The Naming Wars Have Begun

I don't know that naming a child is ever easy.  In our little family, it certainly isn't.
I think that my family feared for all of my children, long before any one of them was conceived, or I was even married.  I am pretty sure they thought that names straight of the Goth book of baby names, which I did consult, would be on the top of my list.  They were probably expecting a little Chaos, Draven, or Siouxsie would be coming their way.
However, I would say I shocked just about everyone with our name choices.  They both have lovely, normal names, and maybe even a little bit traditional.  Both girls have flowers in there somewhere, and are also familial names.
I think we did quite well.

This last one, though, seems to have used up all of my ability to give a nice normal name.  I am really at a loss, and everything I like, that fits with the theme we have going, is a little out there.

My Husband hates them all.

In turn, he is really trying to push names he likes.  Part of that may be that I really had a larger part in coming up with the names of both girls, even if he agreed and liked them.  So, he is pushing things he really likes that are his ideas this time. I understand that.
The sucky part is that had this one turned out to be a boy, and it may yet as there is a small chance, we have a name ready.  One that he came up with entirely, and I love.  I really do.  I am committed to that name for a boy until we officially can't have any more.  Girls names, though, just aren't going to be easy.

Throw into the mix the fact that we already have two other children who want to be part of the process, and while we may not end up with a Chaos, we definitely have naming chaos.  There are names just flying about all the time.  I'm sure it would be comical to hear and see our conversations if you weren't the one naming them.  It's like some twisted game where we face each other, the first person shouts off a name, the next then counters with some other name.  It can go on for hours, with with middle name variations and all.

Seriously, this is difficult.

And we aren't the kind of people who can wait until we see the baby to name it, either.  It won't just come to us.  We will agree before she gets here, one way or another.  The another may be a challenged game of skill, but we will come to some agreement.  Maybe we will break it down Brady style with a house of cards, but one way or another, we will be ready by the time we walk into that hospital to deliver.

So, to all of my family and friends, please be prepared.  We may have spared you the "What did they name her?" shocked question the first two times, but I make no promises this time around.  Get ready.  She will be who she will be.  She is our special little one, and while we won't be making up any Renesmee type crazy things, she may be the most uniquely named one of them all.  

I Am The Queen....

I believe that I am the queen, the tittle holder, the reigning champion, if you will, when it comes to vomit and kids stories. You see, I have yet to hear anyone else who can compete with some of the fantastic vomit moments that I have had.

Last night, I believe I re-earned my icky crown.

I was laying in bed with The Little One, who has been sick for days. She has a nasty, stomach curdling cough that wont go away. Its one of those coughs that just keeps going, and you are sure is only going to end when she actually spits a lung out. The coughing fits make her turn red, and keep her from being able to breath. They are really terrible. They also choke her until she vomits sometimes, as kept happening last night. Usually she holds the vomit at bay quite well. She hates to vomit, or spit as she likes to more gracefully call it. So, as the coughs came, I kept asking if she was ok, or needed anything. After a while, she finally fell asleep.
I pulled my out fantastic Droid smart phone, and was able to silently check my email without getting up.
As an aside, let me tell you that I love my phone. I got a Droid just a few months ago, and I love that thing. I use it for EVERYTHING. It goes way beyond just a phone or even an Internet connection for me. I use it for music when I run. I use it for blogging. I use it constantly. Now that I have it, I don't know how I ever survived with out it, and if it came down to it, I would give up a couple of meals a month just to be able to afford it. Really. I would.
So, anyway, I lay there, checking my email, getting ready to respond to someone, when her coughing started. IT was hard. It was icky. Then suddenly, it wasn't just couching.
The Little One turned toward me too fast for me to react, and vomited all over my phone. Of course, she got my hand, clothes, the bed sheets, herself, and more as well, but none of that was nearly as shocking to me in the moment as realizing there was vomit on my beautiful purple cased phone.

I got her to sit up, and once she stopped coughing, I pulled her clothes, and ran for a wash cloth. I wiped the phone off, then ran back her her. I got her cleaned up, and layed her down else where for me to take care of everything else.
Eventually, I got all of the lesser stuff cleaned up, but my poor phone, still stunk. I had to take off the cover, clean it gently, and the let it dry. It may never be the same, though.

The Little One will keep getting better, and hopefully be over this completely soon. Until then, i think I'll just put my phone up to charge when we lay down at night.

While I would love to think this is the last of my vomit stories, I truthfully doubt that. Though, I do hope that no more of the stories involve my phone. I think that I will retain this stinky and unwanted championship for for some time. I would gladly pass this baton on, though, should anyone think they can give me a run for my smelly, wet money.

In Honor Of Chelsea

Today, many people have descended on a park in San Diego. They are there to finish a run that Chelsea will never got to complete. Chelsea King was a beautiful young woman who went out for a run one morning, and never came back home. Instead, she fell prey to a child predator that shouldn't have been out of jail.

So, today, the masses go to not only pay respect to Chelsea, and finish what she started, but to take a stand for her, and every child in our nation. A beautiful life was taken from us because the system failed her. No one can really say how many lives have been taken because the system fails to truly protect those who can not protect themselves, our children.

This is unacceptable. We as a society must take up the cause of keeping our children safe, and realize that if we don't take this stand, no one else is going to do it for us. We must be vigilant. We must be adamant. We can change the laws, and though it can never bring back the beauty of the those that were lost, we can honor them, by making sure it doesn't happen again.

Consider this issue, and when legislation comes that will give our children more protection, take a stand. Call your elected officials and let them know that you want change, you want to see laws passed that will keep our children safer. Be a part of the effort in any and every way you can.

