Babboo has a ton of books. And by a ton, I mean like seriously, a ton. Ever since he was a tiny baby he loved Eric Carle’s Brown Bear book the best. It’s not like we read that book to him more then the other books, he just really liked Brown Bear. I can’t blame. It’s a good book.

That’s the thing, you just never know what books your kid will like. While some kids may love the classic books like Goodnight Moon and Eric Carle, they are just as likely to love the crappy book on bulldozers that your dad bought him for a dollar or the book on zoo animals that I picked up at the Target dollar bin. Seriously, it’s a crap shoot.

Last Christmas, in an attempt to get the free shipping out of Amazon, I added a random Christmas themed book to my shopping cart. When it arrived I tucked it away and figured that I’d read it to Babboo when he was a little older. He found the book a few weeks ago in our book shelf and begged me to read it to him. It’s a longer story then his regular books and is much more involved.

Babboo and I both have fallen in love with the book and it’s stars. We read it constantly.

I decided to TiVo the special on TV and Babboo instantly made the connection between his new favorite book and the TV show. While I’d like Lucy’s little brother to be his favorite, it isn’t. My kid loves him some Snoopy.

I admit that I had never really watched A Charlie Brown Christmas before. Yes, that’s crazy to admit. Especially since I refer to my son as my Sweet Babboo on a regular basis. But now that I’ve seen it a million or so times I’m in love with it. I love the songs (of course) and the dancing. I love the characters. I love the mention of a pink Christmas tree. But most of all I love the mention of the true meaning of Christmas.

Babboo doesn’t have that many words he uses, but when he started saying “Snoopy” first thing every morning we knew he was hooked.

A few days ago The King and I packed up Babboo and headed to our local Urban Outfitters to buy him his own Snoopy. While he made the connection between his book and TV show, he didn’t seem to make the connection between them and his new stuffed Snoopy. He threw it aside and demanded I read him Snoopy not realizing that dude, you were just holding Snoopy.

Sometime yesterday he made the connection and now wants to carry Snoopy with him wherever he goes. And then beat me with said Snoopy!

Fun times.

Wanna see how fun? Check out this video to see Babboo use his Snoopy powers for evil.

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Today is my friend Marci’s birthday. While I won’t make you listen to stories of the good times we had as kids, I do want her to know that I love her. So Marci, Happy Birthday. Keep on keepin’ on.

First off, congrats are in order for Frema and Mr. Frema on their brand new little 11 lbs baby. I’m sort of afraid that I sealed her fate with my post yesterday. Gulp. Hey, sorry about that Frema.

And now, let’s talk more about me. It’s my favorite topic.

Gag. I kid.

But yeah, let’s talk about me.

I got my ear pierced when I was ten. Or maybe eleven. All I remember was that I was the last one at my school to get my ears pierced. My mom was old skool and made me wait until I was a little older. (Of course my baby sister was allowed to get her ears pieced when she was like four. Jerk.) So I got my ears pierced and I loved it. I loved it so much that I got a second hole in my left ear a few years later. My mom did too. We were fierce. Seriously, I thought my mom was so hardcore with her second piercing.

By the time I hit junior high I was sporting a third hole in my left ear. And by the time I hit high school I was sporting a fourth hole. And then all hell broke loose and I just kept getting holes in my ear. But dude, only in my left one. I was adamant about that. It was art.

You must remember that I’m old. Which means that the whole piercing craze was long off. So long off that I remember a guy on the “Sally Jessy Raphael Show” who had his tongue pierced. It was big news. I really wanted more piercings, but really there wasn’t much room left on my poor ear. So I got that part pierced at the opening of your ear (I have no idea what it’s called). It was awesome and I loved it. I felt very hardcore.

After college, I was still sporting all my earrings, but now the piercing craze had really taken off. More and more people were sporting face and body piercings. Everyone, including myself, had their belly button pierced. And more and more guys were getting their ear pierced. It the small town I’m from guys with earrings were still looked at with the assumption that they were gay or a pirate. I don’t even have to tell you that my older (gay) brother had his ear pierced. He may have even had both of his ears pierced.

Time went on, still had my earrings, still had my belly ring and now I was married. I was really into guys with earrings (hey, it was the 90’s, everyone was into that) and so my (ex) husband got his ear pierced. I loved it and thought it was so hott. His dad told him he was not welcome in their house if he had a “queer earring” in his ear.

I was all “whatever, you’re a married adult! If you want to have an earring, you can!” But my ex was all “I am desperate for my daddy’s approval” and he took it out. Wuss.

I kept all of mine in, which was fine by his family since I wasn’t “queer”.

