HOARDERS Buried Alive: Front Seat Floor edition

HOARDERS Buried Alive: Baby Food Cabinet Edition

dude's got his own Tahini, too.

NAPTIME!

why oh why...follow up due to fan inquiry

After getting a BBM* from my dear friend Kari

that's Kari

regarding my post from last night, I thought that I would shed a bit more light on the cutting of hair situation.

Please see my luscious locks before:



pay no mind to the F-ARM I have going on in this picture.
rockin' the side pony up-do.  It was LONG you guys.  LONG.

 RIGHT after:



I sent this pic to Cath and she called immediately:
"Do we have a Brittney situation on our hands? 
What the hell is going on in Texas?"
"No!  I swear I'm not crazy again.  I just needed a damn haircut!"

After a blow-dry:


Great.  This hair means I really AM a frumpy, overweight 30-something Mom.

 I went to a "stylist" to have her "fix" it, and she made it WORSE.  So, about a month later I went to ANOTHER place (the one Willis goes to, where it costs like $578 just to sit in the seat) and she had to cut off another 2ish inches just to get it to grow back right.  It's a nightmare.  I'm never cutting my hair AGAINNNNN.  Really, I'm not.



*BBMs {abbr}:  "you CUT your own hair?!  OMG I can't even imagine!  I cut my own bangs when I was 6 and it scarred me for life...  I can't even deal... How did this not get communicated sooner???

why oh why

DID I CUT MY HAIR?  WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY DID I CUT MY OWWWWN HAIIIIR?! 

I am not sure how this escaped the blog, but several months ago I did the unthinkable. 

I.cut.my.own.hair.  I had wondrous, luscious, fabulous (read: too long, split-ended, heinous) hair and I CUT IT ALL OFF.  Myself.  It has taken 2 separate time outs in a salon chair to even get it remotely close to being able to grow back correctly.  Ugh.

In other news, we started the ever popular game with Logan called, "where's Logan's nose?"  Except now he stuffs his hand in his mouth every time, so now the game is called, "where's Logan's mouth??"

bye bye

Mutant Virus

**WARNING.  This blog entry contains information pertaining to the stomach flu.  If you do not wish to read about the stomach flu and all that goes along with it, keep on moving*.  You have been warned.**

Before we get going* on the disgusting mutant virus that took over my house last week, I'd like to share a few pictures of the world's most precious TODDLER at his party.  (I had to take pics of my computer b/c I couldn't figure out how to save them -- genius alert). 

Thank you, Mollie! 



I look so cute in my hat.



omg.  my parents are total losers.  



who me?  shit the bed?  nah, wrong guy.


Moving riiiight along now*, HOLYSHITFIREYOUHAVENOIDEAWHATOCCURREDINMYHOUSELASTWEEK.  But don't worry, I'll tell you.  Thankfully Mimi and Pops (and Roomie and Knox (!!) but that's a whole 'nother blog entry) were here to help during Logie's portion of it, or I don't know what we would've done.

Superbowl Sunday.  Dinnertime-ish

• Logan throws up in his high chair.  Exorcist-style.  Like a total rookie mom, I give him 5 ounces of Pedialyte like 2 minutes after.  BAD IDEA. 
• Logan continues to throw up/pee out his bum every 20 minutes or so for 3 hours.  
• Two after-hours nurse line calls / major pukefest in the leather chair (which Mimi had to clean) / massive bum explosion in the bathtub (which Pops had to clean), etc. etc. etc. later, we end up at Dell Children's emergency room per orders from Logie's pediatrician.  OHMYGOD.  Have you ever been to this waiting room?  I swear I saw roosters and chickens flying around while women were screaming at the front desk people to help their babies.  All in Spanish.  Kids / babies / moms screaming.  I honestly can't even talk about it without getting hives.  Again. 
• Logan heaves bile on the front desk of Dell like a good little patient, so we get seen *relatively* quickly. 
• I won't go into a tremendous amount of detail on what occurred at Dell because I'm still scarred for life, but poor Logie looks like a little junkie baby because they couldn't get a damn IV in the kid because he was so dehydrated.  It was awful.  They release him around 11:30pm after he can keep down 50ccs of Pedialyte and a Zofran. 

