Three. Again.

Seriously, three, I have not missed your ass.  I have survived you before, and darn it, I will survive you again.

No, seriously, I will.

In my sweet, rose tinted memory I hardly remember Addison at three, until I force myself to.  As sweet as she was, that child was not perfect - as evidenced by this rant, and this one, okay and this one too.  I have some how scrubbed my memory and only recall her holding my hand, and snuggling, and holy sweet Jesus, sleeping through the night.

You often hear that people have a second (and third and fourth and ...) child because they have forgotten about the pain of childbirth or those early, exhausting sleepless days and weeks.  Hmmm.  I counter that argument.  People have a second child because A) they have yet to experience the thrill ride that is a three year old or B) they are too damn tired to remember what a ridiculous roller coaster three was.

Looks can be deceiving

Miss Brenna is loved and adored.  Her chocolate eyes are gorgeous, her hugs are delicious, her laughter is infectious.  But, I shit you not, her attitude (Brennatude?) is insufferable.  It is slowly stripping away my humanity.

She wants what she wants.  Not what you offer. 
Not the Minnie Mouse cup, the Anna cup.
Not the blue plate, the pink plate (Pink is my favorrrite color.  Then orange.  NOT blue, MOM. Not BLUE).
I want grapes.  NO STRAWBERRIES!  No grapes!!  Why can't I have the orange I (didn't) ask for?

For over a year we have been going to the YMCA a couple times a week (not that you'd know by my waistline, thank you very much Mr. Wine) and now suddenly she is turning on the tears as I turn to leave.  Those poor women who work childcare - I give her a squeeze and run off to work out, because if  I didn't things would get ugly around here (ahem, uglier).

Nap time is a fight.  It's bribery and coaxing and raised voices and tears.  I often lose.  And my god, sweet Brenna, forget nap time, what the hell has happened to just  plain old sleeping through the night. She is potty trained (god forbid she pees on Anna, or Elsa, or Olaf) and rarely does she have an accident, but yet her itty, bitty, minuscule butt is in my room on average three nights a week.   On Saturday she just wanted to check in at 3:34 a.m.; on Sunday she fell out of bed around 4 a.m.; last night the flashlight I didn't know she had woke her up at 11:26 p.m. and an excruciating, imaginary pain in her pinkie toe sent her into our room around 2 a.m.

SERIOUSLY.  I haven't slept a full night since we were in California wine country last year.  And let's be honest, I drank a shitton of wine, so that was less sleeping and more just gently passing out.

Dinner time is hell.  Breakfast is painful.  Weirdly, lunch is generally okay, but only because I always make Miss B's plate into a happy face.  I've tried that at other meals and she just scowls at me.  She wants what she wants, which apparently is only to have her plate smile at her during lunch.

 A ton of the time she is a lovebug, a fair chunk of the time I am sure she is plotting a coup.  She gets mad about socks.  About designs on her shirts (Anna and Elsa and Princess Sofia should never be silk screened anywhere but perfectly centered on her tiny belly).  She wants to wear gloves, but they piss her off.  She loves mittens, as long as they don't have teddy bears on them.  She gets down right belligerent when  we don't refer to her as Elsa or Anna or Violet, after she has explicitly explained that that is who she is...until she changes her mind 48 seconds later.

She wants to got potty all by herself, but she gets mad when it's time to wipe.  She likes her hands to be clean, but she hates soap.  She is specific about her PJs, her horrendously mismatched outfits and which seasonally inappropriate shoes she wants to wear.

She thinks her sister is her lackey and that she is the overlord of some 1920s mobster organization.  Brenna effectively bullies a seven year old on a daily basis.  Okay let's be honest, she often bullies a 37 and 38 year old as well.  On occasion, she sucks a grandmother into her underworld, too, and, seriously, that's just not nice.


But I know, with my infinite and profound wisdom, that I will survive this.  One day I will wake up and Miss B. will no longer be three.    Knowing my luck, by the time I have regained my sanity she will thirteen and her sister will be seventeen.    And I will deeply mourn these days. 

It is what it is

We're still here, really we are.

