He’s not the only one.

Since The King and I have planned all along to take our kids on adventures like this we had to plan things a little differently then if it would have just been the two of us.  First off The King did a little internet research and found the roller bag most recommended for kids to use, at the best price.  As soon as it arrived in the mail we made a pretty big deal about it to Babboo and hyped him up to use it on our trip.  We loaded it for a test run and had him practice with it around the house.  Babboo was excited to be considered big enough to be in charge of his own suitcase.  The King and I were excited that he was finally old enough to help carry his own weight.

We knew the only time Babboo would actually have to pull his roller bag was when we went from hotel to airport/train station and vice versa.  When we packed we made sure to spread our stuff out between the roller bag I’d  be in charge of, the backpack The King would carry and the roller bag Babboo would have. That way if, Heaven forbid, something happened to one of the bags we’d all still have underwear and an outfit to get by.  We kept Babboo’s bag as light as possible.

It worked out perfectly.  Babboo was able to maneuver the bag over bumps and curbs and load into trains without too much assistance.  If he got tired of pulling it The King and I were always there to take it for him for a few blocks.  But overall Babboo was a trooper.

As always The King was in charge of carrying the brunt of the luggage.  And, as always, he was also in charge of all map reading.  He says he doesn’t like having all the directional pressure on him, but I believe differently.  I know he secretly thrives on navigation all subway and train rides.

This time around I was in charge of Rerun.  I too did some research on how best to navigate around Europe with a 11 month old.  After trying out a few of my friends carriers I settled on the Ergo carrier.  I saved up my birthday money and found one on craigslist.  It was in good shape and the right price.  Plus it and was black.  (Which, let’s be honest, is my number one requirement!)

I carried my (not so) little baby everywhere we went.  Including hiking in the Cinque Terre.

What I liked most about the Ergo (which is not paying me to say this) was that Rerun could take a nap while we went about our sightseeing.  We didn’t have to go back to our hotel room and we didn’t have to feel guilty for not going back to the hotel room.  He was perfectly happy sleeping all cozy up against me.

And while the temperature in Europe in August can get pretty high, I never got too hot.  If I did get a little tired, which didn’t happen very often, The King was always willing to carry him in the Ergo on his back.

Even though it may not appear so, Rerun loved the Ergo.

Babboo was only two the last time we took him to Europe and therefore doesn’t remember anything from that trip.  (He claims to remember that we let him pee on the beach, but I don’t know if I believe him.)  He didn’t remember the glorious food in Berlin.  Most notably the döner kebab.  When he saw his first döner at the shop at Yorkstraße, which according to the locals is the best one, he audible gasped.

I admit I did too.

While we didn’t actively seek it out, we stopped at a remaining section of The Berlin Wall during our week in Germany.  I told Babboo to stand by it so I could take his picture.  I figured it would be a picture he’d like to see as an adult.  He asked us both what it was he was standing by.  The King and I looked at each other and just shook our heads.  This was not the time or the place to get into the horror that is Hitler.

We spent some time inside Tacheles looking at all the cool art.  Since it’s an abandoned building there were no lights and the place stunk like a sewer.  The place made Babboo a little nervous and I thought about the juxtaposition of The Wall and the art at Tacheles and how it should have been the wall that made him nervous, not Tacheles.

While Tacheles is one of The King’s favorite things about Berlin, I personally love Tiergarten.  Tiergarten is like the Central Park of Berlin.  Babboo was disappointed with the park and made the comment, “how can they call it a park? It’s all just grass.  There aren’t even any toys to play on here!”

Touché.

Babboo’s old enough now that The King and I can use him as sort of a tripod and we can finally get pictures of he and I together.  Although, like his father, he prefers to be a little more artsy in his photo taking.

I reminded him time and time again that taking upside down pictures wasn’t as clever as he thought it was.

Sure the boys won’t remember details from this trip.  But we had fun while we were there.

Next stop, Italy.

There it is, a face tattoo.

And I’m not talking about the small, yet somehow both pretty and tasteful face tattoos like Kat Von D has.

I’ve seen some very odd face tattoos lately.  When I see them it takes me aback and I find myself doing a double-take.  I quickly feel guilty for staring but then I remind myself that I’m not staring at some unfortunate person who was scarred by a fire.  This person wants to be started at.  I mean right, the main reason someone would get a tattoo on their face is so that people will stare at them?

I wonder if I’m just noticing face tattoo’s more or if it’s a new trend and there are actually more people willing to commit to something on their face FOREVER?  Hey, I’m all for trends.  I’m fine with tattoos.  It’s just the face tattoos that freak me out.