Monday, February 6th

• Logie is better minus some house-clearing 84lb diapers.  Willis said the smell made him think of an idea for a commercial: 
• Two ladies are walking in a parking lot after dark.  One says to the other, "do you have any pepper spray?  I really think I'd feel a lot safer if I carried some with me."  "Oh, I don't need pepper spray.  I carry LoganzAss.  The smell is so deadly it would keep even the scariest of criminals away."
• 11pm.  I fly out of bed and start heaving like I have just ingested a gallon of Antifreeze laced with salmonella.  I kick Willis out of bed. 
• As I am lying on the ground next to the bed with a garbage can beside my head (thinking I'm going to die right then and there), I start wondering how I am going to take care of Logie the next day since Willis is so busy with work.
• 12:30am.  Willis saunters in and says, "it got me too." 
• Fuck.
• I am violently ill every 20 minutes for the entire night.  Willis is too.  We get no sleep.
• At one point during the night Willis said he could hear me heaving while he was puking in the other bathroom.  Like a chorus of vomit.
• You get the idea.
• I think the virus looks like this:

Tuesday, February 7th

• I send a few "we are dying" texts to angels sent from heaven friends and throughout the day we get deliveries of various groceries on our front porch.  I truly believe if it weren't for said friends, Willis and I would be dead and Logan would be roaming freely in our house, eating cat hair to survive.   
• Willis and I take turns lying on the floor next Logan's playpen / running to the bathroom / groaning / napping.  All day long.  Logan is an angel baby who plays nicely in his pen and watches Elmo in his highchair while his parents escape death every minute.
• I start worrying that others are going to catch the mutant virus.  Like what if we have infected Logan's entire birthday party?!  The scene from Seinfeld where George's dad makes everyone sick from his cooking in the Army keeps flashing through my mind.  
• Pops gets sick.  Omg.  Mimi dodges it.  Mollie gets sick right before her Haiti trip.  Omg.  Thankfully Lisa and G dodge it before their Vegas trip. 

Present Day

• LoganzAss is still going strong. 
• Willis and I lost around 5 pounds, which considering how I looked in Logie's bday pictures, isn't necessarily a bad thing.  
• I'm terrified of the mutant virus strain living on in our linens/walls/toys/etc. etc. etc. so I can't stop disinfecting and running the 47 hour sanitize cycle on the washing machine.  I might lose my mind.   

And that, my friends, is the story of when the Mutant Virus hit the AustinAli house.  The End.

Hey mutant virus, this is for you.

*pun intended

GOT MILK?

Apologies for the super cheese title... but I'm SO WELL RESTED THAT MY MIND IS STILL TAKING A WHILE TO WAKE UP YOU SEE BECAUSE MY TODDLER SLEPT UNTIL 7:40AM TODAY.*

In other news, today Logan said his first words!  It was a phrase, really:  "Boobs?  Who needs boobs?  Whole milk is where it's AT!"



peace out boobs, this milk stuff is DELICIOUS!  moooooooooo


We have also learned that Logan loves when you sing "Happy Birthday" to him.  So, any time he is getting bunchy, I bust it out.  He's currently fussing in his crib, and I just started singing it to him through the camera/monitor (super creep).  Here is what happened:

"Haaaapy Birthday to you!  Happy Birthday to you!"

"WHAAA THE FUUUUH?"

And last but not least:

"I don't know who that baby is, but he's really handsome."

*now that I said that, he will be bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow at 5am.  Just you wait.

IT'S BEEN HOW LONG!?

Obligatory "Dear Logan, it's been a year" letter to come... once I can compose myself.

In the meantime...

How did this:


picture excerpt from
Guinness Book of Cutest Babies 2011

become THIS in just 365 days!?

I'm sorry, who are you?

We love you more than you'll ever know, sweet boy!

PS - could these ladies be ANY CUTER?!