Maybe the fact that I have not sat down to write since June is an indication as to what our summer was like here in Neyer land.  I think I spent more time in my car driving than I did sitting in my back yard enjoying my garden. 

We traveled to Surf Side Beach, SC for a wonderful week with the Flaherty clan.  We trekked to Oak Island, NC a few weeks later for a week of beach and hurricane adventures.  A few weeks after that we packed up the car and headed east for Massachusetts for my brothers wedding.    Sprinkled through out the summer were weekend trips to Akron, Carmel and Chicago.  We had guests for a week, a garage sale that purged our house of one percent of clutter and an unexpected and scary week long trip back to Chicago.

Addie went to camp, Brenna moved into a big girl bed, Andy and I lost out on a lot of sleep.  Soccer started, school started, music class started, dance started.   I've been training for a half marathon, Andy's been hitting the gym; hummus has replaced pepperoni as a our go-to snack.

Floors have been mopped, lawns mowed, landscaping attended to.  Addie has lost baby teeth and permanent teeth are beginning to crowd her mouth.  Brenna has figured out how to jump and hop. 

Life has just kept happening and happening and happening and somehow I have gotten lost in the chaos.  I find myself exhausted in the mornings, exhausted in the evening and a whirling dervish in the hours in between.    I find myself incredibly short on patience and perspective. 

By neglecting this space, however, I feel like I am neglecting my voice a bit.  I am neglecting the kids and their stories.  At one point I spent far too much time on the computer updating the blog, Facebook, Instagram and far too little time playing.  Now I feel as though I spend far too much time spinning my wheels - cleaning off the same counter six times a day, folding the same clothes, turning off light switches again and again and again and never finding time to document the ride.

So in an attempt to save my sanity I will work on finding my voice again.  Seeing the humor in motherhood. Sharing the burden and journey so that I am reminded I am in this with lots of other people - for which I am eternally grateful.

In two months time

 It may have all started with my new iPad Mini.  Or maybe with my attempt to work out consistently.  Or perhaps it was that my baby started to talk and then never.stopped.never.  Truly, I don't know, I don't have a specific answer why this glimpse into my life got put to the side, but it did.  I keep saying I am going to make time,  find time, but rarely do I.   It's been two months since I've powered up this page to write.  Two months.  In the words of the great Vizzini "inconceivable".

So here's recap of the past two months, more or less. 

Brenna is a busy little bee.  She loves the playground, the zoo, going to the YMCA and exercise class with me.  She likes to explore our backyard, the new garden and our neighborhood.  She, like her big sister, is a chatterbox.  She never.stops.talking.  Okay, she does take a break to sleep, after she rambles to herself until she passes out.   She also pauses to laugh, something she absolutely loves to do.  And she is forced to stop talking when she is screaming about a perceived injustice, which sadly happens several times a day.  Such injustice could be her toast cut in strips instead of squares, or having to wear her polka dot shoes instead of her red slip- ons.  So, you know, the really important stuff.

Miss B.  has always been a bit more cautious than her sister.  She is just as brave as Addie, but she really assesses her situation before acting.  She can now go up and down stairs unassisted, albeit slowly (goodbye baby gates forever). We have officially retired the baby swing and Brenna often complains that she wants to go on Addie's big swing (she is fine with her big girl swing that is lower to the ground, unless Addie is present.   In that case, she must have the higher swing).  Slides are her  thing though.  She loves to slide and begs to try every slide we pass.  And, like any good two-and-a-half year old, she loves, loves, loves bubbles.  We spend a lot of time, every day, blowing bubbles...kind of like another little girl I knew.