Time went on some more, and I got divorced, moved in with my folks, and then I met The King. He may have mentioned to me at some point that he didn’t like multiple earrings. Or belly rings. That was it, I took them all out. (Except for the originals. You always gotta keep the originals.)

Geez, it’s been over seven years and I still sort of miss all my piercings. But not enough to shove earrings through all of them. I’m thinking that this isn’t a good look for my office job.

So tell me, did you go through the piercings craze like I did? And if so, I’d love to hear all about it.

With Frema and my bestest friend May both ready to pop out baby girls, I’ve been thinking about babies. That’s pretty clear after reading yesterdays post about knowing when to get pregnant again. Or if to even get pregnant again.

Anyway…with all this baby talk, and with meeting the very pregnant Kathleen for lunch today, I’ve also thought about my own pregnancy with my Sweet Babboo. Dude, being pregnant sucks. You know, in case anyone was curious, yeah, it sucks.

I decided to go back and read Babboo’s birth story. I wrote it right after he was born, but for my own reason, I didn’t post it until his first birthday. It’s funny to reread your comments and be reminded how surprised we all were that I gave birth to a 9 lbs. 11 oz. baby.

Although who was I kidding, I was clearly carrying a huge bebe in my belly.

Then I found a post I wrote a few weeks before Babboo was born in which I lament about not wanting to give birth to a huge baby boy that would eventually turn out to be the size of my younger brother. I clearly state in the post that I don’t want to be “pushing out a 10 pound baby Amalah style”.

You can hear the collective laughs from the interweb with that post. I mean come on, you know I totally sealed my fate the second I hit “publish”. What in the h-e-double hockey sticks was I thinking with that one?

Clearly, I was not thinking.

Now I’m thinking there must be another post I could write to test and see if it would also come true. Like maybe say something like “dude, I would hate to win the lottery”, or “holy cow, I’d hate to get tickets to see the Old 97’s perform in Dallas for New Years Eve” or even better, “I would hate to have a good nights sleep. Yeah, sleep sucks.”

So in honor of Frema being in labor right.this.very.second let’s have no mention of huge babies. Let’s only talk about good things like the Old 97’s and winning the lottery.

Oh yeah, and sleep.

My mom is one of six kids.

My dad is one of nine.

I am one of four.

The King is one of two.

Babboo is currently just one of one.

And, for now, that seems to work for us.

Nothing against only children, but I don’t want it to stay this way forever. Eventually I would like to see another positive pregnancy test. I would like to (and this is hard to even type) get huge and miserable and be pregnant again. I would like to choose another baby’s name and snuggle a newborn. I would like to breastfeed again. I’d also like for Babboo to have a younger sibling to play with tease and teach. I want to get adorable Christmas pictures of kids in front of the tree.

This is the easy part.

The hard part is trying to decide that we’re ready to deal with no sleep. Or waking up every few hours to breastfeed. Or taking away our precious time with Babboo. Or pumping in the closet at work. And let’s not even talk about daycare. Because dude, that alone may convince us to never have another child.

And I hate that.

I hate that outside issues are the deciding factors in us expanding our family. I hate that money rules the decisions. I hate that we’re not getting any younger. Hate.

When really all I want is to add more love to our lives.

Even if we can move past all of these other issues, how do you know when it’s the right time to have another baby? I figure it would be good to get pregnant the same time as before. That way I’ll have the correct season of maternity clothes. And if it’s a boy, all of Babboo’s clothes will work. (Oh yes, this is how my mind works.) This plan sounds good on paper. But dude, that isn’t that far off. I’m not sure that I’m ready. And although I can get pregnant just by looking The King in the eyes, it’s keeping the babies that is hard.

Let’s be honest, I’m not sure that I’m ready to deal with any more miscarriages.

Plus, I just can’t seem to think of Babboo as anything other then my baby. How can I be ready for another baby when I already have a perfectly good baby?

And then I see a picture like this and realize he isn’t such a baby anymore.

And I long for pictures like this.

So tell me, what is the mathematical equation to determine when to have another baby?*

*Extra credit points to those who can also determine the equation on deciding how many kids to have.

Tuesday morning. 11:00 AM. Phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom. Did I wake you?”

“Yes. But it’s okay.”

“Wait, what are you doing asleep at 11:00 in the morning? Are you sick?”

“I had surgery this morning.”

“Excuse me!! You had surgery this morning!?! Are okay!? What kind of surgery!? And why in the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

“Sorry sweetie. I thought we had told you. It’s no big deal. I just had some skin grafts done in my mouth to help my gums.”

