No pictures for us.

I think that if my life since having children were a play, it would have to be a farce.

A farce is a comedy written for the stage or film which aims to entertain the audience by means of unlikely, extravagant, and improbable situations, disguise and mistaken identity, verbal humour of varying degrees of sophistication, which may include sexual innuendo and word play, and a fast-paced plot whose speed usually increases, culminating in an ending which often involves an elaborate chase scene. Farce is also characterized by physical humour, the use of deliberate absurdity or nonsense, and broadly stylized performances.

That would be us. If you have ever seen my girls race around my kitchen island, which gives me heart palpitations, you would know that we could even include the chase scenes.

Today is the little one's birthday. She is two. That makes me both happy and sad, but that is for another post. Here, we are are going to focus on one of yet another improbable situations that make our lives a farce.

I like to have birthday portraits made on my child's actual birthday. I know that can often be a lofty ambition, as birthdays tend to be pretty hectic, but this one was set up perfectly. The big one has half days at school and would actually be able to go at a reasonable time. We were set. I got the confirmation call from the studio this morning, to make sure we would be there, and I did confirm. I spent a couple of hours early this morning going through all of the clothes that I had saved for posterity, looking for the dress the big one wore for her second birthday pictures. I had packed it away, thinking the little one wouldn't be able to wear it, but she can. So, I dug it out, managed to find the matching bloomers, and everything. Then, I got a second outfit that would match for both of them ready. Just as I was laying the clothes on the big one's bed, I hear a scream. I turn, and the little one, who had been rocking in their rocking chair, was now stuck in it. She decided to try to slip out the side of the chair, in the hole from the arm, Dukes of Hazzard style. She did really well, and managed to get her body out, but her head was stuck. Actually, she even got most of her head out. She was completely wedged in at her forehead. It took me a second to get her to be calm and still enough that I could lift her up from the bottom, and then work her out. In that time, she managed to give herself a pretty nasty mark.

I didn't cancel the pictures right away. I held out hope that the mark would soften. It does look better, but now it is a big red raised place. So, after nap, when it still wasn't looking passable for pictures, I tried every kind of makeup that I had on my baby. Nothing would cover. I needed some of that green makeup that blends out redness in skin, but I don't have it anymore.

So, I had to call, apologize, and change our pictures. I guess it might be better, though. Now, I can take the girls to play outside for a while, maybe even take the bubble machine along for fun. Then go get them something yummy to eat, before we get an ice cream cake for dessert.

I'll take a few myself in her big pretty pink dress. Hey, I bought Photo shop for a reason. The ones I take won't have any red marks, one way or another. They may not be as good as the ones I get taken, but they sure are lovingly retouched. = )

All in all, I'm sure it will still be great birthday with my two injury prone girls.

Faculty Death at School

The P.E. teacher at Lilly's school passed away this weekend. He was very young. The whole thing was a little odd. He had been sick for months, in and out of the hospital, but they never found out what was wrong with him.

Most of the school already knew before today, but we hadn't heard, having secluded ourselves this weekend. If I had known, I would have talked to my daughter about it before school.

At school, the principal made no mention of it at the assembly, except for a single thought that was "To heal our spirits today" and then what song they would sing together. Instead, they decided to go room to room through the school and talk to the kids that way. I hope that is better.

I really feel for some of those kids. This school is predominately military. A lot of these kids don't get to see much of their father's to begin with, and having a male father figure that has been a constant in their lives for a few years will be very hard. Not to say that death is easy for any one.

I'm not sure what the school is going to do at this point, but I really hope they handle this well. Their track record on inconsequential stuff isn't great. But I must have hope that they can take care of something like this appropriately at least.

It's a Nerdy Job....

My daughter just ran down stairs. She got an art studio/easel thing for Christmas. It has a big roll of paper in it, that she can tear off when she is done with a picture, and pull out a fresh sheet. Well, the paper is stuck, and she ran down to tell us she needed help getting the paper out.

I said. "Do you have a paper jam?"
"Yes! That's it. It is a paper jam!!"

I thought it was funny.

Telling corny jokes: It's a nerdy job, but someone has to do it.

How Much Up Can One Kid Chuck?

Sometimes, you have to wonder how so much of anything fits in those little bodies. Whether it be food going in, or coming out in any form, sometimes it amazes me.

Tonight, my oldest daughter got sick. I mean sick. The poor thing was asleep on the couch, by 7:30 no less which is a serious indicator in my child, she suddenly rolled over and starting ralphing her guts up.

Now, I will spare you most of the details, and trust me it was bad. However, I have to tell you that I am amazed by the volume that came out. I just don't see where that all came from. The space that kids are able to cover when they vomit is just mind blowing sometimes. Where does it all come from? Well, I know where it comes from, but I still can't understand how so much volume comes from such a little person!!

She isn't big. In fact, bearing no body shape resemblance to her mother at all, she is actually pretty skinny. So, how does someone so skinny nearly destroy one couch pillow, my entire living room floor, the bathroom floor mats, and cause me to need to clean the toilet?? I just don't get that.

