A trip to Baltimore with …
jewelry-making with Grandma and …
ukulele-playing with Paw Paw.
parents’ night at Sophie’s beloved preschool
the delivery of a new-to-us swingset (with thanks to Craigslist)
and Easter!
“Time does not change us. It just unfolds us.” —Max Frisch
Our friends Megan and Javan are basically experiencing much of what we went through, a couple years ago. They have a gorgeous son, Cam, and on February 8 they welcomed Colin (7 lbs., 8 oz., 21.4 in.) and Vivienne (6 lbs., 11 oz., 18.5 in.)—I know, Megan’s a rockstar—at 7:33pm and 8:03pm. They are doing so well. And it’s so fun to have someone else to discuss twin babies + toddler experiences with. I have visited several times, always forgetting my camera. So this is a borrowed picture, with them already four months old (look at those smiles!). Congratulations, Megan and Javan!
“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” —Elizabeth Stone
5lbs, 14 oz., 20 inches—born March 11, 2013 at 4:56a.m. We hung out with him this week and he’s already up to 15 lbs. He’s perfect, and bringing so much happiness. Congratulations, Mark and Jen!
“Every child begins the world again …” —Henry David Thoreau
Owen: “Why do we have to get butter at the store?”
Andy: “Because we don’t have butter.”
Owen: “But we do have butter!”
Andy: “No. We don’t. We have margarine.”
Me: “Daddy doesn’t like margarine.”
Owen: “What’s margarine?”
Me: “Fake butter.”
Owen: “But I like margarine!”
Andy (jokingly, I think): “You are not my son!”
James (singing): “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me haaapppy, when skies are graaayyy.”
Owen: “I want to play I Spy!”
Andy: “OK, you can go first.”
Sophie: “I want to go first!”
Andy: “It was Owen’s idea, so he gets to go first.”
(Complaints from Sophie. Stern words from me.)
Owen: “I spy with my little eye something pink.”
Me: “My nails?”
Owen: “No! That cup!”
(He’s still learning the rules of the game.)
Everyone: “Yay!”
Sophie: “My turn! I spy with my little eye something red and white.”
Andy: “That’s pink.”
Sophie: “No. A lot white and just a little red.”
(We guess a million things.)
Sophie (beyond frustrated): “It’s a lollipop stick with just a little bit of cherry lollipop still stuck on it!”
Me: “Where did you find that?”
Sophie: “In the holder!”
(The holder is a little compartment next to her seat in the van.)
Me: “Um, what else is your holder?”
Sophie: “Old Oreo cookies, old pita chips, a pinecone and a rock. Oh! And a barrette!”
James: “It’s my turn!”
Me, to Andy: “We have to clean out the van.”
James: “I spy with my little eye something green.”
Andy: “The trees.”
James: “No.”
Andy: “The grass.”
James: “Yes!”
And so on.
“A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after.” —Peter De Vries
Thanks to everyone who participated in the Shabby Apple giveaway!
I wrote everyone’s name on a slip of paper (and am now guessing there’s a way to do this on the computer—ha), and then had Sophie close her eyes and pick one.
The winner is … Sarah K!
Thanks again! I hope to do more of these in the future.
“Be it jewel or toy, not the prize gives the joy, but the striving to win the prize.” —Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton
Owen wanted a banana this morning. I told him they were still too green to eat. He then spent much of the morning trying to convince me to go to the store to buy—not yellow bananas but—yellow paint.
“Ding-a-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling-ling!
Boo-ba-doo-ba-doop!
Boo-ba-doo-ba-doop!
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
I’ve got this feeling, so appealing,
for us to get together and sing. Sing!” —Raffi
This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to host a giveaway or write a review. I’ve always declined, though, because the products didn’t seem fitting. But when Shabby Apple, a lovely site that offers a modern take on vintage clothing, asked if I wanted to give away a dress or skirt to one of my readers, I said yes. I thought it would be a nice way to say thank you for reading and commenting all these years—plus, I’d love to own something from Shabby Apple and so I thought you would, too. Please note: I’m not receiving product or compensation for this post—I simply thought a giveaway would be fun.
To enter, please click on the links below and tell me via a comment directly on this blog which item is your favorite. The giveaway will close Friday, June 7 at noon EST. I’ll write all your names on little slips of paper and let the kids choose one from out of a hat, and I’ll post the winner no later than midnight.
Good luck!
Please choose from the following:
Snapdragon
Heart of Me
Dressage
Grand National
Hackney
Admiral
Cut the Cake
At last
My vow to you
Maid of honor
Together forever
Ever after
Save the date
Moon River
Ski Bop
Tiber
Andes Skirt
Jetty Skirt
Ballerina
Nantucket
Boogie Woogie
Marigold Skirt
Lime Ricki Skirt
Hully Gully Skirt
Newcomb Skirt
At First Sight
Picnic Park Skirt
“Just around the corner in every woman’s mind—is a lovely dress, a wonderful suit, or entire costume which will make an enchanting new creature of her.” —Wilhela Cushman
For months Sophie has been begging to have a sleepover. She’s still so young, though—I feared no one her age would be allowed to spend the night or that if she spent the night at a friend’s house, we’d be called around 2am to come and get her.
Then my new friend Sarah had a fantastic idea. Andy often games on Friday nights. As such, every once in awhile I’ll have girlfriends over for tea/wine after the kids are in bed. Sarah suggested we get together on a Friday night and let the girls have a sleepover in Sophie’s room—just until it was time for Sarah to go home.
So we did!
Sophie was so excited. They wore their pjs and cuddled up in their sleeping bags on the floor of Sophie’s room. Madeleine brought two kinds of popcorn and I made pink milk. They played board games and watched a Barbie movie and “The Last Unicorn” on the little portable DVD player we set up in Sophie’s bedroom. Eventually, around 10:30pm, they both fell asleep.