So, today, while I can not be with those wonderful people running where Chelsea ran, I will instead go to the park here. The Girls and I will have a picnic lunch, and play, and then we are going to walk, and we are going to do it all in honor of Chelsea.

The Blondest Of All

I love my daughters. I know they are both mine, but sometimes, I have to wonder how I ended up with one of the stereotypically blondest children to ever walk the face of this earth. I realize that there must be a genetic link, after all, I have talked about my sister before, but in all honesty, The Big One does take top honors for blond moments sometimes.

Today was one of those times.

Let me start with just a bit of back story. The other day, The Big One was upstairs playing in her room with silly putty. Silly putty is of the devil, and I know that now. Had I known it then, I would have thrown it away immediately, but alas, I did not.
She came down upset because she had somehow managed to get a small section of hair matted with silly putty. There was about a half inch wide section of hair really stuck. She had made things worse by trying to get it out herself, and basically rolling the hair into a big cylindrical shape of putty and hair mess.

Somehow, with a lot of time, I managed to pull the hair out. She lost a lot of hair, but I was able to wash out the rest of the putty, and get her all cleaned up.

After that, I decreed that she was not to play with putty unsupervised or with her hair down any more. She has such long beautiful blond hair, I didn't want to have to go though that again.

Unfortunately, we did have to go through that again, only worse the second time around.

This afternoon, she was up in her room again, playing by herself for quite a while. At some point, I hear her coming downstairs, calling for me, in a panic. I ran to her, thinking something was wrong, and boy was it. The entire rest of the egg of putty was now matted into on of the font quarter of her hair, almost up to her scalp. I can not even explain adequately how terrible it was. There was just a huge knot of putty and hair.

I took one good look at it, and told her in all likely hood we would have to cut her hair, and she would have to get a boy cut. I really didn't think we would be able to salvage it. As I tried looking at it, the hair looked like a bet of interwoven hair, covered and intermixed with silly putty. When I lifted up the hair, there was even putty in her ear, down her ear canal. In her ear, people.

I have no idea how she did this. It wasn't like there was a little bit in her hair, it was nearly an entire egg. It was everywhere. There was so much hair. I kept asking how she did it, but the reply was the same, she didn't know. Eventually, she did say something about putting putty in her sleeve, but that was as far as we got.

I just can't fathom how a six year old child can do this, except, of course, that my child isn't like most kids. She is very intelligent, but she really lives on a different plane of awareness than the rest of us. Just like when she ran her Barbie Jeep into a massive tree, she just didn't notice it. So, she just isn't sure how the putty got into her hair.

It really didn't see a way to even start working on it.

So, I did what every parent in my position would do, if they are able; I called my mom to ask for help. Mom suggested peanut butter, since it works on gum.

I had no idea if it would work, but at least there was a start, and that was what I needed. So, I pulled out a new jar of peanut butter, and started rubbing it in. The Big One thought I was crazy. I had to explain about four times that I hoped some of the oils in the gooey stuff would start to break down the silly putty or help it slide out. I got her hair good and covered in peanut butter, and decided that some time marinating might help it. So, I took the new box of plastic cling wrap from a kitchen drawn, and opened it to wrap her her up. Of course, this being one of the most fantastic days of my life, I managed to cut my thumb open on the box in the process. After the bleeding stopped, and I got a Scooby Doo band aid, I wrapped her up and let her sit.

Let me tell you that peanut butter does nothing for silly putty in the hair. In fact, I would venture that it makes the situation worse. All it does is coat the hair in fatty oils so that any substance that actually would work, has a harder time.

When mom's advice fails, I turn to the next most logical place to look for solutions, the internet. Well, I facebooked it immediately, but got no instant comments. So, I turned to google, which rarely fails me. Yet again, Google came through. I found a ton of potential solutions to our problem. The most promising appeared to be hand sanitizer. The idea is that the alcohol cuts the silicon the putty is based in. Sounded smart enough for me to try it. The next idea was to use baby oil. I started searching for both.

From all of my trials and tribulations today, let me share the entire process that actually works for silly putty in hair.

1. Calm Down. You can't do this angry. Put your child's hair in plastic cling wrap so that nothing else gets matted in, then put them in time out for a while. Put your self there for a while, too, preferably with some chocolate. Dark chocolate works best in my case.
2. Rinse out anything you have already tried and failed with, like peanut butter. A kitchen spray device works best.
3. Try the foamy hand sanitizer that you carry in your purse. While it won't work best, it will start to barely break the putty down, and give you enough hope not to whack off the hair, or start drinking.
4. Search frantically for the old school gel hand sanitizer. If necessary, run out side in your slippers and pajamas, with your house bra on, or no bra if that is how you roll when at home, when you remember that you keep a small bottle in the car.
5. Take the gel hand sanitizer and start to work it into the matted hair. Ignore the burning and stinging from the small cut on your thumb. The gel will being to loosen the knot of putty.
6. Put half the bottle into the hair, and keep working it in. Realize that you need a band aid, and go get one.
7. Try to loosen the strand, and start combing through the hair, working in the smallest section possible, and coming the bottom out first, then working your way up.
8. Put more sanitizer in as needed to loosen the putty.
9. Give up on keeping the band aid on and just learn to ignore the burning.
10. Rinse the hair often, to try and keep the alcohol from damaging her hair. Then replace gel in only the section needed.
11. One you have most of it combed out, or at least to where it looks like hair, rinse thoroughly.
12. Switch to baby oil. The baby oil will begin to remove the rest of the residue. Coat hair liberally with baby oil, or baby oil gel in this case.
13. Comb through. Rinse putty mess off comb and repeat until the comb no longer comes out coated with putty.
14. Wash child and hair. Be sure to condition bad part thoroughly.
15. Put child to bed no matter what time it is, or park in front of TV, which ever is your preference, and take second time out for yourself.

