Alter Ego

When Lily is acting up or not listening to me, I often call her Lillabeth. It’s somehow easier to sound stern and commanding when exclaiming, “Lillabeth, get your tiny monkey butt over here this instant” than when I say, “Lily, sweetie, come here before Mommy pops your head off your shoulders and starts bellowing like a howler monkey.” Both have their levels of effectiveness and both include a well placed monkey reference, but somehow, I feel more like “stern mom” when I use the name Lillabeth. Mind you, her name is not actually Lillabeth. Those of you in the know are aware that her name isn’t actually Lily either, it’s just what we call her most of the time*. This Wannabe Hippie, she is an enigma, no?

In any event, at my moms house the other day Lil was acting like a howler monkey and so I hooked my legs around her as she ran by (I was sitting, I’m not that cool) and dragged her into my lap, softly intoning, “Lil-leeee” in an attempt to settle her down. You can imagine my surprise when she clambered up to face me, put her pudgy little hands on my checks and informed me, “I’m not Lily. I’m Lillabeth!” and then flung herself off my lap and started doing summersaults.

Edited to add: Lily is what we call her, but it's not her legal name (and most people can't figure out how we got "Lily" from her legal name). But "Lily" is what I holler when I'm trying to keep her from running into traffic. Is everyone OK now? Didn't mean to cause such trouble...

Loving my girls

Kiss and Smack

Kiss: take out the trash
Smack: don’t reline the can with a new bag
Kiss: take down the holiday lights
Smack: except for one strand, left hanging down the wall… going on a week
Kiss: clean up the kitchen
Smack: leave at least one dirty dish sitting in the middle of the counter top
Kiss: put Lily to bed
Smack: forget to brush her teeth
Kiss: install a new shower head
Smack: fail to attach the ring plate… for two years
Kiss: change the baby into a night time diaper
Smack: but forget to put a cover over the cloth diaper
Kiss: Play with Lily and Anya on the deck
Smack: forget to put the gate up at the top of the stairs and allow Anya to crawl dangerously close
Kiss: tell me you love that I’m not into shopping and spending
Smack: make fun of my hand-me-down nursing nightgown
Kiss: tell me you love me
Kiss: tell me you would be lost without me
Kiss: tell me I’m an amazing mom
Kiss: catch your breath and kiss kiss kiss me...

8 months old

Dear Anya,
You spent about one week being happy that you could crawl, joyously roaming around the house and throwing yourself down stairs. You lulled me into a false sense of detachment, allowing me all this time to sit without someone in my lap and make dinner with both arms! Then you noticed that your sister, who had been crawling along with you to show you how to do it, was a freaking biped! And what the heck are you doing on all fours when you could be walking! Back to the unhappiness. Now you drag yourself around the house, crying because your pants are getting dirty (I’m just guessing here) pulling up and standing whenever you can find a stationary object. A couple of times you’ve tried using the dog as a stationary object, which has afforded you a nice collection of bonks. Silly baby. I’m guessing you’re trying to beat your sisters record of walking at 10 months. I swear, I’m gonna have to knock you down if you give up crawling too soon. Cross crawling is vital to brain development and what good is it to be able to walk if you’re too stupid to not walk into oncoming traffic? Wiser words have not been spoken my friend, so shut up and crawl, dammit.

We’ve all had colds in the last week and you’re expecting some new teeth. The snot is impressive but the drool is amazing. The speed at which you can soak a shirt is stunning; I’ve decided you are gifted and have been combing the internet looking for competitions and professional training. We’ll get some money outta this somehow, kido; you can count on me.

