Hitting the Bottle

Anthony was so completely focused on playing with this empty Publix water bottle last night when he got home. And after dinner. And during his bath. And this morning. He grabs the lid (yes it can fit through a toilet paper roll, the kid's happy, leave me alone) and then tries to put it back on the bottle and he's concentrating SO HARD and he FINALLY gets it on and then he gets SO MAD because he can't get it back off even though getting it on is exactly what he was trying to do in the first place.

And then...lather, rinse, repeat, he does it all over again. And again. And again. Keeps him busy for hours.

Empty Publix water bottles. I highly recommend them.

Candid Camera

We have procured a new camera, which means several things.

First, that our old camera - the one Anthony broke by chewing and drooling and slobbering on it because it proved irresistable to him every time he caught sight of it and I am an indulgent mother who gives into her child's every whim in hopes of filling his young life with joy and discovery (and to not have my bootleg American Idol DVD's drowned out by his whining) - now lies in his toy basket, where it sits, ignored, alongside the retired cell phones and decomissioned remote controls and even a discarded Blackberry, which is, for heaven's sake, an electronic device that Brandon and I have never even owned ourselves, as he lunges toward the new camera, with a "that-other-camera-is-SO-last-week" sneer on his "innocent" 1-year-old face.

Second, that although the new camera is simply the new model of the old camera (the Josephsen household is nothing if not steadfastly brand-loyal!) I am still figuring out the settings and therefore am lamenting several blurry pictures that would have otherwise been good shots.

Yikes!:

Getting better:

Almost there:

And, third, that I'm making up for lost time and therefore unleashing a whole bunch of cuteness all at once:

The mandatory shampoo mohawk shots:

More bathtime fun:

Maybe if I just get out by myself she'll stop taking my picture...

Nope, I guess not:

Superman PJs = Supercute baby

Different night, different bath, same result (by which I mean more photos. But give me credit for the strategic toy placement in this one!)

Finally, time to relax...and to plot the demise of another camera...

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Because I went on a cleaning spree this weekend (and because Anthony broke our camera so I haven't snapped new pictures of him in over a week; I am dangerously close to having my "mom card" revoked!) I decided to share my trip down memory lane.

Saturday I sorted through boxes of photos, clothes and other momentos from the little over a year since Anthony was born. Everything is now organized and labeled (yes, labeled!) in albums and bins, and tucked neatly into my closet, which means several things:

1. I now actually have an answer to the rhetorical question, "If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?"

2. About 10 years from now, I can make Anthony roll his eyes and say, "Mom, you're so lame!"

3. There is a box in my closet that contains a candle, a crumpled smiley face sticker and human hair, despite the fact that I am neither a serial killer nor a Voodoo priestess.

Seriously, I got a lot done, and only teared up once, when I found the newborn-size diaper I had saved and remembered how tiny and helpless Anthony used to be and how frightened and helpless I used to feel. Or maybe I was crying because I actually saved a diaper, who knows.

One of the best parts was sorting through old baby clothes, probably because I love clothes in general and associate them with memories...I may not be able to recall where I put my car keys, but name a big event and I can probably tell you what I wore. Anyway, each time I have cleared Anthony's drawers to make room for the next size up, I have put aside a few favorites...

The outfit he would have come home from the hospital in, had Brandon and I known how to put on a diaper. Do I really need to elaborate?:

A favorite sleeper from the days when the term "sleeper" was largely a misnomer:

The first three-month-old onesie he wore...I remember when Aunt Jenny put it on him and he wasn't drowning in it, it was the first time I realized he really was growing and wasn't starving and maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out OK:

I also saved clothes that say something about the special people in Anthony's life:

My dad, an avid fisherman, got Anthony a "Someone who loves me went to Bass Pro Shop" shirt:

Grandpa Dave gave the little guy a onesie from his longtime employer, Caterpillar:

From my mom, who loves Johnny Cash, the little guy scored this "Crawl the Line" onesie:

From Grandma Char, who has provided Anthony with a number of his cuter outfits, these "What Santa doesn't bring me, Grandma will" PJ's, which match a pair Anthony's cousin wore that same Christmas:

What do I hope to accomplish by saving (and labeling! Seriously! With sticky labels upon which I wrote the memory I associate with the outfit!) these clothes? I'd like to think it's so Anthony can be reminded of relatives who live too far away, but I've already put my money on the eye-rolling response, so I guess it's for my own sentimental reasons.

Which is also why I created a box of momentos from Anthony's first year. Will he ever want to look at the "1" candle from his birthday cake, a smiley face sticker he wore home from school one day or clippings from his first haircut? I doubt it, but I probably will.

Then there are the photos. Boxes of them.

Apparently, when Anthony was tiny, I didn't realize I didn't have to regurgitate the contents of my camera card onto Walgreens.com and click "order all." And that I didn't have to get doubles. So, there are stacks of pictures from early on that look like Anthony just ended a five-day vodka bender. I wasn't sleeping much at the time, OK?

I have since become much better at editing myself (though you wouldn't know it from this blog), and, while I snap just as many pics of Anthony, I now only download and order the good ones.

Anyway, my good snapshots are now in albums and my "why did I take a picture of THAT???" shots are filed in neat, attractive, matching photo boxes.

As for Anthony's professional portraits, of which there are many:

They are in their own "professional photos" album (do you know how hard it is to find a photo album that isn't split into 4-by-6 slots and that actually accommodates 8-by-10's? I did finally find one and immediately realized why they're so hard to find, because it is IMPOSSIBLE to get the plastic cover to lie flat over the photo without a bunch of unsightly wrinkles and air bubbles). Anthony's "head shots" are now in said album, and, because professional photo packages are never based on realistic family/friend group sizes (either that or most people are more popular than me) and the idea of throwing away pictures of your kid literally makes you want to throw up, the 3,520 extra shots are now in a plastic folder tucked neatly inside said photo album.