That should get you though most of it. The optional part, an option I plan on exercising shortly, will be to leave the kids in the capable hands of someone who did not have to experience the whole mess, like a grandparent, and go out for coffee. In addition, pick up something bad for dinner, since you won't want to cook, as your back is going to be killing you from the hours of standing at the kitchen sink.

I hope no one else ever has to do this, but if you do, you should take heart in the fact that there is a way to get through it, someone else has done it, and they really are only young once. While mine may always be blond, she won't always be calling me for help. Eventually, someone else will have to take care of it, be it a room mate, husband, or whom ever. One day, I'm going to be the mom who gets the call, and I will be ready, with both advice and a story.

That I look forward to.

Snow Clue

I haven't lived in a cold winter area for nearly a decade. So, being back in an area where it is too cold to put your car tag renewal decal on the car, because cold temps cause them to break, is quite a change for us.

The Big One was born in south Texas, where the summers stay over 100 degrees. The Little One was born in beautiful, sunny San Diego. They don't know cold weather. We usually get about a week of cool to cold temps when we come back to Tennessee for a visit each year. They don't usually get the full effect of winter, though. That is starting to change, and change rapidly.

It snowed today. Real snow. As in big white fluffy stuff falling from a very cold sky. The flakes were huge, beautiful, fluffy things. It wasn't quite sticking, but it was really coming down.

In all that big white fluff, I had to go get The Big One from School.

I wasn't thrilled about this. Me no likey the snow. Her teacher is usually one of the last to dismiss, and I decided that I was going to sit in the car, until the classroom door actually opened this time. I wasn't going to stand there and freeze while she waited for all 20 or so 6 year olds to get it together. No, I could pass that time in the warmth and shelter of my car, then book it across the street when absolutely necessary. So, I did. As the door opened, I got out, locked my car, then actually ran across the street and up the school yard. I don't run much as a general rule, but I find myself doing it more and more in short burst of late. The cold seems to be quickening the occurrence as well. I sprinted up to the door just as The Big One came out.

"Why are running, Mom?" As I've said, not something I do.

"Because it is cold, and it is snowing." Both sounded like very logical reasons to be running to me. Of course, often times when in a conversation with my gorgeous blond daughter, logic is not exactly the driving force of the conversation.

"Is it really snowing?"

Now, the flakes that came down at that point, and the rest of the day were incredible. They were really huge. They were big enough to see each point on the flake, and were probably the most beautiful ones I can remember seeing in person. However, the temperature was not cold enough for the snow to lay on the ground and create any accumulation. So, you had big fluffy white stuff swirling around, that disappeared when it hit he ground.

"Of course it is. Do you see all the fluffy white stuff?"

"What white stuff?"
I admit it. Snowflakes are generally small, but these things were massive for flakes. In addition, it was really coming down.

I held out my hand and waited until a massive flake passed across it.
"Did you see that white thing?"

"Yes."

"That is snow."

"That's what snow is? Really? Wow!"

I had to confirm for her several times that all that stuff really was snow.

I'm quite sure all the other parents around us must thing we are crazy. From their perspective, it would be unreasonable for a child of her age to not understand the concept of snow. However, even though she is quite blond and that often is the reason for our odd conversations, I get it. When you see pictures of snow, you see accumulation on the ground. You don't see just fluffy white stuff floating around the sky. In fact, having lived the last 4 plus years of her life in Southern California, it could have well been ash floating around from fires during fire season, something the kids of this area may not understand. I get it. In fact, I would dare say there is a lot she has been able to experience by living in a coastal community that many kids here would never believe.

I love that The Big One finally got her snow. I love that she was so excited about it, even if a little naive about how it gets here. While other parents may have laughed at us, and I laughed too honestly, nothing can be cooler than watching your children discover new and different things and loving them, at any age.

Happy Birthday Big One

Today is the Big One's Birthday! I can't believe how big she is!!

It seems like just yesterday that I was bringing her home from the hospital. I will never forget our ride home with her.

We have a tiny little car, and I didn't ride in the back with her. So, with both of us upfront, we couldn't really see her. We didn't know about baby mirrors at that point. Anyway, I kept my hand on her, reaching back for her, the whole time. At some point, she stopped moving and making sounds. The Husband and I both sort of freaked out. I couldn't tell if she was breathing or anything. He tried to check her, and couldn't tell either. We began to panic and actually pulled over on the side of the road, jumped out and checked on her. Of course, the baby was asleep. Sound asleep. No one told us that babies sleep in cars. Our families were far away, and here we were with a new born, all by ourselves. How silly it all seems now. She spent many, many hours in that car sleeping in her car seat. In fact, we would often just get in the car, late at night, and take her for a ride and put her to sleep when nothing else worked. It would be just us, and the MPs driving around the base at 1am on a week night. We all survived her infancy, though, and that is what counts.

Now, she is such a character. She is absolutely 6 going on 17. She is all about the drama and attitude. She is the quintessential blond who lives on a different plane of awareness from the rest of us. She is also very intelligent. She is emotionally in tune with people. She loves animals. She has a heart of gold, and would do anything for you she could. She is an amazing young lady, and I am proud of her all the time.

We love you, Big One. Happy Birthday.

The Boo Boo Sock

Sometimes, when you think life just can't get much harder, it does.