The strangest thing this month has given me may be indicative of my impending insanity. I like to call it the phantom baby syndrome. Take today for instance: you finally fell asleep after struggling against me for well over an hour. I waited until you were solidly out and then popped you into the crib just before I had to run into Lily’s room. She was waking up from her nap and was none to happy about it. When we got back to where you were sleeping you’d woken and, just like your sister, this pissed you off. So I gathered you in my arms and sat down to cuddle you back to sleep. Easily distracted by your sis, I managed to forget you were in my arms and looked over to the crib, shocked that you weren’t there. It wasn’t until I tried to stand up to look for you that I realized you were in my arms, fast asleep. I keep expecting you to be one place and finding you right here, in my arms with the shadow of sleep across your face and your gentle breath touching my skin.

Your sister is so wildly independent I often feel like I have already lost her. This phantom baby must be a way to emotionally prepare myself for your separation from me. But I can’t believe you still prefer my arms. I am so enamored of your face, little girl. I want you to be independent like your sister, but I also want you to need me, just a little. And I know I’ll get that. Heck, even Lily has been coming up to me lately, tugging on my sleeve and solemnly claiming, “I want mommy.” She’s allowing me to gather her up in my arms (which are so much stronger now that I have carried a child or two on my hip for two and a half years) and will lean her curly damp head against my shoulder and love on me.

And how can that not make me feel like the luckiest person on the planet? You girls have changed me and for that, I thank you. Hell, you’ve saved me from being a shallow, boring, selfish person. I just couldn’t imagine life without your smile. Thanks for being here.

Love you bunches,
Mama

Speaking of...

I got caught up in a fire theme and made a series of postcards with pastels for the upcoming swap. I learned a valuable lesson about fixative: too much puts a funky coat on your work. Weeee! Good times, this whole learning as you go stuff.

Speaking of fire, does anyone know if it would be a bad idea to use a vacuum to clean out your fire place? Part of me wants it to work as it would be so easy but another part of me is fairly certain it would end up being a disaster. Anyone have a clue? And don’t you all hold out on me just to see what would happen and if I’m idiot enough to do it. Because we all know I’m idiot enough to do it.

Speaking of idiot enough, did I tell you that I’m trying to learn to knit? I have a very ugly bit of kitting I did MYSELF! It has holes and is all funky looking and I started out with like 20 stitches and at one point had over 40, so I thought I’d try to reduce them by stitching through two loops at a time and it actually doesn’t look too bad. I’m getting the hang of it and since I don’t know how to stop, I think I’ll just keep going until I feel like a pro.

Speaking of pros, my brother-in-law is going to be running for State Assembly and he's totally not a con (I love a stupid pun). KICK ASS, I say. I’ll likely end up working for his campaign. He’s the kind of person you want in politics. OK, he’s the kind of guy I want in politics, anyway.

Speaking of politics, I’m getting kinda annoyed at the world and their idiotic stance at ecological conservation. This is largely the fault of Barbara Kingsolver and her book Small Wonder. She lays out such simple truths about how stupid we are as a nation that I’m not only embarrassed to be an American even more now, but I want to start yelling at people in power to DO SOMETHING! NOW!

Speaking of yelling at people in power, we’re going to dinner with my sister and her husband who is… dude, if you don’t know, you’re not paying attention. He may not have power yet, but if he gets elected, I’m gonna be all up in his grill on crunchy granola issues. But I love him, so I’ll be nice about it.

Speaking of… never mind, it’s time for dinner! BYE INTERNET! BE GOOD!

who'd a thunk it?

Just now, found out I was interesting... eight months ago, anyway. Scroll down about half way to see what I'm talking about.

And when did interestingness become a word?

Stuck

After our weekly Chiropractic appointment this morning, Lily really wanted to ride the old elevator (or elegator, if you ask her) down the three flights to the parking lot. It’s an old thing, rarely works and I was surprised by her request since only last week she was afraid of the darn thing. Something told me to take the stairs, but the sparkle in her eyes was just too much for me and so I let her press the button and we climbed inside.

Floor 3
Floor 2
Floor 1

Doors should open now.


Anytime would be great.