Maybe we have Ed Helms to thank?

But I doubt it.  The type of person who would get a face tattoo isn’t the type of person that, I would think, would be super into comedy.

(Maybe I’m wrong.)

When I see someone with a face tattoo my first thought (after reminding myself that it’s okay to stare) is of their mother.  Their sweet, sweet mother.

I picture a woman, maybe not that much older then myself, holding her precious baby in her arms and promising to always feed and clothe him.  I see her wrapping him in a soft blanket and rubbing his perfect baby face as he falls asleep.

Fast forward eighteen plus years.  The same mother is setting the table for Thanksgiving dinner.  She carefully lays out her wedding china while she waits for the turkey to be done.  She baked her son’s favorite banana cream pie and you can still smell it in the air.

It’s the next part of this little vision that makes me want to run up to the person sporting the face tattoo and yell, “what does your mother think about your tattoo?!”

I hope it’s a rhetorical question.

His poor mom didn’t ask for this.  When she was baking the crust for the banana cream pie she didn’t think that when her precious son finally walked in the door she’d be trading that banana cream pie for face tattoo.

Seriously.

Why would anyone tattoo their face?

How can they do that to their mom?

I honestly don’t worry about the person with the actual face tattoo.  I don’t spend time wondering what type of office allows it’s workers to have tattooed faces.  I don’t try to picture how that tattoo is going to look once the kid is about 50 and their face starts to wrinkle.  (Forget about what it’s going to look like in their eighties.)  I just think about their mom.

I don’t know what I’d do if Rerun or Babboo showed up with a tattooed face at some point.

They can be darn sure they wouldn’t be getting any more banana cream pies.  That’s for certain.

So tell me, are there a lot of face tattoos out there or is it just me?

(And what would you do if your kid came home with a tattoo on their face?!)

Being that I haven’t posted for almost two months I have nobody to blame but myself.

(Stupid, stupid self.)

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, can you even believe that it’s been over ten months since I gave birth to Rerun?

The kid is freakin’ adorable and I love him more and more every single day.

My favorite cousin got married last weekend.  We were able to spend the day with my family celebrating!  Rerun was more then happy to sit on the dance floor listening to The Wedding Singer and watching Babboo and his second cousin dance around.

Babboo was happy just taking pictures with the camera my dad let him use. 

Overall I think they were both enamored with their second cousin.  Babboo was convinced that because she had “a wedding dress” on it meant that somebody needed to marry her. 

He said he’d marry her.

I figured it wasn’t worth it to try to explain genetics and social rules and all the other reasons for not marrying your cousin.

And in other news, just to prove that I’m still alive, here’s a picture taken at the Olympic Sculpture Park.

So there, my dear interweb, proof that I have not vanished.*

What have you been up to?

*I know you don’t want to hear it but honestly my life is twice as busy as it used to be. Thanks to being the mother of two kids and my project at work doubling.  Put the two together and you have “OMG I CAN’T FIND THE TIME TO CLEAN MY BATHROOM HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO DO EVERYTHING ELSE?”  Forgive me.

The Lululemon manifesto came to mind.

When The King first saw this manifesto at the end of last year he was really inspired by it. He thought about it as he worked on his New Year’s resolutions and used it as inspiration to become a better person and so I thought that maybe a nice framed copy of it would make a good birthday gift.

I printed one out and looked it over.  I decided the lady doing yoga on it might be a little too “girly”.  So then I had an ever better idea; how about our own family manifesto!

Naturally I e-mailed May, my duper bestest friend. She loved the idea and told me she’d be happy to design one for me for The King’s birthday.  We worked out a trade, she’d design the manifesto and I provide her with a mix CD list and the money on her Amazon account to download the songs with.  (I’m pretty sure I got the better end of this trade. Although I did put quite a bit of thought into the songs I chose.)  (I haven’t heard back from here on what she thinks about the mix.  She probably hates it.)  (Oh well.)

May and I discussed the design over a few days.  I had her take out some of the original statements from the Lululemon manifesto and added some that were more specific to our family.  I wanted it to represent our love for the Savior.  May suggested pictures of the boys in lieu of the yoga lady.

I just about died when May sent me the final product.

Seriously, how awesome is this!!

While I think that The King liked the manifesto, I’m convinced that I like it even more.

And in other totally awesome news The King and I (and his friend that he’s known since second grade) went to see Girl Talk last Wednesday night.

If you don’t know who Girl Talk is.  Stop reading this right now and go and download his latest album “All Day”.  It’s FREE.  While that’s downloading go and read about him on Wikipedia.  (He’s a biomedical engineer by day and a DJ by night.)  (I guarantee you will thank me later.)