This past weekend, the Little One had a bit of an incident.
The husband decided to take us all to a huge inflatable bounce house play place for a family day. It in one of those places where they have a ton of huge bounce slide things set up. I hate those things. I cried twice when I was at the top of one. It was actually a great time, though.
Right up until the the accident.
The Little One was coming down a slide, and go her right leg tucked up behind her, with her knee bent at a bad angle. When she came down, she fell, and started crying. I grabbed her, and could tell that she was really upset. I got her to calm down, and held her under some shade for a while. I thought it might have just been the heat. She was tired, and sweaty, and apparently done. So, I held her for a few minutes while The Big One and The Husband played just a little more. Then, we packed up and went home. She was out before we ever got out of the parking lot.

We took her home and let her sleep. My Mom stayed with her while the Husband and I ran out for just a bit.

When we got home, The Little One was on the couch, and Mom said that she couldn't stand. After a few minutes checking her out, and verifying that she indeed couldn't put any weight on her leg, we called her Dr, and then headed off to the ER.

We had a nice long visit, with multiple trips to the x-ray machine. When it was all said and done, the orthopedic doctor said that he thought she had broken the growth plate in her knee, but they weren't sure. She needed a full leg cast for two weeks. At the end of the two weeks, we go back in for more x-rays, and then we find out for sure. They will be able to see healing on the x-rays if it had been broken. If they see something, she gets the cast for longer, if not, she is good to go.

For now, she is couch bound in her big purple "sock". She has to be carried everywhere. This is great when you are in the midst of potty training. I mean fun times. Really, though, I should be thankful that she is handling it so well. She has been a champ though it all. We have only had one big bout of crying, but other than being a little clingy, which I can handle, she is just going with the flow.

Let's all keep fingers crossed that when the cast comes off, the x-rays will be clean, and she will be free to move about the house, causing terror in her wake again.

Yesterday vs. Today

Yesterday, my oldest looked like a young version of California Skipper.

Skipper is of course Barbie's little sister.

My Big One is tall and very thin. She has super duper blond hair that is very long. I pulled the top half of her hair up and braided it, and left the rest down. I put her in a hot pink gauzy top with a cute little jean skirt. She is really tan from all the time outside she has been getting. The hot pink really set off that tan. So, between the outfit, the hair, the tan, and everything, she really made me think of California Skipper.

---

Today, she looks like something from where the wild things are.

We ended up running a little behind today for several reasons. She got a cough last night and was up all night. So, I tried to let her sleep a little more, but she is still tired. Then, I had a cute outfit picked out for her, but, as we were about to put shoes on, I realized that her pants had a big hole in the knee! So, I had to run and grab her new pants. Now, the shirt and pants don't exactly go together, but it was the best I could do in a flash. I ended up with not enough time to redo her hair from yesterday. So, I just took it down, brushed it, and put a head band (that didn't go with anything she was wearing, but happened to be the most neutral one I could find) in her hair. She has this wild frizzy crimped looking hair sort of floating all around her now. Then, she kept messing with her head band, and pulling on the hair in front of it, so small sections would get pulled up and out, sort of hornish. It was hilarious.


Seriously, the difference between yesterday and today is amazing, but I happen to think she is beautiful both ways.

The lovliest things

Sometimes, I think it would be nice to have my bed all to myself again. It would be nice not to roll over onto a small paperback of an Amelia Bedelia book, that has been lost between the covers. Or maybe not to roll onto a little plush animal, also lost in the covers of the bed. It is hard not to lose things in bed covers, when you have so many on the bed, like we do. Two little girls each bring their own blankets when they come to my bed. We have a twin size Scooby Doo comforter, a toddler sized Dora or Princess blanket, depending on which one was grabbed, and then of course the covers that belong on my bed. There are tons of pillows and the king size bed seems sort of crowded.

Just when I want my space back, and I think I can't take it anymore, I look over to my left and I see that laying with me isn't just a mass of tangled covers and toys that don't belong, but the two most beautiful things ever put on this earth. These two gorgeous cherubic (they are sleeping) little people whom I love more than life itself.

I realize that I can reach over and touch them or kiss them, and not wake them, or even need to get get up to go do it. I can snuggle up to them, and smell their little heads. I get the gift of laying there with these two wonderful, funny, beautiful girls, and I know that I better take that gift while I have it. It won;'t be long before there is no more snuggling. They will want space of their own and Independence.

So, I guess if a book and a tiger int he back are the price I have to pay, I will pay it gladly. Heck, I'll even sleep under the Scooby Doo covers with them.

She Knew Just What to Do

As I was getting ready to go get the big one from school, and chatting on the phone with a friend, I pulled my jacket out of the bottom of my stroller, and I gasped.
There, in the bottom of the stroller, where it sat all day, was her lunch bag.
It had been covered by my jacket, and neither one of us remembered it.
I panicked.
My friend, a teacher, kept reassuring me that they would have given her lunch, as long as she told someone. That isn't a great comfort, though, when you have a very finicky eater, who would absolutely go hungry before she would eat something she didn't like. At least my friend tried.

In the event that this happened, I always send her with lunch money in her back pack. So, maybe she just bought lunch, I hoped.

I grabbed a granola bar and some juice, in case she was starving, and ran off to get her. I get to school, and start chatting with some moms. We were in the middle of a heated bad neighbor discussion when she came out of her classroom. She didn't say anything, and there were no tear streaks on her face. She just ran off to play. I finally had to call her over to ask her about it, because it was killing me.

"What did you do for lunch today?"

"You forgot to give me my lunch bag!" (Of course it was my fault. She gets it from her daddy. = )
She continued with her story.

"I came out, and my lunch bag wasn't there. So, I went back in, and came out again. It still wasn't there. So, I knew just what to do."

