Big Woo Sick. Outside Rain.

The Big Woo is sick. Everyone. The whole tribe is hacking like slot machine playing grannies in Reno. I blame the weather. Poor Misho was cheated out of a decent Chicago summer. Only a day or two over 90 degrees! I like it hot. And steamy. I want to be overcome with the vapors and flit around in flowing fabrics proclaiming my desire on some street. I believe Misho has the same desire but the poor kid can't seem to catch a break in the weather department. We've been rained on most of the week, and thank god he's been sick. Didn't feel like going out in the first place. But, the collective pants are getting itchy, cause he's twirling around like a dervish and climbing the walls. Or the bed.





I'm doing weird things to entertain him.



Whether he's into Psycho Mother Butterfly (my name of choice this week) is another thing.

Winter sucked. Summer blowing pretty hard. Don't get me wrong, I hugely heart rain and all it's natural consequences. But now I'm a parent. And there's daily agendas to put together. It's not even winter and we're engaging in weird indoor antics.

Most disturbing, and through no effort on my part, the rain filled air causes my hair to spontaneously bust out into an exploitative baby beauty pageant up-do.



I'll work on my baton twirling.

June (and now July) Bust Out!

I'm a bad bad blogger. Here's the beef: the warm(ish) weather, multiple weekend Chicagoland festivities, and my own special style of laziness have kept mama far away from refreshing the Woo. On the bright side, I offer a straight-to-the-point, no nonsense recap of what's been bubblin in the land of Woo over the days of June and July.

Visit from the California Peaks!

A fantastic visit from a wonderful family from our ET adoption group: Lyn-Dee, Dan, & the adorable Lincoln (check out their blog - http://web.me.com/sparkie09/PeakSite/Sparkies_Blog/Sparkies_Blog.html). These cats and kitten are so lovely and the best guests ever. Hardy folk they are, through some of the most god awful summer weather we've had in years. Promises were made to perhaps maybe consider Chicago a permanent location? We're holding it to you Peaks! Come back soon!



Referral-versary! 11 June 2008

We heard the name "Mishamo" for the first time on June 11, 2008. It was the first day we saw that cute little mug peaking out from a lacy pink onsie, looking a bit chagrin, but more than confident in his rose-hued masculinity. Love at first site? Most definitely. Exactly how it worked out for me with Big D.

The story in short - I had just dropped David off at home after his first post-back surgery check up and was making my way up to Evanston for work. For some reason, I knew it...as soon as I sit down at my desk the phone would ring with the referral. And boom, there it was. Took the call in my boss' office, looped in Big D and got the first stats of Mr. M. After promising not to look at the emailed photo until I got home, I did a spastic victory lap around the perimeter of the office, whooping, hollaring, speaking in tongues, and bascially descending into a slobbery mess. Got back in the car, amazingly made it home without killing anyone, and jumped onto the computer. This is what we saw:



40th B-Day in Vegas!

What does one do for your 40th birthday and first year as mom? Bring your baby to Vegas! I had doubts, but Vegas and all its horrific glory is like a big inflatable, shiny, sparkly crib mobile. I've said it before, but strippers love my son. Especially those with large inflatable breasts. We were stopped constantly. The most absurd moments (two well endowed ladies fighting over who holds Mr. M, & and an Elvis serenade) happened without camera immediately in hand. Mr M had a delightful time, and won big at craps (tee-hee).

Here's Misho preparing for Vegas:



Here's Misho after winning nickel slots:



Here's Misho and his lovely Oma B:



Here's me waking up, day one, 40 years:



That's right Perez Hilton - Celebs without makeup.

Here's me trying to throw myself out the hotel window on day two.



Mr. M Walks!

A huge benchmark moment that was seriously blog-neglected. Mr. M walks. And runs. And skateboards. He toyed with walking for so long. He teased us. A couple of steps here and there. One weekend, we focused all energy on perpetuating forward upright momentum - employing outlawed Béla Károlyi type training techniques. Nothing. Two days later, he, all of sudden and seriously out of the blue, was toddling all over the local park. Hasn't looked back. And we are doomed. Video to come.

But with mobility comes...

THREE STITCHES

"Hello ER social worker. Yes, this is our son. Yes he did fall by himself. No I wasn't drinking. Yes, I will repeat the story at least three or four times to ensure consistency of events."

That's the conversation I had in my head while I carted a bleeding Mr. M to the emergency room. He was in a fabu mood. A little crying when his head slammed into the coffee table (sound still echoes in my head to this day) but was quickly smiles and sunshine through his blood stained face. Took on as much guilt as I could; I blamed the lame but cute sandals that I bought him on sale. They stuck ruthlessly to the floor as he twisted around, lost balance, and took the plunge head first into wood. Long story short, he's doing fine, three stitches. Even while they strapped M to a restraint board (or a "papoose" as the non-Native American nurses lovingly called it) I remained a delightfully witty, a go with the flow mom that medical professionals die for in the ER. "I so understand how busy you all are. We are more than happy to wait here in a cold examining room for three hours with a bleeding hungry baby. You crazy kids go have sex with each other in the broom closet" - until.

Until, some overarching "doctor of the gods" showed up to inspect the stitchery of the residents. "Wrong stitches," he said. "That's not what I wanted." That is when, at close to midnight, the flesh peeled back from my skull and a sound of a 1,000 hounds came from hell's entrance...or my throat as we call it. Didn't redo the work, but the removal of the "wrong stitches" a few days later was a bit messy.

With medical care like this, I will be arrested one day. It's just a matter of time. Death to K. Heigel!



More to recap to come. I've been working on this for a week and have to post it before Misho graduates from high school.