First Week

I never thought that parenthood would be easy.  I knew what I had put my mother through, I had heard stories of how naughty Andy could be.  I figured that he and I were going to have to buckle up and hang on tight, especially through the teen years. 
What I didn't know was that the teen years would start at the age of five.

To say the first week of Kindergarten was bumpy would be a massive understatement.  Addie lost privileges left and right - no screen time, no books before bed, no playdates.  It was as though someone had taken my sweet, occasionally mercurial, five year old and swapped her with a 16 year old in the throws of puberty.
All week long Andy and I were treated to eye rolling, foot stomping and huffing.  I would catch Addie muttering behind our backs or glaring at us for no particular reason.  She didn't want to do her chores;  She hated what was for dinner.  She didn't want to play with her sister; She lied about the littlest thing.  She was sassy and mouthy and mean.  For no reason she hit her sister's bottom as hard as she could, and then lied when she was caught.
Andy and I were at a loss.  Our spirited, independent, sweet five year old had morphed into a moody, opinionated, grouchy brat.  We talked and talked to her, we took away privileges, we punished her actions - we got nowhere.

If this was what Kindergarten looked like, then I wanted preschool back.  I was so disappointed - I thought school would make Addie blossom and bloom.  I thought she would come home full of stories and eager to show me what she had learned.  I had not bargained on the tired, aloof, mean-spiritedness that was I was getting.

And then on Friday morning she woke up with fever and cough.  She had to stay home with me where she she snuggled, and rested, and napped.  Half way through the day she curled up on my lap and whispered I really miss you and Brenna when I am at school, Mama. 
I know, I told her, we miss you too.  But when you're at school we don't do anything fun with out you.  B naps and I do laundry and wait for you to come home.
Oh, she murmured and snuggled a bit closer with a hint of a smile.

Friday night her fever broke.  We spent the long weekend with family and friends and back she went to school yesterday.  When she got home I was told about meeting Ronald McDonald and going to the gymnasium.  I heard all about what bullies are and was shown new work in the homework folder.  She chatted and she played with her sister - and finally I got a glimpse of Kindergartner I thought I would have.

By the alarm clock light

As I child I had my fair share of embarrassments to shoulder - I wore hearing aids for a while.  I had bright pink knee braces.  I was a brace face.  I had a few bad perms and once sported a rat's tail.  I wore glasses, replete with bright red frames.
The hearing aids didn't last long - I have been partially deaf since birth and found hearing better to be more of a distraction than a benefit.  The knee braces were for my plethora of knee issues that ultimately ended up in two knee surgeries in my twenties.  I have no excuse for the perms or rat's tail, they were only two of my ill informed hairstyles.  But the glasses? They were all my fault.

Not only did I wear glasses, but I had to go through about six months of weekly eye therapy.  I would walk to the opthamologist's office at the end of our street and do a plethora of eye exercises that I assume were designed to strengthen my eye muscles in some way.  Why in the world would a gradeschooler have to work on their eye muscles?  Because I loved to read. 

My mother instilled a love of reading in both my brother and I that continues today.  When I get engrossed in a book the rest of my world melts away.  I read instead of doing laundry.  I read instead of keeping house.  I read waiting for appointments.  I read instead of going to bed at a reasonable hour.  I can read serious books - The Immoral Life of Henrietta Lacks or The Road.  But I also love books that just let me live in other worlds - The Hunger Games Trilogy or The Tea Rose Series.  Hell, I even got a little Twilight obsessed a few a summers back (that was really hard to admit).  I love books that give me a different perspective, introduce me to a new world or just keep me wanting more.  I like to learn new things just as much as I like to get lost in a little fluff. Reading is one of my great escapes. 
I remember being snuggled in my bed waiting for my mom to read to us when I was little.  We listened to poems by Shel Silverstein (I will not play at tug o' war, I'd rather play at hug o' war ...), we read all the classics: Stuart Little, Charlotte's Web, Trumpet of the Swan, The Cricket in Times Square,  James and the Giant Peach, Ralph the Mouse.  I would listen to Mom read and I would be lost in the stories, in her voice, in different worlds.  To this day I still remember words from Dear Mr. Henshaw (de liver de letter de sooner de better de later de letter the madder I getter).