Now, I swear she said that. She had to double check, just to make sure it really wasn't there, I guess.

"What did you do?" I ask.

"I went in and told Mrs. N that we forgot my lunch." (Ahhh, and she shared the blame this time)

"Then, I went out and got my money in case we forgot, and I gave it to the lunch lady."

"What did you eat?"

"Chicken nuggets."

"Did you eat all of them?"

"No. I ate one."

"Did you at least drink your milk?"

"Some of it."

I kept thinking about this. On the way home, I started talking out loud about it.

"So, I paid $2 for one chicken nugget and a little milk?"

"Hmm..you are right, mom. I should have only used one of my dollars."

I explained that it doesn't work like that.

Even if I did pay full price for one chicken nugget, I am really glad she knew what to do, and was able to get a lunch. She enjoyed the process, if not the food itself.

In fact, she told me I could forget her lunch again once day. I told her that didn't work that way, either.

WWIT?

WWIT = What was I thinking?

There are moments in life, when you seem to be doing just fine, think you are doing things just right, then all the sudden you have a wwit moment.

Today, I had one of those WWIT moments. I bought these incredible new phones for my home. I got a digital phone system with 4 handsets, and more features than my first cell phone had. It has multiple ring tones, distinctive ring tones for different callers, and so much more. The feature that I needed most, and really wanted, was the intercom feature. You can call from one handset to another, and it is easy. When you live in a 3 story house, I think something like this is a god send. Well, it could be, provided you don't have small children in the home.

I had to teach the big one how to use the intercom, so that I could call her when it was time to come down from her 3rd floor playroom, or so that she could call me if she needed me. About the 3rd time my phone rang for a minute, then quit just as I got to it, I had a total wwit moment. Why on earth did I give a 5 1/2 year old access to something that could annoy me beyond belief. Not only did I give it to her, I taught her to use it, and made sure she was proficient in it. Seriously. There should have been an extra warning on the package that read something like:
"Do not allow children to operate unless you are willing to endure all consequences of their actions. Note that there will be repeated misuses of this handset should you give it to any child and that will result in great frustration for the the owner. Any throwing of the handset against the wall will result in voiding your warranty." Something along those lines.

I mean, I love these phones, but I foresee many problems in our future. She has already started answering the phone , granted it was only her grandmother who I have given permission for her to answer, but she had it in a ring and a half, way before I could have. That means I may never get to talk to my own mom again.

We are going to have to have a long, serious talk about phones, again, and lay down the rules, again. Hopefully, we can figure this out. I mean, now that I have made the mistake of giving a 5 year old access to a phone, we better make sure she knows to use it properly and with in the guidelines, or else, I think we all know what will happen....I'm going to have to sue the manufacturer for not putting that warning on the box.

Maybe the 3rd time....

Today, we went to have pictures made for my little one's 2nd birthday, and spring pictures of both girls.

If you read my previous post, this was actually our second appointment. The first one didn't quite pan out thanks to the little ones sense of adventure.

So, today, I planned carefully to make sure we would have the time to get out and take the pictures. I laid out the clothes. When time came to pick the big one up, I drove to get her, as opposed to walking like we normally do. It saved about 15 minutes. We needed those minutes.

As soon as we get home, I rush both girls in. I give the big one a washcloth, which I had laying beside the door ready to go, and shove her in the bathroom with quick "Pee and wash now" instructions.

I get all the bags with extra outfits we need. I take the coupons, and make sure everything is good to go. As soon as the big one comes out, we get shoes, and we are ready to go.

I rush like mad to get to the place. Of course, the photo studio I prefer is about 20 minutes away. Naturally, the little one falls asleep on the way. Not a problem, she will have at least 30 minutes to nap between the car ride, and the time it will take to get us in, if she will sleep in the stroller.

Once we get there, I get everything ready so that I can get the little one out, and jut roll on in. She stays asleep. Cool. More nap time. She should be good to go once we get in.

I rush to the portrait studio, only to find out that I was too early, and had my appointment time wrong. I still had about 15 minutes to go. The big one wants to sit in the waiting room with all the other kids. So, the little one and I, who is still out, do circles around the entrance.
Our 15 minutes, even though it really was only about 15, felt like a good year, but it did eventually pass.

I send the big one on in, and she is stoked. My big ham is ready for some pictures. She has always been fantastic at having pictures made. In all of her life, there have only been 2 times she wasn't great at it. The first was because I had just pinched her belly in her car seat, and she wasn't happy about that. The second was because the young man assisting the photographer was so incredibly flamboyant, that she couldn't focus on the photographer. I had a hard time focusing,because he was just too much. So, I can't imagine how hard it was for an 18 month old. Anyway, like usual, the big one is good to go.

I grab the little one, and pull her out of the stroller. Immediately, I get the grouch face. I mean the serious grouch face. Crap. This does not bode well for us. I try to set her down, and the tears start. No. No. We came all this way. For another 15 minutes, that felt nearly as long as the first one, the photographer and I tried everything we could think of. That poor woman even put a cupcake on her head, all to no avail. It was absolutely useless. Not even the bribe of ice cream would work. She wasn't having her picture made. The photographer finally looked at me and said " I don't think this is going to happen today".
She was right. I apologized, and rescheduled for next week, at a better time. I packed up our stuff, put stinky shoes back on both girls, and got out of there.
I was totally defeated by a 2 year old. Ugg.

Of course, just so you know, this is where the big one started to cry because she didn't get her picture taken. No really. She did. So, both of them are upset, and I'm frazzled. I fixed it all pretty quickly, though. I bought big soft pretzels. Those seem to solve everything for us.