“So you’re okay?”

“Yes. I had it done a few hours ago. Your Dad took me before he went to school.”

“Are you out of it, or can we talk?”

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

And then we proceeded to talk about some Christmas plans while I ran errands around town on my morning break.

“Are you sure you’re going to remember this conversation Mom?”

“Of course I will. I’m fine.”

Wednesday night. 7:00 PM. Phone call.

“Hi Mom. It’s just me. I wanted to tell you that Babboo and I bought a plane ticket today to come and visit you guys after Christmas.”

“Hooray. We’re so excited.”

“How are you feeling after your surgery yesterday?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for checking in on me.”

“Well, I called yesterday. Remember?”

Pause.

“Remember, I called and we talking about Christmas?”

Longer pause.

“Yeah, I think I remember that you called.”

“Great Mom. You assured me you would remember our conversation.”

“Sorry. I lied.”

So not only did my mom not tell me that she was having surgery, (no matter how trivial, she was still put under and then cut up) she also lied to me about how alert she was.

Thanks Mom.

So tell me, ever have something similar happen to you? Like maybe your mom brought a baby home from the hospital and told you, “oh sorry, did I forget to mention I was having a baby?”

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Want to see the art project Babboo and I made this weekend? It’s my latest New Thing.

Do you have a super easy dinner recipe you’re just dying to share with the interweb? Head over to my latest SeattleMomBlogs post and share it. Please. Pretty please.

And although there is a writers strike going on right now, TV is still the love of my life. Let’s talk about this week’s episode of “How I Met Your Mother” over at WeHeartTV.

I got a phone call at work, right as I was leaving, about three weeks ago. It was my younger sister.

“I have something very exciting to tell you. I couldn’t wait any longer!”

Beings as my sister is married and of prime baby-making-age I was sure she was going to tell me she was knocked up. Seriously, she had the tone in her voice.

“What is it? I’m dying to know!!”

She then proceeded to tell me about a contest that was just announced at her work. All those that had been with the company longer then nine months were eligible to enter. You have to have perfect attendance for the entire month of December, as well as pass a test about the company’s products and policies and write up a report about your favorite product that they sell. (I must note that she works for a type of holistic company.)

The winner, and a friend, will get an all expense paid trip to South America.

For some reason, this prize was very tempting to my sister. She told me she’d done the math and she figured there were only about twenty employees that had been there long enough to enter. And of those twenty she was pretty sure that not all of them would be interested. Plus, there was the whole perfect attendance thing. My sister assured me that she is always on time for work and never missed an unscheduled day of work.

She had figured she had a one in fifteen chance of taking my mom with her to South America.

You may be asking why she would take our mother and not her husband? She says this is because her husband could care less about a free trip to South America. Dude, he crazy.

Plus, my mom already has a passport.

Anyway, back to this contest. So my sister was pretty excited. Hell, she was sure she was going to win. She told me she was going to fill out the paperwork for her passport that day.

I suggested she slow down a bit. I reminded her that a passport costs money. Money is tight for her and my brother in law. I told her maybe she should wait until she was sure she was going to win. There would be plenty of time to get her passport between January, when the winner would be announced and March, when the trip was scheduled to occur. She agreed.

Every few days my sister will call me to discuss how the contest is going. She assures me that she hasn’t been late to work. She tells me she is studying for the test, even though she has no idea what it will be like (multiple choice? True or False? Essay?). She has also been using different products to determine what her favorite is and how to write up a report about it. Not to mention the fact that I’m pretty sure she’s already started to pack her bags for the trip.

She is very sure she’s going to win.

Last night my sister called me again to give me the latest. Apparently the rules for the contest are getting a little hazy and she is not happy about it. People are showing up late to work. Very late. But they are calling to say they are going to be late. And they’re late because of a wreck on the freeway, or a bad snowstorm. So, it seems, they are being excused.

But um, isn’t the point of 100% attendance to be at work 100% of the time? My sister has not been late. At all. She lives aways away from her office, but she’s adjusted her commute to take into account anything she might run in to. She is taking this very seriously and she’s upset that the company doesn’t seem to be.

Last night she told me she hopes an official list of the rules will be handed out. She assumes that the people who have been late for “justifiable reasons” will not be eligible. She is banking on this in order for her to win the trip. But she isn’t sure. And she’s very upset.

If she could win this on pure desire alone, it’d be a piece of cake. She wants this trip. She needs this trip. She’d appreciate this trip.

So hey interweb, let’s all hope my baby sister wins. And when she does, let’s hope her husband wises up and goes with her on this awesome trip.

I’ll keep you posted.