Tory, Lately

I was chatting with another mother at Tory's gymnastics class the other day and we were comparing the physical and emotional developments of our children, as you do. In defense of Tory's uncoordinated ways (ha, poor kid), I was telling the mother Tory is "freshly two" in comparison to other kids in the class who are almost three and four years old (and thus, quicker to catch onto instruction).

Later, I was thinking about it and realized my Tory Bean will be 2 1/2 years old at the end of February. She's half-way to Three and this floored me. Really, I couldn't let myself believe it until I took a moment to count her age in months again. I know winter is moving slow as molasses for every single person in the country. But since Aden was born, my life has flown by in the blink of an eye and along with it, a good chunk of my little girl's second year.

Tory is a delight to be around. I mean, don't get me wrong, she is a strong-willed, independent, tantrum-throwing little devil sometimes. There are also plenty moments I could squeeze her for being so adorable, for saying the cutest thing, for showing her smarts and showering us with displays of affection.

Like the way she snuggled into my bed this morning at 5:00am. I try not to talk to her much in the early morning hours if I want any chance of her falling back asleep to say, 6:30am. Tory wiggled her body next to mine and said, "Snuggle me, Mama" so I wrapped my arm around her little belly. A few minutes passed and then she said, "Wuv you, Mama." My heart melted. It still brings tears to my eyes as I think about it again. It's so weird because Tory tells Andi she loves him all the time, but she will never say it to me. It's the first time I've ever heard her tell me those words and it was seriously a highlight of my parenting career. Love that girl.

Other things that just kill me lately are the way Tory tip-toes when she's trying to be quiet. Some days she purposely screeches when Aden's around but other (more considerate) times, she tells me to tip-toe as to not disturb her brother. Tory's tip-toe isn't just about walking softly; she hunches her entire body over in a slump with her head hanging low between her shoulders. She raises her knees in big up-and-down motions and toddler-whispers, "Shhh! Tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe" all along the way.

Lately she's all about keeping busy and every morning she asks, "Where we going, Mom?" when I'm getting her dressed for the day. Sometimes, the answer is nowhere and other days we discuss music class or gymnastics and who of her friends will be there. Last Friday, we weren't but 15 minutes into our drive to the cabin when Tory asked from the backseat, "Are we there yet?" Andi and I chuckled to ourselves from the as-seen-in-the-movies cliche of her question. Tory obviously didn't know why it was funny, but picked up on Andi and I's humor in it. Then, Tory proceeded to ask "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" over and over again for the next 20 minutes. She didn't know why it was funny; just that it was and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

I'm sure she learned this one from me, but the response to anything Tory doesn't want to do is "I busy now." No matter the task - picking up her toys or a request to grab me a burp cloth - "I busy now!"

She calls all meals "breakfast" no matter the food or time of day. "I all done with my breakfast!" (I feel the need to add exclamation points at the end of her statements because every phrase is said with such enthusiasm.)

Music class on Fridays is held in an empty basement room of a local church. There's about 10 kids in the class and they're almost always running around chasing one another, or hiding in a corner of the room during class. Some kids are shy and stay close to their moms, but Tory is always one of the kids running around like mad. Last week at class, one mother told me afterwards that Tory had asked her two-year-old daughter to go hide in the corner with her. The little girl said she didn't want to and Tory nudged on, "Come on, let's go hide. It'll be fun." I seriously laughed out loud when the mother recapped the story to me. Oh Tory Bean, you're going to keep us on our toes, aren't you? I see this story being retold to me years down the road, only then involving boys and beer.

It's amazing how much Tory's imagination has developed in the span of a few months. She loves playing doctor ("I have a diagnosis!"), dress-up, dollhouse, grocery store and magician ("Ladies and gentleman!"). I seriously don't know where she comes up with some of this stuff. She keeps me smiling all day long.

Daredevil Diner

My husband's one of the smartest people I know, but he makes the dumbest decisions when it comes to food. During one of our first trips together in Mazatlan, Mexico, I nearly had a heart attack when he consumed street tacos sold out of a pickup truck in a dirty alley. Did I eat the sketchy street tacos? No. Did he have a killer stomach ache a few hours later? Yes.

In route to our wedding, our photographer documented my husband at a gas station buying a Choco Taco and a corn dog. Is consuming gas station junk food minutes before making one of the biggest decisions of your life a good idea? Probably not the best food for a nervous stomach.