“Mommy, I want the doors to open now.”
“Me too, honey, but I think we’re going to have to wait.” I said in a falsely positive and cheery voice. I took a look at the yellow Emergency Alarm button and thought better of it. A loud blaring alarm would not assure Lily that everything would be fine and the baby hates noise above all things. With cheerful voice still at the ready, I grabbed my cell and called my chiropractors office. “Hi Catherine, its Elaine. So yeah, we’re stuck in the elevator. Could someone come free us?” She started spewing apologies and made a break for the building guy.

We danced and sang and told stories cheerfully to distract as the elevator went to the fourth floor, and then the second, back to the third, power went out completely, back to the first and stopped again. I took stock: cup of snacks for Lily, extra diapers in bag, boobs full of milk for the baby, heart rate fast but not in a full panic, now if only I didn’t have to go to the bathroom! Weeeee! We sat on the floor and Lily pointed out how you could see our reflection in the door and in the ceiling, “I see you!”

I thought to myself that at least now I’d have something interesting to blog. It was during this thought that the doors finally opened and Dr. Joe stepped into the door way to make sure we got out before they closed again. Apparently he had been trying to open the thing using brute force, but had only got the outer doors to budge a bit. Then he resorted to doing sprints up and door the stairs, chasing our wayward elevator in its random travels, trying to get it to open every time it paused.

Our total time stuck was only about ten minutes. And I managed not to act like an idiot or freak my children out. Will we be riding that thing again? Ah, no. Thank you very much.

Morning

This morning I took the girls and my cup of Throat Coat Tea out onto the deck to let the girls play in the sun. We’re all sick and I have this odd belief that sunshine makes you better. Anya is so eager to walk, insisting always on standing, crawling only when there is no person or thing to help her balance. It was a beautiful morning, so warm and with a light breeze ruffling my mop top hair, crazy from the lack of a shower this morning. Lily blew bubbles and both girls got filthy on the unwashed deck. I am so tired these days. Mark has been sleeping with Lily after her latest midnight vomit-fest and Anya can’t sleep without thrashing herself all around the bed, practically turning summersaults in her dream state efforts to escape the pain in her mouth. I can’t wait for these freaking teeth to make their appearance. Maybe then I can rest.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Wannabe Hippie!

1. Wannabe Hippie can only be destroyed by intense heat, and is impermeable even to acid!
2. It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Wannabe Hippie.
3. The first toy product ever advertised on television was Mr Wannabe Hippie Head.
4. White chocolate isn't technically chocolate, because it doesn't contain Wannabe Hippie.
5. The average duration of sexual intercourse for Wannabe Hippie is two minutes.
6. The risk of being struck by Wannabe Hippie is one occurence every 9,300 years.
7. The porpoise is second to Wannabe Hippie as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
8. The fingerprints of Wannabe Hippie are virtually indistinguishable from those of humans, so much so that they could be confused at a crime scene.
9. Wannabe Hippie has three eyelids.
10. Medieval knights put the skin of Wannabe Hippie on their sword handles to improve the grip!


Thanks to Rude Cactus for the inspiration. And #5 is so not true; I can get it done in 30 to 90 seconds, tops. But #9... I don't know how they knew that. Seriously spooky.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Selling it

We have some kick as new merchandise over at the Mama Says Om Store. Click the link to see more of the goods, modeled here by me and the girls.

Poetry Monday #4

Haiku

Cramp! Cramp in my leg
Oh why did I hike to the
mailbox on Sunday?

perfect

My husband is finally home. He doesn’t have another gig out of town until late next month and for that, we go with him. Afterwards, who knows? Maybe no more gigs away from his family. Maybe more than I care to acknowledge. Right now we are flush with touch, smile, support, and comfort, my twin spirit wrapping his strong arms around my big girl or cradling the tiny one off to sleep.