I’ll wait while you go and do that.

————-

Welcome back. Girl Talk’s awesome, right?

This is what I learned that night:

The show was insane.  Totally 100% off the hook insane.  We had so much fun.

I am too old to go to show on a week night.

While the show was “21 and over” I’m pretty sure the majority of the kids there had fake ID’s.  Either that or 21 year old are getting younger and younger.

I really didn’t know what to expect before we got there.  I think it wouldn’t have been as magical if I would have known how full of energy and awesomeness it would be.

If Girl Talk is coming to a venue near you, go.

But back to The King’s birthday present, tell me, what would you include in your own personal manifesto?

I smiled at her and said, “I just do it.”  I didn’t know what else to say.

I’ve heard this before from other mom’s and I didn’t know what to say then either.  Life must go on, even if I’m tired.   And really, once I’m up and ready for work I feel okay.

It’s been six months since Rerun was born.  I find myself nodding my head and saying “I think I’ve found my groove” about once a week.  My ego is quickly deflated when I see the pile of laundry in the corner or look at my bed that hasn’t been made in the past six months.  (Let’s not even discuss the state of my toilets.)

It’s been amazing to see how life can be changed by the simply introduction of a new member to the family.  Babboo and I were watching old videos the other day.  One had been taking out on deck this last summer.  You know, back when I was hugely pregnant.  I pointed out my big belly to Babboo and asked him if he remembered when I used to be fat.  I was shocked (shocked!) when he said he didn’t.  I asked him if he remembered how things used to be before Rerun was born.  He said he didn’t.

I know kids forget things when they’re little.  Babboo’s almost five.  I thought that by this time he’d be retaining more information.  I guess I was wrong.

I am constantly reminded that Rerun is not Babboo.  While Babboo had some sleep issues they were nothing like Rerun’s issues.  We weren’t expecting them or prepared for them and it’s been a long six months in that regard.  I read on Moxie something to the effect that sleep issues is my generations biggest parenting issue.  My parent’s generation found the majority of our mom’s being Stay-at-Home moms.  They didn’t have to get up and go to work after being up all night with a baby.  Since they were home during the day they could adhere to that “sleep when the baby sleeps” mantra.  (A mantra that I loathe.)  My generation finds more mom’s working outside of the home, like me.  We can’t nap when the baby naps or try to sleep in once the baby is asleep.  We need our babies to sleep through the night by the time we go back to work.  Moxie mentioned that the older generation just doesn’t understand it when we talk about sleep deprivation.

Around Christmas we got pretty desperate and pretty serious about figuring out Rerun’s sleep issues.  We put him, and ultimately us, on a very strict nighttime routine.  This routine begins around 6:30 pm.  Right around the time we get done eating dinner.  At that time we’ve only been home a few hours.  I hate putting Rerun to bed that early.  We didn’t have a baby so that we could only spend a few hours with him each day.  But we also need to have a happy Mommy and happy family.  This routine has also pretty much put an end to any social life we once had.  We can’t even have people over for dinner.  We have to eat and kick them out by 6:30.  Guests don’t like that.

Eight weeks into trying to get this figured out and it’s getting better.  Babboo still isn’t able to sleep in the room he and Rerun share.  Which means Babboo is sleeping in our room.  Which means The King and I aren’t getting any sleep.  Some nights I end up sleeping in Babboo’s bed and The King’s been known to sleep downstairs on the couch.  I’ll be the first to admit I’m not against a Family Bed.  But right now I want to sleep in my own bed with my own husband and stay asleep until my alarm goes off in the morning.  Heck, I’d be happy to get up to feed Rerun once a night, if he promised to go right back to sleep after eating.

The sleeping is getting better.  It’s not perfect.  But I see improvements.

Sleep talk is boring.

Babboo came up to The King and me on Saturday afternoon.  He was holding something in his hand.  Upon closer examination we realized he was holding a condom.

“What’s this?”

Being the adults that we are we both turned our heads and giggled like school boys.

The King was quick with his reply, “its medicine”.

“What kind of medicine?”

“Um, medicine for Daddy’s wien*r.”

“It’s squishy.  How do you eat it?”

“You don’t eat it.  You wear it on your wien*r.”

“Can I wear it on mine?”

I was quick this time and snagged it out of his hands and then I hid it in a better place than the bedside table that also houses some of Babboo’s bedtime books.

I blame our lack of sleep on our awful parenting.

So tell me, have you been put in a similar situation with a child?  And if so, how did you respond?  (I need to take notes for next time.)