Our mornings, once the school bus has pulled away, are still spent snuggling watching Curious George and sometimes the Cat and The Hat.  Beyond those two shows, B isn't big into TV.  She likes Doc McStuffins and Sofia the First, but rarely sits to watch them.  She adores belting out Let it Go or Do you want to Build a Snowman but won't sit through the entire movie.  She is on the go, she is curious and inquisitive.  She thinks she can be sustained on snacks alone.
Brenna continues to be a total PITA when it comes to eating.   Some days, she eats virtually nothing.  If she had it her way she would exist entirely on fruit snacks, peanuts, milk and strawberries.  There are rare days that she eats whatever we put in front of her, we call those her eating days, but they are truly rare.  Most nights are the dinner table are a nightmare with us having to trick her into eating (don't you eat Cameron's pineapple!  That's not your chicken, don't you eat it!).  And while the eating thing is a pain, and a tad stressful being that she is just a wisp of a thing, we are rounding the corner on potty training.  Brenna is in undies all day except for nap times and bedtime.  She adores her Doc McStuffins and Elmo undies, and heartbroken if she lets a little pee
escape into them.  Two weeks ago she insisted that we no longer need her training potties and she pulled stools up the our regular toilets.  So far she has only fallen in once, and sadly I didn't have my camera handy!
Without a doubt, in the past two months Brenna has become quite a grown up girl, I can't say a big girl, as she has yet to register 25 pounds on the scale.  Such a peanut.

And then there is the endless Miss Addie E.  I call her Addie E. all the time, although a few weeks ago she turned those gigantic gray-green eyes toward me and said "Mamma, I really prefer to be called Addison."  Yep.  She really prefers that.  This past school year, and even these past two months, have really turned my baby into a kid.  A kid with opinions and ideas, a bit too much sass, and tons of energy and creativity.  In first grade Addie, er, Addison, has truly blossomed and bloomed.  She loves learning, and has, to my complete joy, fallen in love with reading.  We still read to her at night - sometimes picture books, sometimes chapter books.  Sometimes she does the listening, and sometimes she does the reading to us.  It's amazing.  In the last four weeks or so, since it is still light at bedtime, she reads a few more pages to herself after we've tucked her in.  Currently we are reading Ramona Quimby, Age 8.  We tried reading this a  year ago or so, but it was a bit beyond her, now it is right up her alley.  The other night she told me "Mom, just like Ramona has Silent Sustained Reading at school, so do I.  I love the part of the day when I can just read to myself."  My heart damn near burst.
It's not just reading that she's kicking butt at - it's school in general.  According to Addie she loves every single thing about school, except for Spanish because the teacher speaks in a different language and "how am I even supposed to understand her?".  In fact Addison told me a few months back that she wishes she could go to school all year long.  I resisted the urge to point at her and yell NERD...because, I totally felt the same way when I was younger.
She continues to be completely enthralled with all things Star Wars and is eagerly anticipating the release of the next episode - I don't think she realizes it doesn't come out until 2015.  She has informed that she "isn't really into" princesses anymore - well, unless those princesses are Elsa or Anna from Frozen.  If it's them, then she's totally still into princesses. 

Miss Thang has been doing dance all year and started soccer back up earlier this Spring.  I love that she continues to do both and love both.  This weekend is the big dance recital - don't worry, the Daddy Daughter dance will be back on stage!  Soccer is just starting to wind down, and Addison has already asked to be signed up for the Fall season.  The difference in her skill and understanding of the game this year compared to last is astounding.  She is a leader on her team, and while she hasn't scored any goals this season, she has blocked a few and assisted a few.

I don't know when I blinked and missed my chubby baby transform into a lithe and long little lady, but she has.  It's next to impossible for her to curl up on my lap, as she is not much shorter than me now.  We are constantly needing to buy new pants, as it seems as soon as we get them home they become floods on her.   Shorts are an absolute nightmare. 
I love her toothless smile and silly ways.  I hate homework time and trying to convince to keep her room tidy. I am not at all prepared for the preteen and teen drama, but I fear it may be just around the corner.

And then there is Andy and I.  We are just, as I often tell anyone who asks, living the dream.  We go to bed exhausted and wake up exhausted and in the middle of all that we make it happen.  Lawns are mowed, gardens are planted, car batteries are changed, cocktails on the patio are enjoyed.  We are both trying to be healthier, to hit the gym consistently, to eat slightly better, to guarantee that our little ladies get decades and decades more of our wisdom.
In April the two of us escaped to Napa and Sonoma for a  long weekend of sleeping, sipping wine and a small bit of silence.  Our summer is about to explode into trips to the beach, summer camps and busy weekends.   Andy is trying to get a few rounds of golf under his belt, I am trying to log a few more miles on to my sneakers, and we are both attempting not to miss all the little miracles and moments that happen each day.

