There's not too much new going on around here, lately, but that's the nature of staying home with preschoolers. Every day is a little adventure in unique repetition. This week has been a little bit novel in that both girls, and I, were really sick. They'd seem ok during the day and then, with blissful oblivion to their parents despair, stay up all night, in need of new diapers, new jammies and fresh hugs.

We seem to be through the worst of it, though I'll probably have to keep them out of school tomorrow, too, just for good measure. As for school, they're both doing really well. Silvia speaks about as well as your average three-year-old. Precocious, isn't she? Just like another little girl I know. Anna, too, is ahead of the game. She's started reading vocabulary words, which just impresses the heck out of me. She sounds them out, gives it a moment of thought, and then jumps to the next step of putting the sounds together into an actual word. It's not just "cat" or "dog", either. Last night she put together "computer". She's also picking up on the short and long vowel sounds and how different letters make different sounds when you put them together, like "oo" and "th" and "sh". Pretty soon I'll have her on Gone Away Lake, just about my favorite book from my childhood (and still, for that matter).

Kurt and I have been riding a wave of exhaustion since we got back from his birthday ski trip to Park City, Utah. We had a blast, though I decided once and for all that skiing is NOT for me. Kurt made the most of the slopes, though, but upon our return he has been in the office for long hours and weekends, trying to catch up. Hopefully we'll get some relief this weekend, from work, repetitive stay-at-home days, and sick kids.

Sorry it's only a few mismatched pictures, I'll try and remember to grab my camera more often. (Ha! good luck with that, Megan!)

Cake and cuteness

Two? She's two? When did that happen?

Happy birthday, my no-longer-baby. She's walking all about with a grin and singing, "Happy birthday to Cici, happy birthdaaaaay!". Anna is just about as excited as she is, too. We're having a little dinner party with cake tonight. Some of our friends who saw us through Anna's babyhood, my pregnancy and all the wackiness since Silvia was born are coming with their kids to celebrate. I anticipate much running and screaming, it should be a blast. Best of all, Kurt is making his famous deep-dish pizza, yum!


Looking forward to old friends, balloons and party hats, but mostly to the grown-up smile on my girl's face at the sight of her cake. She's been practicing blowing out her candles. Hope no one minds a little spray on the frosting, though, heheee.



It's a little sad to put her baby years behind her, but it's been so exciting seeing her learn so much and get so cheeky and funny. Here's to all the years to come!

A few of my favorite words

As the girls grow, they start to drop their funny little expressions and personalized pronunciations. I know it's important to encourage the correct words and tenses and what not, but there are just some things too cute to hurry out of their vocabulary. A few of my favorites, for posterity's sake.

Anna:
"I'm so exciting to go! I'm so EXCITING!". This was Anna's until just a few months ago, and now she corrects me when I try and encourage her to say it anymore.

Jamammies instead of pajamas.

"That's disgusty!". She's particularly fond of this one right now, especially when referring to Silvia's drool phenomenon.

"What's all the drama going on, Mama!". I think she picked this up at school and she says it constantly- on the potty, in the middle of dinner, at bedtime, etc. This makes me wonder, of course, what is all the drama going on?

"That's MIND!". Sadly, this passed into history about a year ago, but it still makes me laugh. Everything on God's green earth was "MIND!".

Silvia:
Dimosaur. She loves her dimosaurs. Anna keeps correcting her on this, but I'm trying to be as bad an influence as I can to keep it around.

"What's wrong with your face?". She hasn't been doing this lately, but for a long time she'd reach up at you during her diaper change and say it, looking all concerned. Very, ummm... sweet.

"ABC... twinkle star... rock-a-baby... lullaby... ABC". When we'd put Silvia to sleep, up until just a few months ago, she'd request all her favorite songs while we rocked. She'd request them so quickly, in fact, that we'd get the first two or three syllables in on one song and then she'd be asking for the next.