I'm hoping against hope for a better go around next week. If not, I'm just going to ask for some crying shots, because that is all there will be.

When she looks through her pictures 30 years from now, I will be sure to tell her of all the trouble it took to get her 2 year pictures, and remind her that it will all come back to her eventually. Then, one day, when she calls me to complain about how hard it was to get the pictures of her own children, I'll just sit back, listen, and laugh.

That's My Blonde Girl

If I haven't ever told you all this, my oldest child is a blond. She is very blond at that. Not only is her hair color as said, but sometimes, and this isn't as mean as it is going to sound, her level of awareness is pretty blond also.

Now, I have to tell you that she is not a dumb blond. Not at all. In fact, she really makes me think of my little sister, whom I love dearly and will not be mean to, as promised, in this blog, so that she won't cry while reading it. Shew. Disclaimer over.

They are a lot alike. Both of them are quite intelligent. My sister has a degree in sociology from a pretty snazzy university. She holds down at least 2 jobs all the time. She does very well at them. She can hold her own in a political conversation, if she chooses to, which I think is fantastic. That being said, don't ever, ever ask her for directions. Not even to her own home. Now, I could go from here, and tell you some fantastically wonderful stories that would make you giggle, but, as promised above, I agreed not to make her cry. The thing is, even though she is intelligent, my sis lacks common sense in some areas, and there are certain areas where she simply doesn't have a high level of awareness. Her mind just works differently. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it is a very special character trait that makes her who she is. I think that is the reason she is such a creative person, and she is.

The same goes for my daughter. She is very intelligent. I am often surprised by how intelligent she is. She is also incredibly imaginative and creative, just like I remember my little sister being when she was this age. Much like my little sister, though, I fear for my daughter sometimes. That lack of common sense and awareness can lead them to some situations I wish they could have avoided.

Today, for example, the big one walked into a pole. No really. Just like you see in the movies or on TV, she walked right into a pole. The pole didn't jump out in front of her, and it has been there long before she started to school there. It seems that on the way to snack time, which is held where they eat lunch outside, she began chatting with a friend, and when she turned to talk to her friend, she lost complete awareness of her surroundings and walked smack into a metal pole. It hurt. She has a knot and will have a pretty ugly bruise. They took her to the nurse's office and put ice on it. Then, they called me. I went to school and checked it out. I decided she was fine. While I did tell her the she was not allowed to rough play the rest of the day, the teacher had her sit in the sand box during recess, I thought she was fine to go back to class. Bless her heart, though, I doubt this will be the last run in of its kind. This is the reason that I keep my cell phone on me at all times when she is in school. You just don't know.

I could see my sister doing something very similar. In fact, just the other day, she managed to rear end a car at a red light, after they had both stopped. Similar concept. Neither the pole nor the other car had moved. They were both there before either of my loved ones got there. It just happens that way for the two of them.

I suppose, though, my sister actually gives me hope for my daughter. She turned out pretty well. She manages to get through most days mishap free. There are the occasional calls to her husband because she ran out of gas, or lost her keys, again, but all in all, it seems to be fine. That is part of the reason I love her husband so much. He is there to help balance out that character trait. I can only hope that when my child grows up, and isn't with mom and dad anymore, she finds someone similar, who will balance her out, and come to her rescue as needed when she locks herself out of the car for the 5th time that month, or what have you. Heaven knows every one needs someone to add a little more balance to their lives. These two just need it in a more certain area and they are both all the more endeared to those around them for it.

P.S. I will come and bring you gas, or pick you up when you loose your keys anytime, at any hour, both of you. Love you.

So am I old, or not?

My oldest is quite into the fact that the little one is starting to potty train. In her mind, this is the step where she becomes a big girl, and they will start to be more alike, do the same things, and so on. I think the older one believes that once the little one is out of diapers, they will suddenly have the same interests, as though an age gap has disappeared.

When we were discussing potty training, on the way to buy pull ups for the first time, the older one got confused about their ages.
"So, when Ava turns five, I will be 6?"

"No, babe. When Ava turns 5, you will be 8."

"Eight?? I will be eight years old?" The idea of being 8 seemed absolutely unbelievable to my 5 year old. She acted like I had just said 100.

"Then, not long after that you will turn 9."

"Nine?? I will turn nine years old. Wow. That is a lot of years."

Harumph. Nine is not a lot of years.

"No. Nine isn't a lot at all. You won't be old. Nine isn't old, even 29, like momma isn't old, huh?"

For those of you who are not in the know, yes, I have my daughter convinced that I just turned 29, again.

"No, mom. Twenty-nine isn't old."

Have I told you all how much I love that child??

Of course, then the little one has to join in.

"Momma old."

"What? Momma isn't old. Ava, 29 isn't old. Momma isn't old, right Lilly?"

"No, mom, you aren't old."

And in comes the wee one, yet again, to tear me down.

"Yes, momma old."

The conversation went on. The big one and I agree that I'm not old, but the little one is adamant that I am. Not sure if she remembers who buys the Dora gummy snacks around here, or not, but she needs to recognize. Ok. Sorry. I couldn't resist that one.

None the less, having your baby tell you that are old isn't very nice. It can really hurt. She will likely be my last baby, unless we are granted some kind of miracle, too. So, she really has the power to make me feel both old and young at the same time. I'm sure over the course of our lives, this will be far from the last time she makes me feel old. I just wish it didn't start at the age of 1.