When I actually learned to read I couldn't wait for library day at school.  I loved visiting the Either Or Bookstore on North Street - both of my parents would let me sit there for hours flipping through pages, going to story hour, on occasion I even got to bring home a new book.  In fourth grade my very favorite part of the day was when my teacher would read aloud to us.  I distinctly remember listening to Island of the Blue Dolphin and wondering what my dog and I would do to survive on an island on our own.
My learning to read was a mixed blessing for my mom - on one hand it kept me occupied for hours, on the other hand I tuned out to the world.  I tuned out from my chores, my brain would be stuck in my book instead of focused on my school work or the conversation she was having with me.  Most importantly, her ten minute story time at night no longer cut for me.  I wanted to know what happened next in How to Eat Fried Worms or The Chocolate Touch.  I couldn't get enough of Freckle Juice, Ramona Quimby Age 8, Tales of a 4th Grade Nothing, The BFG or SuperFudge.  I would lay in bed and wonder what the next chapter would bring...until I figured out a solution.
Instead of laying in bed waiting and wondering, I finally decided to sneak a flashlight into my room, once I was tucked into bed and Mom was downstairs, I would grab the book we were reading, turn on my flashlight and start reading - it was a perfect solution until I got caught, was scolded and my flashlight was taken away. 
It took me a night or two to realize that my alarm clock had a lovely red glow that could illuminate my pages. Then I laid in bed, with my face and alarm clock as close as possible to the pages, devouring every word.  Not only would I read ahead in our bedtime books, but I would start reading my own books: Are you there God?  It's me Margaret, Blubber, The Witches, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley Twins, Nancy Drew, The Box Car Children.
I read them all and so so so many more - by the red glow of my pink alarm clock.

Eventually my mother found out about my alarm clock and I am pretty sure that for awhile books had to be taken out of my room.  Not only was I ruining my eyes, but I was severely lacking sleep, which made me a not so enjoyable person.

I tell you all this as a way to say I think it may be genetically linked - the love of reading.  Addie has been read to since she was a week old.  One of our ultimate punishments is to take away her bed time stories.  She loves all sorts of books from board books to Fancy Nancy to Danny and the Dinosaur.  She likes shows about reading and she adores going to the library.  And, over the past few weeks, there have been many nights that we have found her in bed like this:

"Reading" by the light of her Cinderella nightlight.  Andy insists this is all my genetics at work, and I don't disagree.  I just hope she doesn't end up with months of eye therapy...

For that matter, I hope she doesn't have braces, hearing aids, knee braces or a rat's tail either.  

Being Four

I know I complained about two.  I definitely griped about three.  But, hot damn, four has been a totally different adventure in itself.

Four is temperamental.  And by temperamental I mean down right schizophrenic.  Tears become laughter, laughter often devolves into tears.  There are sweet smiles, tender hugs and massive amounts of foot stomping and huffing.  With Four, you navigate a maze of pouts and demands, sometimes making a wrong turn and ending up in the corridor of insolence, on occasion the right path is chosen and you are rewarded with warms smiles and happiness.

Four is wildly independent, until she's not - then Four is ridiculously needy and unsure.  Sometimes Four can make her own bed, get dressed and put peanut butter on a bagel.  Other times, Four can't pick up her room, put on socks or peel a banana.  Four loves school and learning, and loves it even more if you are the parent helper.  Four can snuggle up in her bed and read stories to her baby dolls, but Four also says she's scared of the dark, that noise, and the possibility of a rat sneaking into her room.

Four is creative.  She is full of ideas and stories and make believe lands.  Four likes to glue and cut and color.  Four likes to do crafts, play dolls, make believe, have fashion shows and dance.  Four does not like it if you don't glue, cut, color, make believe, play exactly the way Four demands you to.

Four has opinions about everything.  Four will tell you what she thinks about the lunch you packed, the dinner you cooked, the music you're playing.  Four will compliment or criticize what you are wearing, your singing, your hair, your plans for the weekend.  Four likes ponytails better than pigtails, pink and purple more than any other color, skirts and dresses best of all.  Four will notice characteristics of strangers, in public, and comment loudly about them. 

Four is right.  You are wrong.  Period.

Four is defiant and difficult.  Four is loving and wonderful.  Four keeps you on your toes and has you exhausted by the end of the day.  Four is frustrating and rewarding and exhilarating and exhausting.

Four is a ballerina.  Four is a T-ball player.  Four is a big sister, a little girl, a best friend.  Four is a preschooler, a dictator, an observer.

Four can tie her own shoes.

And five?  Five is just around the corner.

One Month

Somehow, over three weeks ago, Brenna turned one month old.  How is that possible?  Ever since Addison was born I have been told "don't blink, it all goes by so fast"...dear heavens, I think I understand that now. 
Most of the past seven weeks have been a blur of holidays and interrupted sleep, visitors and interrupted sleep, nursing, preschool and interrupted sleep.  The transition to two has been much less stressful than I anticipated - sure I am tired and at times feel completely overwhelmed, but compared to the first two months of figuring out motherhood with Addie, this is a dream.

I didn't start this little blog until Addie was already two months old - basically  because I was nonfunctional.  From what I remember of the first month or so, the first time around, there were lots of tears and frustration.  Every little thing Addie did sent me running for the phone to call my mom, or to my supply of parenting books to make sure I wasn't messing her up.  I worried about nursing and sleeping and television exposure and just about everything else.

This time around?  This time I seem to be able to remember to breathe.  For heavens sake Brenna went five days without a dirty diaper and I didn't even pick up the phone to consult with our pediatrician.  On the fifth day I was rewarded with quite a load of lovliness.

Brenna's first month is blur of nursing and not cooking.  We were spoiled rotten by neighbors and friends who cooked for us and we had no qualms calling for take out.  Brenna spent the first two weeks of life sleeping in our arms pretty much around the clock - she didn't like her bassinet, her crib or the magic swing.  She liked her Mom and Dad and she liked very much to be wide awake at four in the morning.