It has been, in a word, INSANE around these parts.  Summer is in full swing and somehow we have not managed to slow down. 
Addie finished up kindergarten the week before Memorial Day and promptly started a camp marathon. For the first two weeks after school was out Addie attended two different Vacation Bible Schools.
I am sure plenty of you are scratching your heads and thinking Um, What?.  Yes, Vacation Bible School.  The first week was at a non-denominational Christian Church and the second week was at our Catholic parish.  Addie loved both "camps" but found ours to be a little less exciting.  Needless to say two weeks talking about Jesus, God and church raised quite a few question with our little inquisitive lady. She is now the very proud owner of her own bible and yesterday we attended Mass together as a family for the first time, well, ever.  I guess if we are going to be investing in parochial education we might as well start rediscovering the hibernating Catholics that dwell with in us.  I spent most of Mass in the cry room with Brenna, who was more interested in touching the heads of the people in the pew in front of us as opposed to quietly listening to the word of the Lord.  Addie enjoyed church except for all the "standing, kneeling, and sitting". 
Last week little Miss Holy participated in soccer camp through the local high school.  Camp was all week from 12-2 p.m.  I was a bit nervous about how Addie would do in a middle of the day, hot as hades, sport camp - but she hung in there.  Each day when I picked her up, her little cheeks were as red as can be and her hair was soaked with sweat.  The coaches at camp were high school girls - many of whom wore sports bras under their tee shirts that had the sides cut out.  Addie asked if she could cut the sides out of her soccer tee shirt and wear it like her coaches - um, no.  At the end of camp Addie informed me that she really had fun playing soccer, except for the running and sweating.

Brenna is chatting up a storm these days - making sense and speaking English about 40 percent of the time.  She continues to be an absolute menace in the best kind of way and is a very busy, busy body.

Two weeks ago today my mom took ownership of her new house in Cincinnati - in true Kathy fashion it already looks and feels like home.  Having her move here has been such a gift and is deserving of its own post, someday in my extra time. 
My few minutes of solitude have ended, as I hear Brenna calling my name over the monitor.  Hopefully someday soon I will spend a few more moments here - until then a few pictures from our Father's Day photo shoot ought to bring you a smile...
Happy first week of summer, friends!

Backlogged - Food!

When we went in for Brenna's four month check up we were told we could start her on solid foods.  We hemmed and hawed and waited...and then the kitchen remodel began and the idea of more things to wash was a tad overwhelming.  So the baby didn't get solid food.

Then the guilt took over - she's so small; she needs more to eat; we're depriving her.  So May hit and we decided to go over to Grandma Patty's (she has a functional dishwasher and sink after all) and give rice cereal a whirl.  It seemed like a wild success so we continued to give her some each day.

 And then the cereal really kicked in...and blocked my poor baby up.  Switching to barley didn't work.  Karo syrup didn't work.  A trip to the doctor moderately worked and two ounces of pear juice completely worked. 
By the time we got to the beach Brenna was slowly figuring out the magic of solid food and fresh South Carolina peaches made learning to eat that much easier.  Now she's a champ.  I can say with confidence that she loves pears and peaches, likes sweet potatoes and prunes, is a bit a wary of peas and is not a fan of bananas.

And while she is finally grasping how to shove food into her tiny body I am reminded of what a lesson in patience feeding a six month old is.  I had forgotten that every other spoonful ends up on bibs, hands, noses or in ears.  I had forgotten what it felt like to have a prune laced raspberry blown in my face and the lovely aroma of a pea scented burp.  Solid foods change everything - from the amount of laundry that needs to be done to the variety of diapers that are changed.  For now Brenna is noshing on the lovely varieties of fruits and vegetables that Gerber supplies, but once our kitchen is back to being functional (three more LONG days) the food processor will be broken in with papaya, mango, green beans, spinach, apples, avocados and so much more.  It may bother me a bit, the canned stuff doesn't seem to phase our gourmand at all.