Losing Friends

Sometimes, I really wish that I could be more like my five year old. She fights with her best friends all the time. They fight over everything. If someone gets left out of a game, because there aren't enough pieces, or one of them says they don't like the sand box anymore, they fight. They tell each other they can't be friends anymore, and one dis invites the other to an upcoming birthday party. Then the other does the same. It is heated and terrible, and hurtful for them. The great thing about being five, though, is that just a few minutes later, or maybe the next morning at most, it is all over and done with. Everyone loves everyone again, and we are all coming to the next birthday party.

I am amazed at how quickly these kids can forgive, and truly let go of the hurt. If we as adults could behave as such, the world would be a different place.

Tonight, I wish I could behave as such. I wish I could have talked to my friend who just called, instead of sitting on the phone, crying silently into a paper towel, because my feelings are hurt so badly by something she did.

I wish I could just forgive and be happy in our friendship, but I can't. I'm just not in that place. I don't know how long it will take me to let go of the hurt, or if I can, but I hope so. I want to be happy with her again. I want to celebrate with her again. I want to see her and be overjoyed for her and her big day tomorrow, but right now, I can't.

Maybe one of these days, instead of becoming more mature about the whole thing, I will act a little more immature, and take cues from my own child. I hope that like Pook does, I will just let go, and tell her that she is my best friend again even if she left me out of her game. I miss my best friend.

Wait. That isn't my snack!

You ever have one of those moments that just kind of grosses you out? I feel like sharing one of mine from today.

As I was cleaning, getting down and sweeping floors, and all that jazz, I notice I have a little piece of food on my chest. Now, with a chest like mine, it is an unfortunate fact that food often sits on my boobs. Another unfortunate fact is that I don't always notice until someone else points it out to me. My husband is oft the one to point this out to me. He generally, though, points it out by asking me if I was saving what ever it is he spies as a snack for later.

This time, there was no adult around to point out my lapse. My children, apparently, don't care if I walk around with food on my clothes. I wish I could say the reverse was true.

Anyway, I look down while cleaning, and notice something there. I pull off this whitish thing, only to realize that i have been walking around with a piece of chicken on me. Now, this might not be too gross, ok, it is, but what makes it even worse is that it isn't my chicken. I didn't have chicken for lunch. What makes it really, really nasty is that, if you read my profile you know, I am a vegetarian. I have been for the last 12 or so years, in fact. So, hanging out with a tag-a-long piece of chicken on my shirt is incredibly disgusting for me. It certainly wasn't something I was saving for later.

I do know exactly where it come from, though. That should be of some comfort, I suppose. At least it wasn't some random piece of meat that I can't place. I know that this particular piece of chicken fell out of my daughter's mouth at lunch time.

She is incredibly cranky for about 18 out of 24 hours in a day at present as we are going through a nap time change. Now, she sleeps more than 6 hours a day, but since she seems to even be cranky in her sleep lately, I had to up her average number of crankified hours. Anyway, at lunch she was, of course, really cranky. She insisted I hold her. Even while she ate. I have been making great efforts to try and feed her more meat. My husband usually takes care of that, but with him gone, I have to try and honor the fact that she happens to be the meat eatingist baby I have ever seen. So, I gave her chicken today. She must have really loved it. Maybe I should feel bad about that, because she loved it so much, she seems to have saved a piece as a snack for later. Like any other child, she just ask mom to hold it for her until she was ready.

Ehh, what can you do? I'm not getting smaller boobs, or neater kids. I think we will just have to manage with the finding of random snacks around here.

The End of A Pa-Era

Well, hopefully, this is the end.

The Little Onehas a well established pa-habit. Recently, she starting biting through the nipples. I realize that is a sign they probably need to go, but I am not about to push it. The child need her safety binkie right now, and I had no intentions of taking that away.

Instead, I have been constantly telling her, warning her really, that if she bit through them, they went into the trash. I told her that once they were all gone, that would be it. My intentions were of course not the same as my words. As I said, I have no desire to push this issue at the present time. I plainly intended to sneak a new pack into our shopping cart the next time we were at Wal-Mart. We are, in fact, as least 3 days really past due for that shopping trip. We are all sick, and San Diego happens to actually be in the midst of long lasting rain front. So, we haven't gone anywhere. No new pacifiers (pas).

Over the last 2 weeks or so, we have thrown away at least 4 pas. I watched as our supply was dwindling, not worried as I new we needed to go out soon, anyway. Saturday, when I had the new baby sitter over, I remembered to show her the stash in a cubbard, and told her to break into it as needed. Well, the little one was a little wild that night, and by the time I got home, we were on the last one!! We didn't go out yesterday, or today. I thought we could make it until tomorrow.

Don't bite, I kept reminding her. Hoping that she could just make it with out destroying this one.

Shortly after she woke up from her nap today, she ask me to wash her pa. When I took it, I saw she had bitten into it and torn it already.

"Oh no. You bit it. Momma has to throw it away."

She reached over and very gently took the pa back. She looked at it for a second, then put it in her mouth.

"No. No trash pa." She said around it.

"Yes. You know that if you bite them, they have to go in the trash. They aren't safe anymore."

"No good?"

"No."

"Trash?"

"Yes. Trash."

She looked up at me with those big round eyes, very solemn and sad. She walked over to the trash cabinet, opened it, looked at me one more time and ask "Trash?" again.
"Yes. Trash." I told her. I was never mean about it, just sort of sad myself.
She dropped it in.

"New one?"

"No. We don't have any new ones. All the new ones are at the store, and we aren't going to the store."

"Go." She walked quickly over to the shoe basket and started to put her shoes on.

"No, Ava. We aren't going to the store. No new ones."

She didn't say anything. She just sort of looked at me with this resigned look, then walked out to the living room. There were several times today where she went to go get her jacket, and ask for a new one. I just repeated the same answer very gently all day.