Our neighbor commented that she was a very zen baby - she seemed to be content with just being, and while she fussed it was not an epic amount of fussing.  From the get go, Brenna nursed like a champ.  She was  an instinctual nurser, unlike Addie who was totally blase about the whole process.  I am sure having a baby who nursed with ease also made this second stab at motherhood that much less stressful.

The downside of being the second born?  The strength of Mom's memory.  I can't recall what the doctor reported on Brenna's one month stats...I know that she lost weight, from 9 lbs 6 oz at her first official doctor's appointment, to 8 lbs 15 oz at the one month check up.  Of course this threw us through a bit of a loop - did she have a touch of the stomach flu?  Was she not getting enough from nursing?  Did she have a milk sensitivity?  Even now we don't have any of those questions answered - but we started supplementing her with four ounces of formula and at her last weight check she had chunked back up.

In nine more days Brenna will be two months old...and I will try to remember to write down all her numbers when we're at the pediatrician.  For now I will congratulate myself on just getting her fed and bathed, which is better than I am doing with her sister, but that's a story for another time.

Addie-isms

I didn't want our day to start off that way. 
I don't like to see you crying at the kitchen table and I hate being frustrated and angry over trivial things. 
You did an excellent job getting dressed, and making your bed.  You were even doing a good job munching on your bagel and finishing your orange juice. 
And I know you want hair like Rapunzel - but to have her hair you have to have thicker skin.  You have to understand that with long hair, comes tangles and with you, tangles means tears. 
This morning the tangles created huge, cascading tears and angry words.  You howled and hit and stomped.  And then I got angry and I cried.  And maybe I stomped too.  Just like that our morning was ruined.
After you climbed on my lap and we snuggled a bit, we talked through it.  I apologized for getting upset and raising my voice.  You apologized for screaming and hitting...and then you whimpered Mama, please don't cut my hair.  Please don't make it shorted up.

After dropping you off at school, and having a few minutes of silence to myself, I started making list of the things you say, with your serious little voice, that make my heart smile.  Things that I want to remember years from now, when you are a teenager, and not saying anything to me.

These are some of my favorites:

Dad, I'm confused.  No. I mean I'm all puzzled up.
Saying spagaragus instead of asparagus.
Have fun storming the kingdom!
Can I have a sleepover with Nicholas, Dad?  No, not now!  When I am like 14 or 21.
Saying poot frunch instead of fruit punch.
Instead of saying went you love to say go-ed.
Look Mom!  It's gone!  It disreppeared!!
Lately, when your stomach hurts you tell me your wrist hurts, I believe you mean to say waist.
A few weeks ago you told Hilary that rolls are fancy greasy bread.

And, of course, your tearful plea made the list today...

12 Step Mornings

Step One:  Morning sweetie.  Did you sleep good last night?  What?  The pillow stealing monkies were in your room again?  Sure you can sit with me.  Let me see the weather - okay, one more minute and you can have a cartoon.  One cartoon today - we have to get ready for school.  What?  Yes I'll pause it while you go potty.  Babe please go back and flush and turn off the light.  Yes you can still sit with me - when this cartoon is over we need to have breakfast.

Step Two:  Don't forget to give Daddy his hugs and kisses.  Yes, I'll pause your cartoon.  Sure you can help Daddy out - don't forget shoes!  Okay, kiddo close the door.  Yep, he's gone.  I don't know why he didn't stop at the stop sign, ask him when he gets home.  Seriously, kiddo, close the door, it's almost time for breakfast.

Step Three:  Eat your breakfast.  No, babe please don't feed it to the cat, you need to eat your waffle.  Addie are you done yet?  Come on, you can finish one waffle.  Did you just dip your marker in your milk??  No, Addie, that's gross. No, milk does not taste better when it's purple.  Okay, two more bites and put your dishes in the sink.

Step Four:  Get dressed.  Really it's time to get dressed.  Please go upstairs and change - your pjs go on their hook and your dirty undies go in the dirty clothes bin.  Addie!  Upstairs now please, stop trying to pick up the cat.  The cat is FINE - clean. clothes. now.

Step Five:  Are those undies clean?  Good.  Why are your dirty undies and pjs on the floor.  Come on, kiddo, let's go.  Pjs on the hook and undies in the dirty clothes bin.  While you're at it can you please pick your clothes up off the floor from last night?  Our dirty clothes always go in the orange bin or down the laundry chute.  Yes, everytime.

Step Six:  What do you think is next?  Well what do we do every morning?  Right - brush your teeth. Yes, I'll help you with the toothpaste.  I don't know where your Ariel toothbrush is - just use your SnowWhite one.  SnowWhite if fine, Addie.  No, Ariel does not get your teeth cleaner.  Oh MY GOSH, just start brushing.  Up and down, front and back.  Okay, rinse and spit.  Wipe your face off too, please.  Addie!  Why is your toothbrush on the stairs?  Please put it where it belongs.