This morning a trip to the beach gave us the opportunity to hunt for treasures from the sea, build sand castles, and watch Maya romp in the channel or chase dogs in the waves. Anya crawling across the sand to chase an errant mother who had run off to take pictures and giggle with Lily at the waters edge. Sand everywhere, down the babies onsie, framing her eyelashes, shoved into her mouth with her own gritty hand. Lily dancing around excitedly in her parrot costume, shrieking with delight at all the dogs tumbling over each other and digging her toes into soft, moist sand, warm at the top layer but cool underneath.

Now I sit and type while Mark and Lily nap. Anya is chatting to and waving a sock around, happy after her own short nap. We both breathe in the smell of wet dog at my feet, salty and dank, sweet and pungent. We have no plans for the rest of the weekend but to be together; the sweetest schedule I could ever hope to keep.

Elements

Midnight journey

For the longest time, Lily wanted nothing to do with us at night time. She had her own room, her own routine and we could just get out of the way, thank you very much. When she wasn't feeling well or had too much going on in her head, sometimes Mark would sleep with her but in her room, not in ours. Recently, however, she has discovered the joy of sleeping in our bed. Most mornings I wake to the sound of my door opening and Lily climbing into the bed, usually just before dawn. Since Mark's been out of town, she's been making the trek to our bedroom when the moon is still high in the sky. Last night it was 10:30, the night before that one am.

Climbing into bed with mom and dad is not an unusual thing for a kid to do, but the path she has to take to get here is somewhat unusual. You see, in order for Lily to get to our room she has to go outside to our deck, cross over to the stairs, climb down (including the extra tall one at the bottom), cross the lower courtyard and enter our room; all under the light of the moon and the canopy of stars above. People are astounded by this when I casually mention her travels. Quite frankly, I am as well. But here's what I've managed to remember: with kids, whatever is, is. It's not unusual because this how it has always been for her. I worry about her falling on the stairs or a wild animal magically learning to leap ten feet into the air to wait for her on the deck or an earthquake knocking down the stairs and making it hard for us to reach her or... we'll, I'm a mother, the list is endless. But none of these issues have ever occurred to her. Why would they? This is the path she must take if she wants to slip into bed with her parents and sister. Screaming for Daddy also works, but it takes so much energy and makes so much noise. She'd rather do it, "MYSELF!"

Even though it scares me, I love this about children. I love that they can just live in the moment and go with the flow. I love that they seem to know so much more than us fear-addled adults. Sure, sometimes they're wrong and get themselves in trouble, but do you honestly think we don't often lead them astray? I just keep trying to remember that children learn by doing, not by listening to how someone says it should be done. Sometimes that includes failure. Most of the time it includes a journey under the stars with the moon lighting our path and the cool night air wrapping around us, urging us to hurry to the safety of mom and dads big warm bed.

Self Portrait Tuesday - Personal History #3

My Great-Great-Grandpa Wilbur 1909
I cannot help but laugh every time I see this face; he looks like the ultimate old fart. But he is kin and that means that the blood in that man’s veins also runs through mine.

I don’t ever want to make a face like that. Unless it’s for laughs; then it might be alright.

In any event, every time I find myself getting too serious, all I have to do is look at that face and I remember that whatever it is, it just doesn’t matter. So the girls are shoving sand down their pants while painting themselves with mud and running around in circles. Who cares? That’s what bath tubs are for anyway.

And if anyone says we look alike, I’m gonna have to hurt ya. Just a little.




You can find other self portrait bloggers here.

I’ll never get it right

“Not pasta, Mama. It’s s’getti [spaghetti].”
“Not crunchy eggert [yogurt], Mommy. It’s crunchy cereal with eggert!”
“Not sleepy time, it’s bedtime.”

I don't know what I'd do without her.

Poetry Monday #3

Moonlight

we sit quietly on the deck
under the full moon
with radiance kissing our skin
your breath rising and falling
under my chin
as you snooze
to the beat of
precious moonlight
pregnant in the night sky
stars spinning manically
around our hurried lives
dreaming of tribal drums
and thousands of full moons to come



Painting by one of my talented partners in Mama Says Om, Christina. Visit her on Om or on My Topography to see more of her amazing work.