"No new ones."

She whined for it just a couple of times, but then after I reminded her they were gone, she remember she threw it away, and she would move on.

So, now it is bed time. I have her laying down. I gave her a cup of water. I know, it isn't good to replace one bad habit with another, but I am not looking for a fight. If not, I'll be up all night looking for one. I know I am in for a few days of less sleep, but in all honesty, it won't be that different than any other night for me of late.
I feel bad for her. I didn't want to take her security object away until her Daddy came back, but I guess she is ready. My baby is becoming a big girl.

I hope you sleep well tonight big girl. You can still bunk with me for a while, at least.

It is just cookies!!

Since my husband and I first got together, he has made fun of the Girl Scouts out selling their cookies every single year. "Ankle biters" he calls them. In truth, they are pretty zealous in their efforts to sell you a box of cookies. Then again, it seems like some people go crazy over the cookies? Why all the hype? It is just a box of cookies!!

Anyway, this year, our own child is now one of smock and vested throngs out selling cookies in their uniforms. She will not be selling at store fronts, due to age restrictions, thank goodness, but none the less, she is selling.

Now that we are in the thick of things, I am beginning to understand why the girls get to crazy about selling. I have often heard Mary Kay representatives as belonging to the "pink Bubble" where their world revolves around MK. Well, I suppose in this case, these girls are in the cookie bubble. There are pep rallies, cheers, songs, parties, you name it, they do it to get hyped up to sell. I find it a little disturbing, honestly.

The thing that I find the most disturbing, is that they are given prizes for selling. Now, don't get me wrong, I believe in teaching children that there is a reward for hard work, but we are talking about selling cookies here, not mowing the lawn. The prizes are really crazy, too. This year, if you sell 2009 boxes of cookies, you get a helicopter ride. Yes. A real one. I believe that this is a lunch with the Girl Scout CEO, and a ride in a helo at the Operation Thin Mint kick off. That would actually be pretty cool. In fact, I think that last year they used a military helicopter for part of it, which would be super cool since her Daddy flies in helicopters for the military. Of course, it would be a little odd to watch her in a helo like his, with him being half way around the world, but I think I am How realistic is that for most girls? How do you sell that many boxes of cookies? If I had Donald Trump on my speed dial, or anyone who could afford just under 8k in cookies, I would be all over this, but alas, I don't.

So, we are going to be very realistic about all of this. We are going to set a reasonable goal for our first year selling, and I am going to show her how that hard work and dedication can also be paid off by knowing that you have done the best you can, and being proud of yourself, even without a helicopter ride.

Unless, any of you happen to have the Donald's number, and you wouldn't mind passing it on.

And, of course, if anyone wants to buy some cookies, please let me know. For just 95 more boxes, she can get a t-shirt. Then, when her dad comes home, I'll put her in the t-shirt, take her to his work, take a pic of her in the t-shirt in his helicopter, and call it a day. Hey, when you have the hook up, you have the hook up.

They Just Keep Coming

One day, I am going to show excerpts from this blog to whom ever my oldest daughter chooses to be with. After all, not only are her actions hilarious, but I think this person may need fair warning as well.

Today she came down stairs in her t-shirt and underwear, what she slept in. After a while she got off the couch, and started roaming the house. She roamed into the back room where I was doing laundry.

"Here. Put these on." I threw her a pair of capri length yoga pants just to run around the house in.

"Mom, these aren't my size."

"Yes they are, they are just short pants."

"But they are baby pants." She was referring to the tight knit as they were stretch.

"No. They are yoga pants. That is the style. Just put them on."

She pull on the pants, checks the out for a minute, then walks out. I kept doing the laundry. A few minutes later, I hear a strange "Ommmm...." sound.

I looked n the living room, and see her sitting in the floor.

"What are you doing?" I ask in her general direction. I got no answer only more "Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm".

I look a little closer, and she is sitting cross legged in the living room floor, hands posed just right with her fingers in a circle, chanting "Ommmmm" repeatedly.

"Lilly, what are you doing??" This time there was a bit more force behind my query.

"My yoga. You said these are yoga pants. So, I am doing my yoga."

Ahhh. I see. I'll just keep doing the laundry. Let me know if that works for you, though, and I might just have to join you.

It Seemed so Innocent.

Children are a trip. By that, I mean that they often take you on an unexpected and wild journey.

Today, my oldest daughter ask me a very innocent seeming question. The conversation that ensued left me feeling like I was rehearsing a warped 5 year old version of "Who's on First?".

We were walking into the park to play, and she looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and ask "Mom, who is your grandfather?"

Ahhh...such an innocent question.

"Which one?"

"The one that died."

"Both of my grandfathers are dead."

"You know, (insert 5 year old attitude here because I am being slow) the one that talked to me."

"Oh. You mean the one you met when you were a little baby?"

"Yes! What is his name?"

"Earnest."

"What is his other name?"

"Compton."

"Oh. Well, what was your other grandfather's name?"

"George Washington Carroll."

"Your grandfather was the president?"

"No. He was named after a President, though. Do you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"His father had just come to America from another country, and he was very proud to be an American. So, he named his son after the first President here."

"I thought the first President was Bush."

"No. Bush was the last President."

"Well who is the next President?"

"Barack Obama is the President now."

"Ok, but who is the next President?"

"Obama just became President."

"Oh. So he is the second President?"

"No, Lilly! He is the President now, but he wasn't second. He is the 44th. We have had over 40 Presidents."

"Oh. Wow. 40! That is a lot of Presidents."

"Go play. Now."