Step Seven:  Have you brushed your hair?  You did?  Good job, but I think we missed some spots, can I help? Do you want braids, pigtails or a headband this morning?  Pigtails?  Okay - SORRY sweetie, it's really tangled.  Pigtails done - you want what?  A bow in front for decoration?  Okay.

Step Eight:  Time to make your bed.  No, I made it for you yesterday, you can do it today. Okay, I'll help, but really you can do it on your own.  What do we do first?  No - we need to pull up the sheet and then the cover.  Okay, good job.  Put all the pillows up - yes you can add as many of your stuffed friends as you want.  I think 10 is more than enough - okay.  Yep, it looks beautiful.

Step Nine:  Do you have any other jobs that you should get done?  No?  There's nothing else you need to do each morning?  Can you hear the cat meowing?  Do you think there might be a reason?  Oh yeah, she needs to be fed.  Thank you.  Sweetie, only measure to the line on the cup - she doesn't need a full bowl.  Addie, please don't add food to her water, that's gross!

Step Ten:  Okay, what do you need for school?  Do you have your coat?  Your bag?  I think they are on the hook or whereever you left them last.  Did you check your school bag - do you have the things you need?  Lunch?  Message bag?  Great, I think you're ready.

Step Eleven:  Okay let's head to the car (or carpool).  Yes you need your coat and bag.  Okay, that's enough cat kisses, let's go.  Hop up kiddo - you can buckle.  No, Addie, this is not the time to get out your markers, please get buckled.  Alright kiddo - have great day at school.  What?  No I don't think we can have a friend come over today.  Hmmmm?  Because, babe, we have things to do.  Okay, maybe next time.  You have a great day too, I love you!

Step Twelve:  Collapse into chair with bowl of cereal and decafe coffe. The day has just begun.

School Days

Last week I was the parent helper at preschool.  This job is one part heaven and one part sheer hell.  It's heaven, because I get to get a peek at what Addie is learning and spy on her playing with others.  She doesn't pay me a ton of extra attention while I am there and I feel like I get to be a fly on the wall watching her play, learn, problem solve and just be herself. 

It's a little bit of hell because a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds know the routine better than I do.  There also is inevtiably a child with mucus or tears or both cascading down their face, and that child always wants to hold my hand. Everything in a preschool, including the toilets, are very low to the ground - which, come on, is pure hell on any seven month pregnant lady.   Not to mention I sometimes struggling playing pretend with my own kid, let alone eleven other kids (who may or may not be covered in mucus).

However, being helper also lets me be a bit more thankful for my sweet daughter.  It's no secret that sometimes she pushes my buttons or that she knows exactly where to stand to be on my last nerve.   Sometimes I am convinced that she suffers from a hearing loss that blocks out the very sound of voice.  But being at school lets me see that my parenting is paying off - she shares, she takes turns, she asks good question and she listens, very well, to her teacher.  Being helper also let me see some other kids in action - which always makes me thankful for the kid I have.

On Addie's first day of school I asked her to learn the name of one new kid in her class (only two of her friends from last year are in this year's class).  When I picked her up from school she told me her new friend was __________ and that he was a boy.  I discovered last week that she may not have learned ________'s name by befriending him.  She may have simply learned it from hearing his name said over and over and over again.  Turns out __________ does not have listening ears.

Today I am not helper.  I am not even the driver.  Today I have a little over three hours all to myself.  I plan on doing exciting things like vacuuming and laundry.  I may run to Home Depot to buy paint for the littlest lady's room and get a mini blind cut to size.  I know - it's exciting stuff.  But at least I can do all these mundane errands and chores knowing that Miss Addie will be learning and engaging and listening - and, hopefully, not being that kid.  With any luck, she'll leave that up to __________.

Meet the Teacher

Yesterday we went to Meet the Teacher at school.  Addie has moved from Miss Sue's Ducks class to Miss Cathy's Frogs class.  Addie loved school last year - loved Miss Sue and loved being a duck.  I was a little nervous that she may be apprehensive about the change of classroom and a new teacher - how silly of me.  On the way to school yesterday she declared that she already "loved Miss Cathy" and that she was so excited to be a frog - RIBBIT!   (Yes, she ribbited the entire way to school).

She had no problem walking right into her new classroom, introducing herself and giving Miss Cathy a lovely drawing that she made during breakfast.

 We dove right into the class scavenger hunt - locating the calendar, the helper board and where the toys are.  She quickly found a froggy print out with her name on it and went on to decorate it.  She declared, on her worksheet, that her favorite color is pink, but proudly made her frog rainbow colored.

Once her coloring was done Miss Cathy hung Addie's frog on the classroom door.  Addie very proudly and very excitedly showed me her masterpiece.  She was so comfortable.  So confident.  So totally at ease in her polka dot and stripes displaying her colorful frog.

