her day of work. The boys and I had plans to go to a play date at a friend's house that morning, so I packed up our bag and got ready to go. As I was packing, the contractions started coming on again. But I wasn't about to miss out on a play date with some close friends where my boys would be occupied and I could keep my mind off the pain, so we went. Two hours later, contractions were about every 15 minutes and getting to the point that I couldn't talk through them. So we went home.<br />
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Just after we got home, my brother and his girlfriend, Crystal, came over. Crystal is an acupressure/massage therapist/Eastern medicine expert and I had asked her earlier in the week if she would come work on me and get this labor going. So she came over with her massage bed, spa sounds and magic fingers and really worked on me while my brother played with the boys. One hour later, the contractions were waaaaay stronger and about 10 to 12 minutes apart. Yay! Crystal said she was putting money on a 9PM birth, because at this point, I had to concentrate and breathe through the contractions, which were over a minute long. <br />
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John came home and helped me through them and then loaded up the car with our birthing essentials. By that time, we were just waiting for my mom, who left work a little early to get to our house before I pushed the baby out, since <a href="http://babydurso.blogspot.com/2011/06/hanks-birth-story-part-ii.html" target="_blank">Hank</a> came so fast. I called the midwife on call to let her know that we were going to be on our way, and unfortunately, my least favorite midwife was on call that night. Bummer. But I let her know what was going on and she said she'd be there.<br />
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Finally, my mom arrives... and my contractions stop. Again. This time I almost lost my ever-loving mind. By this point, my body feels pretty battered, especially my lower back, since I'd being dealing with long, strong contractions for a good portion of the last 36 hours. I was tired since I didn't get a lot of sleep the night before and because I'd been laboring all day. After a few tears, I called the midwife back to let her know that everything had stopped and we were not coming after all. To which she told me to have some water as that might stop the "cramping" I'd been dealing with. Cramps? CRAMPS?? It's a miracle I didn't shout her down over the phone. Luckily my doula, Kelsey, was much more positive when I told her the situation and she was able to keep me from losing it on the midwife.<br />
<br />
Anyway. John tried to calm me down by reminding me that my body is obviously tired and needed a break, so I should rest and hopefully once I regained some energy, things would start back up. Which, of course, is not what I wanted to do. Not in the slightest. I wanted to have a friggin' baby and end this miserable pregnancy once and for all! But I didn't have many options since I couldn't exactly <i>will </i>myself into labor. So, John, my mom and I (okay, I didn't do squat) made dinner for the boys, put them to bed and "relaxed" for the evening in front of a movie. I "relaxed" with a heating pad on my lower back that soothed my muscles a little before hitting the hot tub to try to ease the soreness some more.<br />
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Fast forward to 11:30PM. More contractions. I had been asleep for about two hours and now my body was picking up where I left off that afternoon. I got out my contraction timing app and after one hour, the contractions were 90 seconds long and 10 minutes apart. My lower back was KILLING ME, so I woke up John and <strike>asked</strike> told him to rub my back during each contraction to make it bearable. After about an hour of that, Hank woke up and John had to go and deal with him, so I was left to labor alone. 30 minutes later, it was clear that John had fallen asleep in the boys' room, so I went downstairs to my mom's room and asked her to help me through the contractions. Thank goodness she was there! This labor was so different from my last one in that I was frigging exhausted, so I felt like each contraction took everything I had. But then another one would come on and I'd feel even worse after that. But the back rubbing helped.<br />
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Not long after I walked down to my mom's room, around 2AM, she suggested John and I get a move on since the contractions were now 8 minutes apart and still about 90 seconds long. I went upstairs and got John up, letting him know it was time to get going. I called the midwife and my doula to let them know that we were packing up. I changed into my "birth outfit" which consisted of a nightgown, yoga pants and black nursing bra then headed to the car, all the while dreading what lay before me. Laboring in the car isn't horrible, but it's certainly not a lot of fun. I like to labor on my side or on all fours, but neither position is really safe while in the car. Well, I needn't have worried because after I got into the car, my contractions slowed down and got way weaker. Then after fifteen minutes of driving, they picked back up again in intensity.<br />
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We made it to Best Start Birth Center with very little fanfare or commotion at 3AM. That's one nice thing about giving birth in the wee hours of the morning, the roads and birth center are deserted. I walked in, took one look at the midwife (I'm going to call her Agnes) and burst into tears. Not really sure why. I was in transition at this point and I already know that I cry like crazy in that last phase, but John suspects that I was really disappointed that Agnes was going to be delivering my baby. Or, apparently, that's what it looked like. Maybe he's right.<br />