**Ignore that offensive bib, this kiddo is NOT a future gator!

Yesterday was a mixed bag.  Beautiful weather allowed us to go to the playground and dust off our winter blues, but an exhausted preschooler was quick to cry.  A sweet baby had one of those days - crying, screaming, general unhappiness.  Poor Andy came home to a messy house, no dinner, a frazzled me, a miserable Brenna and an exhausted Addie.

Instead of focusing on the parts of the day that found me hiding in my room by seven o'clock, under the covers, sneaking peanut M&Ms, I'll highlight the better things.

We had beautiful weather - sweatshirt and jeans kind of weather.  Run around outside and play kind of weather.  Weather that begged us to play a the park - the perfect weather to try out a tire swing for the first time.

After our trip to the park we headed out to find jeans that might be long enough to go all the way Addie's ankles while also staying up over her nonexistent behind.  The shopping trip was a success overall, particularly when we discovered that Addie can absolutely rock a pair of skinny jeans - something her mother could never dream of.

After hiding out with my M&Ms, I took a stab in the dark at dinner and it turned into a huge success - huge in that it was delicious and that I made enough to feed the neighborhood.  But truly, nothing tastes better after a bad day than homemade chicken noodle soup (adapted from this recipe).

Once her screams turned to coos I had was able to realize how amazing it is that this time last year, I wasn't even pregnant and now my babiest baby is ten weeks old.  She laughs and smiles (when not screaming), she can get her hand into her mouth, recognize our faces and do some impressive tummy time.    And those wide eyes of her's - those can make my day.

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.

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.

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...

eye of the beholder

When I was little I thought that dandelions were the most fabulous flower. They were bright and yellow. They were around all spring, summer and fall. I could pick them and pick them and still more would show up.

Dandelions made gorgeous bouquets for my mother. They were perfect to weave into bracelets and necklaces and crowns. I thought they were like little dots of perfection. Even when they were dead I thought they were fluffy and fun.

Now that I have my own yard, my taste in flowers has shifted a bit. I love lilies and daffodils. I think daisies and late summer black-eyed susans are gorgeous. Flowering trees make me smile and my hydrangeas are a labor of love. I am constantly trying to think of the right combinations of flowers and colors to brighten our landscape.

And it seems I am forever waring with dandelions.

Our yard is like the yellow brick road of dandelions. They are thriving everywhere. And while Andy and I see tons of annoying weeds, someone else in our house sees them through more innocent eyes.

She sees tiny, perfect bouquets. And little dots of perfection. A soft place to take a mid afternoon break. And a thousand reasons to smile.

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.

Conferences

Growing up I was always a pretty good student. I generally did what I was told and listened to my teachers. I almost always did my homework, but occasionally forgot to hand it in. I was a bit a chatty in class, but rarely disrespectful.
In fact, growing up I remember idolizing my teachers.
I think preschool set the tone of my loving school and my teachers (I could tell you about every single one of my teachers, but I think that might be a bit of a long post). My preschool teacher, Miss Paula, was cool. She was stylish and funny and read good stories. With the exception of my evil Kindergarten teacher, all I adored all my teachers. And even though I knew my conferences would go well, I always fretted about what would be said about me.
What if my teacher secretly didn't like me? What if I was failing and didn't know it? What if what if what if?

Inevitably, my teachers usually had the same things to say about me - "Jessica works hard. Jessica needs a little help with her organization. Jessica is quite the social butterfly. It's hard to believe that Jessica and JohnEthan are siblings".

My mother would come home with the same report: try to be more organized, remember to hand in your homework, ssssshhhhhhh. And then she'd take my brother in the other room and they would have a long talk that I was not invited to.

Addie has been in two day a week preschool since September. She loves it. She adores her teacher. She pouts on snow days, plays school with her dollies and repeatedly tells us that when she grows up she wants to be a teacher. She loves school, she loves learning and loves Miss Sue.