And yet again, I was momentarily sobered at the realization that she is growing so fast.  My mind raced: school three days a week this year and then on the bus and off to kindergarten next year.  She is tall and self assured and brave - willing to try anything.  It never crosses her mind to be nervous in a new situation, instead she flings herself into the middle of the action.  Soon she'll be a big sister, and maybe not want to snuggle on my lap or hold my hand just to hold.  I got a little misty eyed - and then I saw this picture:

Turns out now matter how very big she seems to me, she is still, really, just a little girl.   Thank heavens.

Branded

I am not a "brand" person.  Growing up brands were not even an option so they never really became important to me.  Most of my clothes are from Target or Kohl's - if there is anything that has a label on it in my closet it inevitably was a gift or a hand me down.  Andy and I drive cars without bells and whistles and don't sink very much money into furniture.

Don't get me wrong, I have some things that are fancy.  For instance, I will always pay the extra dollar or two for Q-Tip brand cotton swabs and Cottonelle is really my toilet tissue of choice.  This year, for my birthday, I got a Pandora bracelet from my mother - it's probably the most brand identifiable thing that I own.

This is not to say that I don't often covet other people's fancy things.  I have several friends who carry beautiful Coach bags - I don't, mostly because they are very expensive, but also because I am well aware of the fact that I will leave a pen uncapped or melt a chocolate bar into the lining.  I think 7 Jeans are beautifully cut, but I still buy cheap off brand jeans because I know how I often I forget to empty my pockets before doing wash.

As it stands now, anything that Addie has that is considered a labeled brand was not bought by one of us.  Admittedly she has several pairs of Crocs, none of which we paid for.  Mostly the brands that Addie wears are Circo, Cherokee, Granimals and JellyBeans.   Her sneakers are generic, her flip flops were $2 and she still isn't 100 percent sure what an American Girl Doll is.

With any luck, I can keep her label blind for years to come.  I hope that she likes things not because of the emblems sewn on them, but because they simply make her feel good.  As a parent, I am slowly starting to understand the desire to "keep up with the Joneses".  I want my daughter to fit in, to be well liked and to have friends - but I would prefer that all happens not because of what she wears or has, but because of who she is.

Where is this all coming from?

In a conversation today I was told that an acquaintance's young  daughter headed off to school decked out from head-to-toe in Abercrombie Kids.  Abercrombie Kids?  What?!  When I think Abercrombie, I think shirtless 17 year old boys, really stinky cologne, and horrible thumping music.  So I looked up the website and saw clothes that a) were expensive and b) were more or less horribly inappropriate for a grade-schooler.  Forty-nine dollars for a tank top?  Shorts that barely cover a rear end, no matter how tiny?  Um, no thanks.

It is bad enough that when Addie and shop at our high end boutiques, Target and Kohl's, she now wants to go in the girl section.  It is bad enough that she is particularly enamoured with clothes that have sparkles, lace and glitz all over them.  It is bad enough that sweatpants and athletic wear in the girl section print things across the bottoms of size xs 4/5.  But now do I have to worry about her, this young, being exposed to label envy?

Am I off base here?  Overreacting?  Maybe, maybe not, either way I am just a bit leary of what's to come.

Thinking about it makes me realize that my friend Barb really spoke the truth earlier this month when she said Addie "couldn't start parochial school soon enough" - I am pretty sure there is no fancy label sewn onto the back of a homely plaid school uniform.

McKenna

How is it possible that I have let an over a week go by without talking about the lovely McKenna Maria?

Let's back track a bit - three years ago one of my very dearest friends married one of our best friends. They both have become rocks on our lives - people we rely on for advice and perspective. They were there when we brought Addison home from the hospital and they were there when we slammed the door on the U-Haul and moved to Cincinnati. In short, they are a huge part of our lives.

Keelin and I met in 2003 while both working at a southside elementary school in Chicago. I was the green behind the ears social work intern and she was the most amazing kindergarten teacher I had ever encountered. She was kind and firm, creative and insightful. She spent her days crouched down to the eye level of five year olds. Through out our time working together she kept me entertained with hysterical stories and educated me about the amazing resilience of children. We started hanging out after work - catching dinners and drinks, inviting each other to parties. Karen and I thought she should meet our friend Berto from our Loyola days, because if nothing else the story of their fling would entertain us.

Berto and I met somewhere in the mess that was our freshman year at Loyola. He and Andy were friends well before Andy and I even knew each other existed. They both had horrid roommates, but a fun floor and quickly found each other as they escaped the persons with whom they were assigned to live. In the years that followed they shared an on-campus apartment and Berto became a fixture on Andy's off-campus apartment's couch. We went on Spring Breaks together, proudly used our ids to get into bars before we were old enough, shared retreat experiences. After we graduated LUC we hung together pretty much constantly - late night talks on the porch of my volunteer position, Thursdays at Sports Corner, trips to Indianapolis to see friends, New Years Eve parties where they boys entertained everyone with their costumes and antics. In the past decade and a half we've been through everything together - the good, the bad and the ridiculous.