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Anyway. I got checked and was at 7cm, but completely effaced and thus "stretchy" as Agnes put it, so I could get to 9cm if stretched out. But I still needed to do some work to get there. So Agnes retreated to another room to rest up for the final act while I labored for a while on the bed. Then I labored on a birth ball. Labored on the bed with the birth ball. But nothing was really comfortable. My lower back was on fire, even between contractions, and I just couldn't find a position a liked. I decided to try the bath to see if that helped. I got into the bath and the contractions slowed down. A lot. To the point that I was afraid we were going to have to leave since they might stop completely. So I got out and decided to put my clothes back on and walk circles around the birth center.<br />
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I told John to lie down and get some rest while Kelsey followed me around on my quest to get some contractions going. She was such an angel. I was downright crotchety with my start and stop labor plus being in transition for this long was making me even crankier. Oh, and don't forget that I've had approximately six hours of sleep in the last two days. Kelsey just kept smiling and trying to guess what I needed or wanted. She kept me hydrated and even attempted to get me to finish the banana I had started in the car... and wasn't put off when I gave her an angry hand gesture to indicate I wanted no part of the banana since I wasn't hungry and it was making me nauseated. <br />
<br />
We continued like that for, oh, an hour or so. I'd have a big contraction that would last over a minute and would require every single ounce of concentration I had to stay relaxed and then I'd have two or three wimpy ones in the next 20 minutes. It was so frustrating. This was not the textbook, linear labor I had experienced with Hank. It was completely unpredictable and I was losing it. Finally, I asked Agnes to measure me again. This time I was at 9cm and could easily stretch to a 10. Agnes suggested that I start pushing on the big contractions to see if the baby's head could push me to a 10 and maybe jump start the pushing contractions. Okay. Jump start. Let's do this.<br />
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I headed back to the bathtub, waking John on the way and told him the plan. I got in the water but had the same problem from earlier: I couldn't get comfortable. I didn't want to be on my knees since the tub had a rough textured bottom, but I didn't want to sit since my legs felt cramped and leaning back was uncomfortable. Finally, John offered to get in the bath with me (he kept his underwear on, in case you were concerned) and sit behind me so I could sit in his lap. That worked well.<br />
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By this point, after all the walking and shifting of position, I was tired. And frustrated. And just hated my body for not doing what it was supposed to be doing. Plus Agnes was sitting right in front of me, like a vortex of all positive thoughts. (In Agnes's defense, she had already delivered a baby that shift and it was 5AM at this point; I imagine that would be enough to exhaust anyone.) I was crying and losing patience and kind of coming unglued. I was terrified that I would be too exhausted to give birth, which is a fear I had had this entire pregnancy, as I don't get much sleep EVER and this pregnancy was really an energy suck. <br />
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After a few uncomfortable and unnatural-feeling pushes during regular contractions, the nurse, Elizabeth, asked if I liked honey at all. I said that I do, and she got me a huge tablespoon full of honey to eat. I ate it without any question and, no joke, 30 seconds later, a huge pushing contraction came on. I pushed for about 15 minutes or so and out came the baby... Kind of. The head actually wasn't coming out as fast as anticipated, so Agnes felt around with her finger and was a little shocked to be grabbed by a tiny hand! Turns out there was a hand tucked up next to the baby's face, which was slowing things down. So, Agnes pushed the band back and out the baby came!<br />
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Agnes caught the baby and put her on my chest to stay warm. When I finally thought to check the sex, I held her up and noticed that she didn't have a penis, like I thought she did. The umbilical cord had looked a bit like a penis in the fleeting look I had gotten when she was pulled out of the water. But no! I had a baby girl! And everyone in the room was shocked. Floored, really. But definitely in a good way.<br />
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Amy Rose Durso was born at 5:45AM, Friday, November 22nd, thanks to a big tablespoonful of honey. Oh, and John and Kelsey helped, too. And Agnes. Kind of.<br />
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The whole thing was not what I expected, but it was all worth it because of this little face. Welcome to the world, Amy!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ain't she purdy?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my doula, Kelsey. She is a rock star.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RtpnCwQ5b4xNFpL3CtVSHhxk1hk6TWw-8tiePlBDP1Dtvnibj3xVYXO7Jf6cm4j9IEG9FWXixLGIYVdGirnjzhrwy97NUO8fj1njVEkuSdGvB4IWjWJLLjnS3O4WmoTuiYueDaXuZw/s1600/IMG_6520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RtpnCwQ5b4xNFpL3CtVSHhxk1hk6TWw-8tiePlBDP1Dtvnibj3xVYXO7Jf6cm4j9IEG9FWXixLGIYVdGirnjzhrwy97NUO8fj1njVEkuSdGvB4IWjWJLLjnS3O4WmoTuiYueDaXuZw/s320/IMG_6520.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birth euphoria. Drugs don't make you feel THAT good.</td></tr>
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<br />Mama Dursohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05688349148788225746noreply@blogger.com3