"Mama, make love!". I didn't even think about this one when she first said it, I just drew her a heart. Eventually the double-meaning sunk in, too.

I'm drawing a blank now on a lot of little quirky turns of phrase, but there are lots more. I love that they are so articulate and well-spoken, but I still miss the cute baby talk as it fades away. Proof that they're growing up... think I'll miss the last diaper, too?

Princesses

I fought it, I railed against it, I bemoaned the stereotyping and ubiquitous copyrighted characters... but the princesses won.

Disney princesses live in my house. They are in every room. The costumes are strewn across my floors, the books fill our baskets. Cinderella has taken up permanent residence in our DVD player. Every coloring book, sticker and pretend play scenario is princess-centric. We thought at first we'd lucked out with Silvia, who seemed to lean towards tomboy and would never let Anna put crowns on her head, but that's all changed.

"Mama? Cinderella's crying!", is one of the constant phrases I hear all day, those blue eyes shining in shared distress, regardless of if we've watched the movie that day or a week ago.

"Mama! Cinderella fairy gaa-mother! She go to the ball!" And then, of course, then it starts.

"I wanna be a blue princess!" And then, 10 seconds after I arrange the dress on her small frame, "I wanna be a pink princess!"

Anna, ever helpful, goads her on. "Silvia, don't you want to be Sleeping Beauty now? Then I can be Cinderella and we can dance!"

It's all very cute except for two things. One, Silvia cannot get into the dresses on her own and two, they are too long for her to walk in, so she invariably gets caught up, tangled in a princess pile on the floor having a princess tantrum.

Royalty is a heavy burden to bear.

Dust

Overheard this morning, as rays from the morning sun slanted into the room and highlighted dust motes floating in the air:

"Those are my fluffs! MOM! Cici touched my fluffs!"

Thief

Here's Anna in her nightly bed-stealing. Notice the center positioning and wide-spread arms covering the ENTIRE sleeping surface.

Happy Birthday Ryan!

From 2008_12_19

Hold still for the camera!

2nd Christmas

Anna keeps asking for her second Christmas. While Kurt's family was visiting this past weekend, we had a great mini-Christmas for the three kids- Ryan, Anna and Silvia. They each got a few presents and we adults were able to sit back and just enjoy the delight and excitement that only young children seem to glow with on that most-anticipated of holidays.

Opa took them all up to the playroom so that Santa could come with their goodies and then they came boiling down the stairs, running straight for the tree. Silvia's reaction was my favorite. She simply walked up, grabbed the nearest package to hand and brought it to me, ordering firmly, "OPEN IT, Mama. OPEN." It was for Ryan, but that didn't seem to slow her down at all.

At some point, we must have said that this was the 1st Christmas so we could celebrate with our family. Now Anna is very confused and adamant that it is now time for the 2nd Christmas. She comes home from school-"Is it 2nd Christmas yet"? Or the same after dinner every night, after any brief naps she might condescend to take. "Is it? Now?"

I sure hope we don't have to expect a 3rd or 4th Christmas after the 25th.

Broken Glass

The other day, as Silvia and Anna were chasing each other like puppies through the house, Anna bumped into a table and knocked a glass vase onto the floor where it shattered in a spray of shards. I think the average adult's response to this is to step away and find a careful way of cleaning it up. Anna is neither average or an adult.

By the time I got to the scene, she had reached down and scooped up a handful of pieces and was holding them out to me in supplication. "Mommy, I broke the vase! Here!"

And me? I instinctively reached out and took the handful of glass into my own bare hands. Ouch.

We both ended up with small cuts along our palms and it could have been much worse. Best of all, I got to add to that list of things, either too obvious or too bizarre, you never think you'll say- "Never pick up broken glass! Wait for mommy and daddy, ok?"

Beds

I've had a list sitting on my desk for weeks. I jot down things that I mean to post here. That list has been growing... and growing.... and growing. Time to do some catching up.