Sarah gathered Madeleine up in her sleeping bag, and took her home. Sophie crawled up in her bed, and fell asleep.
It was the perfect 4- and 5-year-old sleepover.
“The older you get, the few slumber parties there are, and I hate that. I liked slumber parties. What happened to them?” —Drew Barrymore
It’s summer. Not technically, but the pool at the Y is now open so really, it’s summer.
We’ve been twice. The first time I took all three kids by myself, to meet my friend Angel and her daughters, Zoey and Mya.
It was so much easier than last year. The kids played in the children’s pool for more than an hour. I sat for much of the time. And talked to Angel. James went down the water slide over and over and over. Sophie dipped her naked Barbie in and out of the pool. Owen, well Owen spent much of the time on my lap but still, when he did get in the water, he had fun.
I envisioned a glorious summer made up of afternoons at the pool, in the sun, happy.
So naturally our next visit to the Y was a disaster.
Andy and I took all three kids Sunday. Everything was great—until we had to leave.
All three lost it. We immediately stopped, got down on our knees at their level and sternly told them how inappropriate their behavior was and how there were going to be consequences as soon as we got home.
James listened to us and stopped.
Sophie (Sophie! Who is 5!) and Owen drew stares.
It was if their bodies had been taken over by demons. They screamed and kicked and carried on in a way we have never seen before. I took Owen. Andy took Sophie. There was no talking to them at this point. We carried them, our heads down and lips tight.
The walk to gather our towels and then exit the Y was so long. So very long. It’s not an exaggeration to say that everyone took notice. Some people had half-smiles on their faces, with I’ve-been-there looks. Some had frowns, with why-can’t-you-control-your-children looks. Some were bewildered, with dear-God-is-that-what-it’s-like-to-have-kids looks.
I wanted to disappear. I still get red-faced thinking about.
Once home, once calm, we had a long discussion about leaving, kicking, hitting, screaming and appropriate behavior. Owen and Sophie lost all dessert and treats for three days (which, for them, is a very. big. deal.). And we’ve told them that from now on we’re not going to put up with even a hint of whining when it’s time to leave—and that if something even close to that happens again, stricter consequences will occur.
So far, everyone has been incredibly well-behaved today. Sweet, even. So much so that I’m half-tempted to drag them all to the pool just to say, “See! They’re not always possessed by demons! Most of the time they’re actually wonderful, kind, incredibly-pleasant-to-be-with children!”
Tell me: Worst public tantrum (if only to make me feel better).
“Temper tantrums, however fun they may be to throw, rarely solve whatever problem is causing them.” —Lemony Snicket
I haven’t blogged about Easter. One of my best friends is Greek, so I thought I could hold out until Greek Easter and, even though we aren’t Greek, somehow make that work via a nice transition about Easter, friendship and spring but Greek Easter was May 5 and it’s May 30 so, well, whatever.
Some excuses:
• I’m doing a lot of freelance work. So much so, that I’ve even allowed myself to hire a babysitter so that I can work some during the day. This is so.hard. for me to do. Because, if I do all my work at night, I make more money (by not spending some of it on a sitter). But lately Andy’s had to force me out of bed in the morning due to me working late most nights. I miss my evenings.
• We lost our camera. It might be in the van. Or my friend’s house. Or under a pile of clothes in my bedroom. But because of this, Andy hasn’t been able to upload any photos for me. So Owen and James, if you’re reading this years from now and wondering why I haven’t written about your birthday yet, this is why.
• I didn’t watch “Arrested Development” when it first aired. Therefore, Andy has convinced me that I need to watch all 60+ episodes so we can watch the new episodes together. So far I’ve watched four. (It’s really funny.) I have a long ways to go.
• Potty training.
I hate potty training.
I’m good at looking at the bright side. Today, for example, I mowed the grass. I bribed the kids (popsicles) to stay on the porch while I mowed and much of the mowing was done with me looking over at them seeing them screaming at me (likely because God forbid popsicle juice was dripping onto their fingers) while I mouthed “I can’t hear you!” and frantically tried to finish before they completely melted down. But. I got exercise. I worked on my tan (lines). Our yard looks (sort of) better. See? Bright side.
There’s no bright side to potty training.
The end result, you say? That’s potty trained. There’s no bright side to potty training.
Some highlights of today:
• I used the carpet cleaner four times.
• I cleaned the hardwood floor three times.
• James peed on my cell phone.
• The boys spent a considerable portion of the day outside, in their underwear and T-shirts.
• Owen, after I chased him down, picked him up and put him on the potty said, “I WANT TO GO TO A NEW HOUSE! I DON’T LIKE THIS HOUSE ANYMORE!”
• James earned one—ONE—sticker on his chart.
• Owen earned none.
Also, they hide.
Whenever the timer rings and it’s time for them to sit on the potty, they run and hide.
So there you go. My May.
I’ve been so eager to turn the calendar page to June.
“It’s been said that adults spend the first two years of their children’s lives trying to make them walk and talk, and the next sixteen years trying to get them to sit down and shut up. It’s the same way with potty training: Most adults spend the first few years of a child’s life cheerfully discussing pee and poopies, and how important it is to learn to put your pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty like big people do. But once children have mastered the art of toilet training, they are immediately forbidden to ever talk about poop, pee, toilets and other bathroom-related subjects again. Such things are now considered rude and vulgar, and are no longer rewarded with praise and cookies and juice boxes. One day you’re a superstar because you pooped in the toilet like a big boy, and the next day you’re sitting in the principal’s office because you said the word “poopy” in American History class (which, if you ask me, is the perfect place to say that word).” —Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People