RIGHT. NOW.

You learn so much about yourself by how your kids speak. Apparently, I am prone to telling Lily, firmly, loudly and often with a clipped tone, to do something RIGHT. NOW.

“Mommy, I want to go to the park. RIGHT. NOW.”
“I’m hungry RIGHT. NOW.”
“I am going pee RIGHT. NOW.”

This last one is often directed at me from the floor while she plays with her books and is clearly not peeing right now. She uses it to try to get out of a chore, like feeding the dog. My mom will be so thrilled when I tell her this because when I was a teen, I had an amazing knack for having to pee anytime something needed to be done. She swears I did it on purpose. I think my body just knew how to creatively time an urgent need to pee, because every single time I said I had to go pee, I actually DID have to go pee. I SWEAR! Mom will see this as an early reward. Who knew this kid of mine would pick up that little trick at such a young age? Clearly she’s gifted.

Oh well. At least I’m about to drop her and the tiny one off at my moms for the evening while Mark and I celebrate the 20 hours he’s home by taking in a movie and throwing popcorn at each other in the parking lot. RIGHT. NOW.

Domestic Dreamscapes #2

Last night I dreamed my kids had wings. That one flew off to Grandma’s house for the weekend. And that one to the top of a tree where she slept quietly for hours & hours & hours & hours.

Click the photo for a larger version.

I would sing ah you, but it's clear I don't know the words

E-I-E-I-O, with a MOO MOO there and a MOO MOO there and a MOO MOO there! Do Hokey Pokey and LEG-LEG in and a LEG-LEG in and TURN AROUND! Up above the sky so bright, twinkle twinkle A-B-C, now I know my E-E-E’s, next time won’t you sing ah me!

YAY MOMMY, YAY!!!

Eureka! (oh wait, this isn't about California)

We found Georgia!



Now the country is complete.

Self Portrait Tuesday - Personal History #2

This is a shot of me at 5 weeks.




And this is Anya at about the same age (being annoyed by her sister).


All I have to say is, “My Goddess, look at the difference in hair.” I blame my husband.

You can find other self portrait bloggers here.

We almost had such a nice day

Mark took off for a gig today and Lily spent a fair portion of the day taking about how Daddy was in an airplane and we’d see him again later. I think she’s under the impression that he’ll be spending the better part of the week in the air doing the elusive “work” we’re always talking about. If anyone or anything is out of her sight, they’re “working.”

Anyway, we went to story time at the library but ended up spending the whole session in the parking lot while the girls slept. Don’t bother me none; ever since I started to listen to audio books I LONG for the opportunity to get stuck in the car. Traffic jam? Right on. Both girls sleeping? ROCK ON! It’s all good, yo. When they both woke we went to Ikea for lunch where I did not scarf down everything on my plate and got a job offer for my impromptu story time. I had all the kids in the café circled around me while I read animatedly from the scattered books they had in the play corner and even had a chorus of ROARS coming out of them at the appropriate time.

I’m the cool mom, yo.

ANYWAY, from there we went home where a nap was fought over and finally achieved. AND THEN we made “stained glass” candle holders.

You’re all exhausted just listening to my day, aren’t you?

So yeah, it was all going good until bedtime rolled around. Lily freaked, big time. First she didn’t want to sleep in her bed, she wanted to sleep in mine. Fine. Oh, not fine? I have to be in there with you? But it’s 8pm and I have “things” to do (read: TV to watch and internet to surf). OK, back in your own bed. Still freaking out? Here’s the dog, she’ll sleep with you. The dog moral offends your sensibilities? Fine, out the dog goes. The world is ending? This is where I lost the parenting award. I told her to “Stop it! Go to bed!” and I walked away, shut the door and ignored her. At least she finally went to sleep. Now if only Anya would stop fussing…

Candy

We went to a birthday party this weekend and Lily got her first taste of candy. She was so enthralled by the experience that she allowed me to take pictures of the whole thing.