First off, for Anna's birthday we moved her to a grown-up bed. She had reached the point where her feet were bumping and into the bottom of her toddler bed and her hands would get tangled in the sideboard every night. She'd end up sleeping curled in a ball or with half her limbs hanging off the mattress.

Now she has a big queen size bed where she looks about as small as a stuffed animal , swimming in all that space. We considered buying her a smaller mattress, but figured we'd just use what we already had lying around. (hehee... sorry for the pun) While she loves her new big bed, we still struggle with her new tendency to come into our room in the middle of the night. First we put a sleeping bag down on the floor to keep her out of her bed, but she started sneaking into it about two seconds after we'd put her to bed in her own room.

Our solution resulted in a night practically out of a Pink Panther movie, there was so much traveling back and forth between bedrooms. She'd sneak in, I'd walk her back and put her in her bed. She'd sneak back in about 10 minutes, and so on and so on. After a few nights of that she started to settle, but it's still going on at least once a night. As cute as she is, there is something inherently creepy to wake up in the middle of the night to a silent, though small, figure standing directly over your head in the darkness.

Snow White and Prince Charming

My hair is falling out...

because I am pulling it!

My four-year-old daughter was feeling playful today. She was so inspired, in fact, that she ran upstairs, poked her head into the baby's room and screamed, "BOO!", at her sister.

Who is one. Who was barely 45 minutes into her two hour afternoon nap. Who refused to go back to sleep. Who has six different levels of hysterics that she was kind enough to display for the rest of the afternoon. (Insert hair pulling here).

And then? THEN? Anna comes up to me and says, "Mama, Silvia needs to be quiet and stop crying. You should go put her down." Seriously?!

In case you're wondering (and if you are a mom, I know you are), no, I did not break any laws today. I was tempted, but with great strength of will and a little help from my friend Advil, I restrained myself.

Snow

Snow on the mountain, snow white, snow sisters, snow hats and mittens, snow boots, snow jacket. All that's missing? Snow.

Aquarium

"Anna, what was your favorite part of the aquarium?"

Pause for deep thought and then...

"I liked the fishes."

An Historic Night

This truly is a time of change and I'm overwhelmed with hope that no longer feels so audacious. I have now lived to see a time for my children where everyone really can grow up to be president.

Let's Play Hugs!

One of the girls' newest and cutest games ins "hugs". They chase each other around the house hugging and tumbling left and right.

halloween, car wash and birthday fun

Pictures of the girls at their silly best. Happy birthday, Anna and Auntie Mo!

swings and wiggleworms

Why we buy washable markers

Can you tell she's a lefty?

Kurt's famous squash risotto with sage

He was so proud, I decided to immortalize the moment with an action shot. It's as tasty as it looks, my friends! YUM!

She is SO playing us

Silvia's tiny, plump little hands have been weaving a subtle spell lately. That child is NOT a baby anymore. Kurt and I have sort of been parenting her on auto-pilot, not holding her responsible, not forcing confrontations, challenges or expectations. But yesterday, that "little tiny baby who doesn't understand" somehow ended up eating strawberry shortcake for dinner. Strawberry-sugar-processed-completely-void-of nutritional-value shortcake. How could that happen, you ask?

Here it is. We went out to the salad bar place we like. It's very kid friendly and has loads of options for our picky eaters. Anna had mac n' cheese with a large helping of fruit on the side. Silvia cried and shook her head and wriggled to climb out of her high chair and tried to throw everything we offered her.

So, rolling our eyes and not even thinking about it, we handed her a bowl of dessert and a bread stick. You know, to settle her. As we were getting ready to leave, she started fussing again, this time for chocolate milk, whining that she was messy and then not letting me clean her up. Kurt and I looked at each other. It was an epiphanic parental moment. You could practically hear the boot of reality kicking us upside the head.

Re-read that previous sentence about all the things Silvia was saying and doing. Saying and doing implies communication and understanding. Oh, that's no baby, my friends. That's a toddler with very well duped parents. She knows exactly what she's doing.