Keelin and Berto met - nothing clicked. They met again - he bought her McDonald's. The rest is history - three years ago today they married - Andy and I stood up in their wedding. Twelve days ago, they welcomed baby McKenna into our fold. These are two people who are meant to be parents- they are both kind and thoughtful. They have amazing intuition, tons of patience and humorous perspectives. They are gentle and firm, know what they believe and are such a fabulous addition this wonderful club we call parenthood.

When McKenna was two days I got my hands on her - Andy scooped her up last week. She is tiny and pink. She seems to have Berto's eyebrows and Keelin's hair. She barely made a peep when I met her, just seemed to be taking in the world around her. Her parents are doing wonderfully, not that we ever doubted they wouldn't be...and I am dying to get my hands on her again.

sleepover

Andy and I reached and survived yet another milestone earlier this week - the first official friend sleepover.
Sure we've had kids spend the night before - Rylan has crashed here on occasion, Evan has come to visit, Baby Sam and Emmett have come down from Chicago. But this time, it was Addie's partner in all things princess-y, Elise (and her adorable baby bro, Liam).
Elise's parents ran away to Southern Florida for some much need and well-earned rest and relaxation. And being that Genna has helped me out a thousand different times since moving to Cincinnati, and I need a little practice on mothering more than one kid at a time before the next one arrives, I told her I'd take the kiddos for Monday and Tuesday.

For the most part it was smooth sailing. Just about every toy in the house was played with, banana bread was baked, popcorn popped and a princess movie was enjoyed. The girls played in Addie's room, the basement and outside on the swing set. We watched massive thunderstorms roll through and read a few good books. Liam hung out babbling, stacking blocks, racing cars and snuggling a long ago forgotten stuffed piggy, which is now officially his.

There was some girl drama, as there always is when you put two princess together in the same castle, but over all it was fine. Fine, with the exception of bedtime. The girls had been read to, tucked in and kissed goodnight by 8:45 p.m. About a half hour after bedtime, when I walked to the bottom of the stairs to warn them to settle down I heard the urgent, hushed whisper of of "Shhhh! Here she comes!". At 10:30 p.m. there were still peals of laughter, the thud of small feet, and the sound of voices conspiring who knows what. Then silence - sweet silence.
Before I plopped into bed, six minutes after the silence started, I checked in on the cherubs. Elise was sleeping like an angel with her hands folded below her chin. Addie was passed out half on, half off her bed like a college student after a bender. I went to bed solid in my knowledge that the next morning I would have two little ladies who were tired and would sleep in.

I was wrong.

Both girls were bright eyed and bushy tailed at 7:10 a.m. full of questions and ideas and demands. I am pretty sure I just grunted at them until after my first cup of coffee. After Liam woke up and after breakfast was inhaled we headed outside to get a few new pictures of the little angels. I was impressed what sleep deprived, slightly cranky kids could pull off for the camera. . .

For the record, I stayed in bed this morning until well after 9 a.m.

Forgiveness

Mom, what does forgive mean?
Umm, it means to no longer be mad at someone for upsetting you. Why?
Because I forgive you.
You forgive me? What did I do to upset you?
You didn't let me go to the park, but I forgive you.


And off you flounced to play outside, so I started thinking about all of the time I have forgiven you.

For waking me up at 2:45 a.m. to tell me you're uncomfortable.
For vomiting sausage and grapes down my back.
For coloring in the back door.
For spilling a cup of milk in the car and not telling me.
For drinking my water and leaving it cloudy with floaters.
For throwing toys from one end of the house to the other.
For telling me daddy is much better cook.
For calling me a mean, old thing.
For saying eeeeewwwwww and pointing at my backside when I took off my shorts to try on a skirt in Target.
For kicking me in the shins just to see my reaction.
For informing me you wished our neighbor was your mom.
For the multitude of poop that went out your diaper and up your back.
For the stretch marks, the spider veins, the lower back pain, the 24 hours of labor.
For mistaking me for the maid and asking me if I came with the house.
For the multiplying stains my carpets.
For stepping my toes 10 tens a day and my weekly headbutt to the face.

I am sure that I am missing some major points in that list, but you just told me, rather firmly, it's time to make lunch, and I best do that so that you don't get mad at me again.

This morning I woke all of six minutes early.
I wanted to make sure that Andy remembered to swap cars with me and take his lunch to work. After he left, as I started to brew my mini-pot of decaffeinated coffee, I heard the patter of little feet upstairs followed by some sniffling and tears.
When I got up stairs to find out what was wrong with my little dear I was greeted with a big pouty face streaked with tears.

I wanta hug and kiss Daddy good bye and tell him Have a Good Day and I think he's all gone.

I told her yes, Dad had to leave for work, but she'd see him tonight. She curled into my side and continued to cry and softly hiccup. I stroked her hair and thought about how sweet it was that she wanted to tell Andy to have a good day and make sure he knew that she loved him. What a sweet little pumpkin.

A few seconds later she looked up at me with those gorgeous eyes of hers and asked
Why do some of my friends cry for their Mommy at school?
I told her I thought maybe they missed their moms and were sad to be without them. Her response was
Oh. I don't cry. I don't miss you at school ever Mommy. School has so many fun toys that just don't miss you. Let's get dressed, today is school!