A few weekends ago, we hopped in the car on a Friday night and headed to our Wisconsin cabin. We ate dinner at home before we left, just some tortellini tossed in olive oil and salt and pepper. I guess the pasta must have been in the fridge a few days too long because about 20 minutes into our drive, I almost pooped my pants! I pleaded with Andi to please find a gas station, quick! A few minutes later when I returned to the car, Andi rushed to the bathroom himself. I tell you this story not because we ate something wild and crazy that caused stomach discomfort, but because we laughed for an hour afterwards recounting all the crazy places my husband has experienced explosive bathroom-capades from eating sketchy food. He could write a book someday with all the funny stories of strange food he's eaten and its associated outcomes. When will he ever learn?

Apparently not anytime soon. Today he bought gas station jerky sold in a Ziploc bag. I've never even heard of green-flavored jerky.

  
But I predict a very bad ending ...

The French Bakery

Andi spent last week in the desert producing a photo shoot and after five days of solo parenting, I was ready to get out of the house on Saturday. We decided to check out a French bakery near our house in the 'burbs. We search high and low for hidden gems such as this, tucked between chain restaurants and strip malls, and have been dying to check this place out. Ever since our trip to Paris last December, I'm a sucker for French pastries.

Tory screamed in her car seat on the drive over there, of course, but miraculously fell asleep once we got inside the bakery. Andi ordered us a two cappuccinos, quiche, a croissant, lemon meringue and tiramisu to split and we made ourselves at home in comfy chairs along the window. It was heavenly! We sipped our coffee and ate yummy pastries (the quiche was just ok) and had a real adult conversation.

Tory woke up a few minutes later, in a super happy mood, so we continued our nice family brunch. Look at us ... taking the baby out in a public place without making a spectacle!

A while later I noticed a spot on my jeans. Is that poop? I gave it a quick sniff. "Smells like dijon mustard," I said. "No, I think it's tiramisu," said Andi.

A few more minutes pass and I noticed something seeping out of Tory's purple pants. "Ew, she pooped," I calmly said to Andi. I wish I would've had a photo to capture Andi's face as soon as those words left my lips. He lifted her up to find yellow-colored poop oozing out her diaper. "Oh, gross," he said, gagging. He quickly handed the baby to me and I started to change her.

"It's just poop," I said. "Yeah, but it was on me too and I thought it was tiramisu so I ate it!" he said.

I've never seen Andi so freaked out. He politely asked if he could help me change her and then excused himself to the bathroom where I'm sure he washed his mouth out with soap. I couldn't stop laughing.

The Package

This story is just too awesome not to share ...

So, remember we bought a new house in July? The sellers were two brothers who bought the house together a few years ago. Two single guys. Anyhoo...

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The day we came home from the hospital after having Tory, we had a bunch of boxes on the front porch. It's not uncommon for us to have many, many boxes delivered to us daily. My husband has a serious shopping addition (may I remind you of the hand-written thank you notes he receives from Amazon.com semi-regularly for being a loyal customer?) and he always ships things here for work, in addition to anything I might buy online.

On this particular day, my parents and I were standing in the kitchen making googly-eyes over the baby while Andi was nearby sorting through a few days of piled-up mail and ripping open packages like wildfire. All of a sudden, Andi stopped in his tracks and made an audible giggle. He held up a giant pink "play thing" along with a copy of Pulp Friction. ICK. Upon further investigation, we realized Andi accidentally opened a box addressed to the old homeowner. A box jam-packed with an evening's worth of entertainment for, you know, the exploratory type. The look on my parents face as they watched all of this unfold was priceless.

For several weeks now, the box has sat in our garage. I've asked Andi a few times to text the old homeowners to come and claim it; if not soon, it would find its way to the trash can.

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This morning, Andi forwarded this email string from our realtor:

Hi [Our Realtor's Name],

I hope all is well and you had a nice summer!

[Old Homeowner] formerly of [address] called me this afternoon and said he thinks a package may have been delivered to the [address] house by mistake a week or so ago. Could you check with your clients and see if it may have arrived there? If so, [old homeowner] would like to stop by and get it or make other arrangements for it.

Thanks so much!

[Seller's Realtor]

... and my awesomely witty husband responded to their realtor with this:


[Seller's Realtor Name],

No problem, we got a package a few weeks ago and stashed it in the garage. When it arrived my wife and I were at the hospital with the baby and my Mother-In-Law accidentally opened it. All the contents are in it, we will seal it up and have it ready. 

Have the guys text me when they are coming over and we will leave it out.

- Andi

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Did my mom accidentally open the package? No, but imagine the look on the old homeowner's face when he thinks she did. That, and how awkward he'll be when he comes to claim his goodies. Bahahahahaha.