I picked her up, plopped her on the floor, staring into the distance just past her head as I wiped off her protesting little face and hands. Then I frog-marched her out the door, ignoring the constant whine for something, anything, on the ride home. Guess what? Slowly, with a tone of confusion, she got quieter and spaced her demands out more and more.

"I think maybe we need to turn up the toddler discipline," Kurt said on our evening walk. "She's not really an innocent baby anymore." Silvia reached over and smacked Anna, giggling. Anna screamed and reached over and pulled her hair. Then the whine for chocolate milk picked up from both sides.

"I think we need to plop her in a separate room and walk away every time she makes a noise above a certain decibel level," I said.

Staring at each other over their heads, we finally identified that heavy weight that has been pulling down against our shoulders. It is not gravity, friends and neighbors. It's the passage of time. The next stage is not tomorrow, it's here right now. And it's shrieking.

Never fear. We've done this before, it just took us a little longer to catch on the second time around, blinded as we have been by the age difference between the two girls. We're on the offensive now. Mommy and Daddy can play this game, too. Failure is not an option. So forget the shortcake and open wide, sweetie pie. You're about to get a mouthful of consequences... and broccoli.

Velveteen Rabbit Syndrome

Every couple months I get all revved up to clean out the toys- gather up the little odds and ends that accumulate from who knows where, toss what's broken, and send anything obsolete to Goodwill.

But the stuffed animals? I have trouble with the stuffed animals. We have several, lots, one might even say quite a few. Even between the two girls, they only play with a select group and I know there are some forgotten stuffed friends that need to move on to another destination. But...

I look at their little embroidered faces with their little button eyes and I just can't let go. I don't really believe that they come to life when we're not looking or that they have their own little personalities. I know it's silly. Still, I just can't help myself from wanting to give them a chance.

Poor little things. They just want to be loved. They just want to be real.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side
near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean
having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing
that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not
just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.
"When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by
bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You
become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to
people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully
kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been
loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real
you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Excerpt from "The Velveteen Rabbit", by Margery Williams

A happy memory to brighten a sad day

Click Here: "I'm a walker now, y'all! Watch out!"

pictures! 'bout time, right?

Finally remembered to post some cuteness, hope you enjoy!

First bee sting, hopefully LAST bee sting

Poor Silvia. While playing outside at my mom's house yesterday, she decided she wanted to go back in and we headed up the steps to the side porch. What I didn't realize was that the porch was full of bees that were not happy to have us walk right into their new territory.

They angrily swarmed right at my head level, several tangling in my hair. I eeked and jumped back, hitting at my hair- and, like a total idiot, left my baby standing right under the buzzing cloud. As I headed quickly back to grab her, they descended and several settled on her head, one stinging her right on her ear.

She shrieked and grabbed at it just as I swept her off the porch and swiped the other bees away from her. We ran from the furious swirling mass, quickly moving away and inside using the BACK door. We had come out that way and I felt like a moron for trying get back in another way. Ah, maternal guilt, how well I know thee.

Silvia's ear doubled and tripled in size in just a few moments, throbbing a painful red as she wailed and squirmed. Thankfully, she didn't show any signs of an allergic reaction, though we gave her some Benadryl just in case. She calmed down after a bit sucking her thumb and then asking for some chips.

God bless Frito's.

Locked in or trapped out?

Anna knows how to open doors. She knows how to close doors. And as of this week, she knows how to lock doors. The trick here is that she hasn't figured out how to unlock them. Following several spectacular and Oscar-worthy tantrums one day, I sent her to her room to cool down. Silvia and I settled in the front yard to wait, playing with rocks and barking back at the neighbor's dog. You know, the usual. After the allotted time, I scooped up my littlest and headed back up the porch to reclaim her impressive sister.