I guess the pecking order is rather clear...

Drama Queen

Today's major drama melt down was brought to me by a pair of socks, a Kroger sticker, and cousin Rylan.

I detected a little bit of attitude this morning, but it seemed to correct itself. And then we went to Bed, Bath and Beyond where I cruelly wouldn't purchase her a box of Skittles and a princess tent. Foot stomp, pout and glare.

After a little talking to in the car it seemed all better. I am choosing to believe that when she ran into my Achilles tendons as hard as she could with her "own perfect size" shopping cart it was truly an accident.

And then we got home and Rylan came over to play. They galloped through the yard, slid on the slide, swung on the swings, climbed the fence and had a fabulous good time.

The beginning of the end was at lunch when Rylan selfishly and purposely took the Kroger sticker that was probably laying on the floor and put it on his napkin.

Shrieks followed by tears -But that was my Kroger sticker and I don't want Ry to have it. I was saving it special for Mich and Daddy and IT'S MINE.

Once the lunch drama was done came the sock drama. Tears and shrieks and screaming. Again, Rylan was all to blame because he's just so mean. How dare he think that it's okay to touch and try to wear one of Addie's 64 pairs of socks. Oh the humanity!

This followed by more bickering, a bit of pushing and hitting, tons of foot stomping and a load of theatrics from two toddlers. Rylan left to go take a nap at his grandparents' house and I ushered Addie upstairs for quiet time.

As she crawled on my lap to read Ramona Quimby, Age 8 she looks up at me and says, I love having Ry here. Can he come back tomorrow?

Grow

There was a moment this morning, between getting coffee brewed and Addie out the door to preschool, that slapped me in face and took my breath away.
It really wasn't anything spectacular or special, but for just a second, as Addie finished getting into her sparklefied jeans and cute panda tee shirt, I wasn't able to see a baby anymore.
I saw some strange big girl standing in her place.

Her legs are impossibly long with no trace of the rolls that once resided there. The adorable little dimples that bookended her wrists have disappeared, leaving behind hands that can write letters and zipper coats. Her chubby cheeks seem to be melting away, barely pinchable anymore.
And in that moment, as my breath was taken away, my eyes filled with tears.
How is it possible that my baby is so grown up? She barely just got here.

Mama? What? What'sa matter Mama?
You've just gotten so big sweetie - I can't believe how much you've grown.
{Eye roll and shrug} I gotta grow Mom. I'll be your baby but I gotta get big too.

Inquisition

I remember having questions as a kid. All sorts of questions, like:
Why is it called cheese?
How do birds know how to chirp?
Does everyone know how to whistle?
Where does snow come from?
Why isn't rain the same as snow?
What does the brain look like?
Why is it my bedtime?
Will I wear glasses?
What makes the sun rise?
Why do cats pee inside and dogs pee outside?
Blah blah blah blah....

I now have a sneaking suspicion that I may have asked my mother all of those questions in addition to about forty million more. Why do I suspect this? Because my darling daughter never stops talking. She has question upon question upon question. I love that she is curious. I love that she is exploring her world. I empathize with her need to dissect and understand her world, but I would do anything, anything to just have a moment of silence.

Mama....MAMA!
What is a state?
What rhymes with giraffe?
Why do I have to wipe?
Who makes mushrooms?
How do trees talk to each other?
What is a stranger?
Is she a stranger?
Why are we always late?
How do we get boogers?
Why can't I dip my hotdog in yogurt?
Do I have to wear my coat?
What's my breath smell like?
Do you know who my best friend is?
What's your favorite color?
Do you know my favorite color?
Does Daddy have a favorite color?
Who is Gramma's gramma?
Why do I have to wash my hands?
What are cavity bugs?
Where is the North Pole?
Do you know who I love from The Sound of Music?
How do flowers grow?
Why can't I have a treat out of orange bowl?
What is healthier salami or grapes?

And that, my friends, is just one tenth of the amount of questions that I am asked every day.

And it's shocking about how many times I really have to think about what the answers are.

Time

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is save everyday
Watching you play
Smiling and laughing with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd make you a princess in purple and pink
And spend all my days twirling with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things I want to do
Laundry, dishes and life get in the way
And I've been a mom long enough to know
That time goes too fast and you just continue to grow


If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that were all brand new
It would be full of bubbles, sparkles and wonder
And all the amazing things I know you will do

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the thing we want to do

Snuggles, fairy tales and your worlds of pretend

I am so thankful you are mine

And everyday day fall even more in love with you....

She's a darling! She's a demon! She's a lamb!

For Christmas this year Andy got The Sound of Music on blu-ray and dvd. Believe it or not, this was a gift that he was happy to receive. He, like me, is a lover of this fabulously saccharine story. He can sing most songs and took the Sound of Music tour while traveling Europe after college.

This may be one of the reasons I love him. The Sound of Music and his amazing grilling skills.