I happened to snap a shot of her not long before the incident. There she is, showing off the offending tummy. She had told us it hurt before she went to sleep.



Bless her heart, she went straight back to sleep, and I hope she feels better when she wakes up. I think she has to. There can't be anything left in there to make her feel bad. = ( Feel better, Pook.

Next Bathroom, Please

The sign reads:
This restroom is currently closed to maintain the cleanliness level until our guests arrive. Please use any of the other bathrooms in the house until after our guests are gone. Anyone caught using this bathroom until the allotted time will be directed to speak with Momma.

Ok. I don't really have that sign, but I want one.

Why is it that right after you clean the bathroom guests use, someone slips by you, uses the bathroom, and instantly makes it unrepresentable?? I swear to you all that I bleached my bathroom down, late, late last night after everyone went to bed. In fact, it was around midnight when I was done. At lunch time today, I went into the bathroom to change the trash, the last thing I needed to do, and low and behold, I find a big chunk of poop in my rug. You read that right. Poop. There is poop on the wall. There is poop everywhere. I can't believe it. I seriously can't believe it. I just cleaned that thing!!

So, from here on out, let it be known that any person who lives in my house, may no longer use the guest restroom on any day that guests are expected until the time after they leave. The proclamation shall stand forever more, or until we move into a house that has no guest rest room, which ever comes first.

Poor Bleeding Heart Baby

My daughter got her emotional side from me. I know she did. She had to come to me a few minutes ago for some comforting. Daddy just wouldn't do. Apparently Air Bud, the Disney movie, was just too sad for her. She couldn't even hang out through the end to see if things worked out ok. I had to reassure her, and basically force her to watch it through to make sure she knew it came out well.

I feel for her. It is tough being an emotional person. I cry at everything. Little things, big things, meaningless things, and certainly the meaningful things.

Its ok, baby, Mom will always be here with a shirt that you can wipe your tears on, and a some arms to wrap around you. Just use a tissue for the snot, if you will, please.

Love you Pook.

I lost my authority this morning.

Well, I lost my voice. When you have 2 small children, verbal commands are essential, and losing your voice, seems to take away all of your authority as well.

My oldest is already quite advance in her "I can't hear you" non-listening skills. So, adding into that mix a weak and nearly non existent voice only furthers her amazing abilities.

My youngest is taking after her sibling quite well, and is doing an excellent job realizing that if my voice sounds different, she can really pretend that I just haven't said anything.

The word no doesn't mean much when you sound like some sort of animated character as you say it, I suppose.

Also, my youngest has actually taken it a step further today. She perceives my voice as a sign of weakness. She is correct, but her intelligence is shocking. Not only does she realize that I am weaker, and not as willing to fight, but I think she even realizes that if I am actually showing a sign of weakness, I must be even weaker because she is testing my limits.

I had thought that because she is feeling a little under the weather, too, that she would want to lay around with me, and veg all day. Not that I would want her to feel worse, and mope around, but I had thought there would be snuggling today, not struggling today.

Ahh...it is just all kinds of crappy.

At the very least, I was able to make my husband happy and give him what he really wanted for Christmas this year already: Me to love my voice. That would be one less person to shop for, making me happy.

Our Little Paddict

My husband and I did a bad thing today, but we couldn't help ourselves.

We fed an addiction.

A pa addiction to be more precise.

Pa is what my youngest, and everyone else in the house, calls her pacifier. She is an addict. She is in the throes of a real, and hard core addiction. It is scary.

Today, she lost the last pa we had. She lost it on the way home from picking up our oldest daughter from school. We walk everyday. So, somewhere out there, between our home and the school, lies a little green pa with tons of teeth marks, and probably tons more germs.

We should have let hat be that, and ended it there and now cold turkey. We aren't strong enough, though.

She is 19 months old, and it is high time that she gave that thing up. The problem is, though, that we aren't committed to working through the addiction at this point. There would be several withdrawal symptoms. Those would lead to a sever withdrawal of the amount of sleep that my husband and I get, and we just aren't completely committed to that.

We are also stuck in a very difficult position. My husband is preparing to deploy for an extended period of time. We can either force her to give up the pa now, when she really isn't ready, and deal with the long hard struggle in the short amount of time that he has left, or we can allow her to have it, and wait it out until her gets back. The second option would leave her with the pa until she was 2 and 1/2 at least. That isn't really something we believe in, but as of right now, it is the choice we are making. The lesser of the two situations, and the one we feel we can deal with better.

I know, I know. We should just do it, but we just can't. On top of all the stress it would bring right now, she is probably our last baby. It hurts my heart to force her to grow up faster than she is ready to do.

So, for now, we feed the addiction. My husband ran frantically to the store to get a new pack of pas for us. As soon as she saw them, she squealed with delight. "Blue Pa!" She said. So, now, she walks around with a fresh new and much less germy blue pa hanging from her mouth. I know it isn't great, but at least it is quiet around here.