The sister who we found looking in the window next to the door, face pressed to the glass, Joey the Bunny clasped tightly in her hands, serious expression on her face. "Come in, Mama," she said through the glass. I clasped the door knob, exasperation sinking in my stomach. The door refused to cooperate.

"Anna, were you playing with the lock? Turn the lock, honey. Go put it back like it was. Turn the lock, ok?" Her serious expression turning to grief, she fumbled at the door and the burst into hysterics, falling down on the carpet and gasping between cries, "Come IN, mama!"

Oh, dear. Instantly sympathetic, I tried to calm her down through the glass while Silvia watched, waving cheerily at her sister and repeating her favorite words, "Anna sad. Anna sad, mama."

Thinking quickly, (or actually, thinking without a clue), I called Anna over to the back door windows, which were open. Here we could touch hands through the screen, which I discovered where very sturdily installed. This would have been a comfort to learn at another time, but had me cursing under my breath at that moment. After I had her calmed down, I told her to wait for me at the window and ran across the street, knocking on doors for a phone.

Thankfully, one neighbor works from home. I quickly called the Bearer of the Spare Key, who headed over with this magical object. Running back to Anna, all this time with Silvia in tow, I kept her entertained at the window.

Briefly calm, she smiled and announced, "Mama, I'll let you in! Let me get Silvia's keys!". She picked up the plastic rainbow keys and desperately hit them at the front lock. I was trying not to laugh but then she burst into another bout of hysterics when her scheme failed.

And then, Murphy's Law in full swing, she fell and hurt herself as I watched helplessly, calling out comfort as well as I could. Poor baby. Eventually, I talked her in to waiting on the couch. After that, Anna declined to meet me at the window anymore, instead reading her workbook, cuddled into the couch pillows, a bookworm in her element.

After the door was finally opened by Terry, Anna calmly told me not to trap myself outside again, with an air of responsibility-free condescension. Note to self: give spare key to neighbor.

Anna is a velociraptor

Remember that scene from Jurassic Park? The one where the raptors are in their cage, throwing themselves at the electric fence in search of weakness?

That's Anna right now. I kid you not. That child is testing her boundaries like nobody's business. Back-talk, rudeness, defiance, tantrums, pushing/tackling Silvia while pretending she's just "playing". Heaven help me, I'm about to lock her up. Or even better, lock myself up- with a good book and cup of hot cocoa. And earplugs.

Kurt and I are seriously struggling to keep our tempers in check, trying to either simply ignore the obnoxious attitude or respond calmly and promptly to the rude behavior. We know she responds better, and calms down quicker, when we are calm.

But calm is a distant place, a happy island of sunshine and clear blue water. A place far, far from our living room and perpetually OUT OF REACH. I spend much of the day fighting the urge to scream my head off. Which I can report from personal experience, doesn't work at all.

We love that little angel, but if she gives me any more diva-tude this week, I'm going to lose my mind. And my cool. And probably all my hair.

Rite of Passage- Again

As soon as you open the door to your child's room, you know. I mean, you really KNOW. It's the smell. Waking up to a baby (and crib, stuffed animals, mattress, walls, etc) covered in, well... POOP is one of the least fun rites of passage for any parent.

The bad news, as if that wasn't bad enough, is that it renews for EACH CHILD.

This morning, I found Silvia standing in her crib, hands raised in the classic, "Uh-oh" gesture, looking at me. "Poo-poo?", she asked, clearly a bit puzzled. Then, with a wide grin, so utterly charming except for the yuck all over her, "Uh-oh, mess." Ha. That's for damn sure.

I plopped her in the tub, which now has to be scrubbed with bleach during precious nap time hours. Holding my breath the entire time, I sent Anna down to raid the pantry while I cleaned... and soaped... and scrubbed. As I combed out her hair while trying not to actually look, I was visited by a vivid and nearly identical memory: the morning thrill of discovery with Anna in that very same crib and state of quizzical filth.

I know everyone says their babyhood passes too quickly, but these moments are ones I am happy to (hopefully) leave behind. No put intended.