Since Addie was a babe I have sang her Baby Mine at bedtime and he has sang Edelweiss. Needless to say, when Addie realized that "her daddy's song" was in the movie she was hooked. Since Christmas we have watched about it two or three times. Addie is enamoured with Maria and likes to pretend she's running down the mountain, late getting to the convent. She loves to sing all the songs in the car Do Ri Me and My Favorite Things and Sixteen going on Seventeen. Nightly she thinks she should perform Song long, farewell as she heads up to bed. But suddenly, her most requested song is Maria.

Today as we were running around town she said to me "Mama, let's sing the Maria song" - so I started a loud, off-key rendition of Climb Ev'ry Mountain with enthusiasm.

No! Noooo Mama! Not that one!

Well, which one do you want babe?

The one with Maria and the witches.

Maria and the witches? I don't know that one, honey.

Yes you do Mama. The one where the witches sing about about Maria.

The witches sweetie?

Yeh-us Mom! The witches in black who help take care of baby Jesus.

Trying not to drive off the road while laughing - Honey, those aren't witches, those are nuns.

Oh? Well, sing that nun one then.

Dear lord parochial school is going to be eye opening for my sweet child.

3.5 and 34

Today Addie is three and half.

Three and a half!

I have been told that today she will become wonderful again. My friends who have survived being the mothers of three-year-olds have assured me that at three and a half pixie dust falls from the sky and the hellion that I have been spending my days with returns to the sweet angel that used to smother me snuggles and kisses.

Kisses and snuggles are the opposite of what I am smothered with these days - glowers and huffs and pouty faces.

I am told No three thousand times a day. I am told I am mean. And old and "not very nice". I have been kicked and scratched and have had to subdued a temper tantrum daily.

Once in a while I get an extra tight hug. Daily I am told "I love you Mommy" - but that's usually after a stomping fit.

Last night I was told that dinner was yucky and that I am "not a good cook".

This morning I was I was repeatedly told that I am "not being nice" and need to stop being "so mean". She was unhappy about the bows I picked out for her hair. She was unhappy that I asked her to put on her shoes. She was unhappy that I didn't allow her to grab her English Muffin out of the very hot toaster. She was angry that I made her brush her teeth and that I wouldn't let her have a Twinkie for breakfast.

We were late getting out to our preschool car pool because she was too busy petting the cat instead of putting on her shoes.

And then I slammed her finger in the car door.

Awesome. I am a mean old Mom.

So ten hours into three and half things aren't looking so good - but I have to be hopeful, right?

As for the 34?

Today is my fabulous husband's 34th birthday. He does not stomp his feet or pout or glower or huff at me (99 percent of the time). He has never called me mean or old (because, let's be honest, he's significantly older than me) or told me that my dinner is yucky. He has not scratched me in the face and he still likes to hug and kiss me.

He occasionally forgets to act his age and is often quite silly, but he is always kind. He is always loving and he is always supportive. He puts up with my ramblings and my frustration and my ridiculousness.

My 34 year old husband is an amazing father to my three and half year old daughter. He is firm and gentle and consistent. He attacks her with tickles and kisses her boo-boos and reminds her to use her fork. He is patient and insightful. He fills our home with warmth and laughter and good cooking.

Most importantly? That 34 year-old husband of mine reminds me that "this too shall pass" when dealing with my moody three-and-a-half-year-old.

Happy Birthday to you, husband. I don't know what I would do with out you.

And Happy Half Birthday to you, daughter. I can't wait for that pixie dust to fall from the sky.

Out of the Mouth of my Babe 3

To get inside that little brain for just a few minutes would be, in my opinion, a total trip:

Mama? Where we going to lunch

To Sebastian's.

Where? I been there when I was a baby mom?

Just down the street babe, and you've been there before babe. We get gyros there.

It at the beach?

At the beach? No, hon, it's here.

But it's the crab's place right, mama?

Ha! No babe, it's not Ariel's friend's place, it's a restaurant in Cincinnati.

Oh, I did not know that.

Mama, what we doing today?

Today? We've got to run a bunch of errands.

Run errands?

Yep, we have a bunch to run.

Mama, we can't run errands. We have to drive them.

Hey Mama, see that ring?

What ring?

The sparkly one Dad gave you.

Yeah, what about it?

One day Daddy gonna give it me when he marries me.

MOM! Wake up! I gotta show you somptin! C'mere! Look!

Wow, look at that - snow. It's beautiful.

No, mama, it's not beautiful, it's magical.

Come on, Mom. Let's go get daddy - we'll make an Addie sandwich.

An Addie, sandwich eh?

No! An Addie hot dog. I'll be the dog you and daddy are the buns!!

Who's Saint Nick, Mom?

He's one of Santa's helpers and he comes to fill your stocking.

Does he fly? Does he use TinkerBell's dust? Is he a man?

I don't know, er I don't think so, and yes, he's a man. But he won't come tonight until you are sound asleep.

I have to be asleep and making loud noises for St. Nick to come?

No, honey, sound asleep means being all the way asleep, not sleeping and being noisy.

Oh, okay. I won't make lots of noises then!