Tuesday was our first parent teacher conference. It was all of fifteen minutes long and it was glowing. Addison is a joy to have in class. Addison loves to learn. Addison is such a sweetie.

We were told that her cognitive development is right on. She recognizes her colors, numbers., shapes and letters. She is drawing most of her shapes. She recognizes her name and is starting to write it. She can count and recite her alphabet. She can hold pencils and scissors correctly.

She follows directions, expresses what she needs, has a good attention span and listens well. She is respectful to herself and her peers, takes turns and participates. And so forth and so on - a glowing report overall.

The places she needs improvement? Respecting school materials and cleaning up after herself - apparently she thinks everything she plays with belongs on the floor when she is done. Which is exactly what she does at home with her things and is a battle we've been fighting for the last few months.

We've seen her grow since starting school - she's become a better problem solver, her imagination has exploded. She is much better at turn taking and sharing. Her vocabulary is out of control. She points out words that rhyme, she can tell us that boy cardinals are red and girl cardinals are brown, she asks endless questions about the world around her.

Our silly 15 minute conference reassured me that Addie is doing a-okay. But what I loved most about it was seeing her work from the beginning of the year until now. Being with her all day, every day, I sometimes can't see how much she's changed or grown, but I think these pictures illustrate her growth perfectly.

In October, Miss Sue asked Addie to draw a face - this is her first attempt.

Miss Sue then told Addie she really needed her to draw a face - so Addie drew this.

Last week Miss Sue asked Addie to draw her family - and she drew this.

Leaps and bounds, she's grown, leaps and bounds.

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.

Snowday inspiration

When we first moved to Cincinnati I would walk everywhere with Addie in the stroller. We would wander to UDF for milkshakes, to Kroger for groceries, to the book store to kill time. On occasion we would wander the aisles of Whole Foods pretending that it was okay to spend $100 on five items of produce. Mostly I liked the smell of their bakery, the samples in their cheese aisle and the array bright, fresh flowers.

On one of those aimless Whole Foods trips I found a mug in the clearance aisle and it made me smile, so I bought it.
This morning I randomly grabbed that mug out of the cabinet and it was the perfect antidote to two days snowed in the house with a mercurial toddler. It says:

live with intention.

walk to the edge.

listen hard.

practice wellness.

play with abandon.

laugh.

choose with no regret.

continue to learn.

appreciate your friends.

do what you love.

live as if this is all there is.

So I took a break from laundry and made my husband breakfast. I noticed my bored daughter and brainstormed in-door fun. I sat alone for five minutes and stretched my stiff, aching body. We tied on our homemade aprons and made cherry jello.

And I thought about those words and how to incorporate them into my days - and I know that I can't walk to the edge everyday. And that practicing wellness takes a lot of effort and that it's not always easy to laugh when being bossed around by a three year old, but it's okay to try.

So that's what I'll do.

I'll try.

Snow Queen

At 5:30 this morning there wasn't a snowflake in the sky and the schools were already on a two hour delay. By 7:10 this morning school was cancelled - snow had started to fall. A snowbound day - no errands, no preschool, minimal sanity.

Addie and I built dozens of block towers. We hunkered down in the basement and played game upon game of Uno Moo (she dominated) and back to back to back games of Hi Ho! Cheery-o (I dominated, she accused me of being mean). A carpet picnic of grilled cheese and pickles with Chamomile hot tea was shared. Laundry was folded, bathrooms were scrubbed and quiet time was taken.

At 4:30 I went outside to snow blow the two-ish inches of snow that fell off our driveway.

Yes, I said snow blow and two inches of snow in the same sentence. Dear lord, I think I am becoming a Cincinnatian.

While I spent all of nine minutes clearing the snow, Addie went to town frolicking - making snow angels, sampling the freshly fallen flakes and throwing snowballs. Once I was done I joined her - we made, per her request, a snow queen.

Instead of a magic hat she has sparkly crown. We didn't give her a scarf, but she does have a purse. No corncob pipe for this snow madame - instead she has a wand.

Around here we're all about the high class snow people... in relatively little snow.