Anyway, the point of all this isn't to say, "Yay, me!" (well, it kind of is, I do have a birthday coming up. Brandon.) but to give fair warning to anyone who comes to the (clean and organized!) Josephsen household that you will be forced to look at lovingly-constructed photo albums and memory boxes of our kid.


Just kidding Grandmas and Grandpas! Please still come! We need you!

Climb Every Everything

First things first, Anthony would like to wish Happy Birthday to Grandma Dianne! He hopes she enjoys her cake and presents as much as he enjoyed his.

Meanwhile, the little guy continues his steady assault on our home. It's funny, because whenever someone asks if Anthony is walking and I again have to say no (because he's not, OK???), their next remark is, "You should be glad. Once he's on his feet, you won't have a moment of peace!"

Which is fine, except that on the motor skills development continuum (cute blob... cute blob that rolls over... %@!*, that's not where I left him a minute ago!... crawling... walking... running... climbing... sneaking out the bedroom window and stealing the keys to the car to go to a kegger...) Anthony has decided to abandon the useful walking in favor of the ever-so-unuseful climbing.

So do I have relative peace because the little guy isn't up on his feet? Not exactly. (Neither does Javy, who realizes he has suddenly lost his vertical advantage...)

Anyway, it's not like I can just plop Anthony in the living room and ignore him while I do my daily thorough cleaning of the house (Of course I don't do that! I ignore him while I sit in the living room with him and watch American Idol reruns on bootleg DVDs!) and expect him to be safe. In the blink of an eye, he's on top of the sofa or coffee table or end table or worse...

The tried-and-true technique:

(The second video could have something to do with the fact that our camera is currently broken. Anthony 2, Digital Cameras 0. Grandma Char knows what I'm talking about.)

The ensuing hijinks:

Guess which one of the above led to a bump on the forehead...

Fortunately, he can get down by himself:

But still, on the danger scale, walking is to climbing as canoeing is to white water rafting. In one case, you might fall down, but you don't have that far to go and your landing is likely to be soft. In the other case, let's just go ahead and set the over/under on Anthony's first broken bone.

Still, I do realize the not walking thing (which I'm completely cool with and not obsessing over at all!) does have its advantages... kneeling and crawling on the furniture has to be safer than standing and running on the furniture, right?

I guess this means we have to keep him?

When we were in the hospital having Anthony, they gave all three of us matching wristbands so someone who wasn't Anthony's parent wouldn't be able to take him home....because newborns and their crying, non-sleeping ways are such a blast that people were surely lining up outside our hospital room door to take our place. (I have the same theory about why you aren't required to show ID for your baby when you take him on a plane. Who would even consider enduring a flight with a baby if that baby were not their own flesh and blood?)

Anyway, I somehow managed to lose my wristband, something that probably isn't surprising to anyone who knows us. Also not surprising to anyone who knows us, Brandon was just a touch irritated. He was convinced that without the matching mommy wristband, we would be forced to go home empty-handed, leaving the little guy to cool his heels in the hospital nursery for a week or two until everything was sorted out.

And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for that darn Brandon...

Joking! Actually, the nurse (the same one who had the dubious honor of trying to teach me to diaper and breastfeed a baby; yeah, I'm guessing this woman wanted us OUTTA THERE, FAST) issued me a new bracelet with little ado and sent us on our way.

The point of this fond memory? Thanks to some photos our parents recently found, it is pretty plain to see that no mistakes were made.

Anthony and his Dad ...

Anthony and his Mom (I'm on the right) ...

Clearly, this little person is ours.

Anthony is 13 months old today!

Now that Anthony is a toddler -- albeit in name only, as crawling remains his preferred...OK, only...means of transportation -- he misses no opportunity to show how grown up he is. (Except, of course, for the opportunity to GET UP AND WALK ALREADY FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE).

Mostly, he's really starting to communicate:

He sometimes addresses Brandon as "Dada" or "Dad," and will say "cat" when he sees Javier (provided I sit next to him, point at the cat and bellow "cat, cat, cat, cat" as Javy stalks off in a manner that implies I am sucking away his will to live any of his nine lives). Alas, I remain the only family member Anthony hasn't addressed by name, unless you count when he's on the verge of a tantrum and every whiny noise comes out "mum, mum, mum." Charming.

But, as is the case for many of Anthony's peers, apparently, his favorite means of communication is the cell phone.

Mine or Brandon's. Not the fake ones we try to fool and distract him with. He loves our phones, and if they're in his line of sight, watch out.



As if the above isn't irritating enough, Anthony is apparently one of those people who, instead of answering the phone with a polite "Hello?" just picks up and says, "Yeah." Since I'm pretty sure people who do that also obsessively check their stocks while having dinner with friends and speed to the very end of the merge lane on the highway, thereby making everyone else come to a screeching stop as they squeeze in, I will do my best to break him of this habit.



I'm also doing my best on that walking thing, which, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, really does not bother me (can't you tell?)

A friend suggested I try holding a cookie just out of Anthony's reach to see if the temptation prompts a few steps. So I crouched down, baked-from-scratch-with-love cookie (store-bought graham cracker) in hand, a few feet away from where Anthony was standing at the coffee table. He looked at the graham cracker and his eyes lit up. My heart soared with hope.

Anthony promptly dropped to his hands and knees, crawled to me as fast as he could, grabbed the cracker and hightailed it outta there. Maybe next time I'll just use my cell phone as the bait.

Anyway, if you wonder why we keep the little troublemaker around, here are some of his cute "1-year-old" pictures. If I do say so myself, awwwwwwww....