She was so impressed with the cake that when I asked her the next day what I should make for dinner she thought for a moment and said, “ummmm… CAKE!” We did not have cake for dinner, despite my theme for 2006: Eat More Cake. What kind of parent am I, anyway?

Poetry Monday #2

Inappropriate thoughts

It is moments like these
while holding my sleep rumpled
daughter in my arms
gazing down into her
perfectly still face
and studying the veins running
across her closed eyelids
enraptured by the fall
of her eyelashes
across her cheeks
like feathered pine leaves
brushing the cool dewy forest floor
holding her lightly as her back
arches and her face turns away
in a silent stretch
to revel the spot
where her head rested against my arm
now softly dark and damp
and sweet with sweat
that I think to myself
damn
I really need
to clean out her ears

Georgia may be on my mind…

But we’ve lost it in this puzzle. I don’t think it simply “went to work” like Lily thinks it has. There’s always the possibility that the dog ate it. Or Anya may have shoved it down the heating ducts. One down, 49 to go: so many possibilities.

Let me know if you find it, kay?

And do you have any idea how hard it was to resist a GWB joke here? Serioulsy...

A drive-in virgin no more

NO, it’s not what you think.

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie and tonight all that was changed. A friend at playgroup mentioned that she and her family would be attending the 6:30 showing of The Chronicles of Narnia tonight and did anyone want to join them. Lily’s only been to one movie in her life and that didn’t go so well. Anya doesn’t like loud noises, so I’ve never even tried to bring her. BUT with Lily being able to talk all she wants in the car and with us having control of the volume, we figured what the heck.

It was freaking AWESOME. Both girls were asleep when got there and Mark and I climbed into the way back of the van with a chicken dinner to share and munched for the first 15 minutes with only each other to giggle at. Then Lil woke up and we all bundled up in the back of our van, piled under blankets. About 30 minutes after that, Anya awoke and I nursed her there with the moon peaking in the window to my right and my toddler and husband to my left. Lily was enthralled. This did not keep her from talking incessantly, but her chatter was purposeful, asking questions or pointing out that the lion was on the screen again and my GOD he still had a tail. We covered her eyes and tickled her during the scary parts and made eyes at each other over her curly head as she gasped in wonder and clapped in glee… and that was just when she discovered we had brought food. Seriously though, it was a magical experience and I totally fell in love with the whole thing. AND we saw an actual movie BEFORE it came out on DVD. How’s that for brilliant!

I told Mark we were doing this every week. It was almost better than… well, you know.

Domestic Dreamscapes #1

SO! I’m doing this whole postcard swap thing and I was totally clueless as to artistic inspiration. I’m a theme person and if I don’t have a direction I can’t do ANYTHING! I thought and thought and thought and thought and thought and thought and then I ate some CAKE!

AND THEN it hit me, yo. What kind of funky dreams does one have when they are a stay at home mom? Sad ones. Odd ones. Dreams that climb on rocks. Anyway!

Here’s the first in my little series:

“Last night I dreamed my dog was a super hero.”



And yes, that would be my Maya dog. Don’t you just want to eat her up? Or would you rather have cake? ‘Cause cake is inspirational, dammit! AND FULL OF SUGAR!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

52 Figments

I’ve been having a lot of frustration lately. I’m starting to think this is because I don’t have much of a creative outlet like I did when I was working full time in theatre. So, for 2006 I am going to attempt to share in some of the amazing online options for creativity that are out there. I’ve never considered myself an artist but I figure the best way to be one is to act like one. Not that I aspire to one day call myself an “Artist”. I just want to live a life with more art in it. Some of the things I am going to do for myself:

Postcard swap through My Topography
Poetry Monday
Self Portrait Tuesday
Illustration Friday
and
52 Figments

You may have already noticed my recent self portrait additions or my Haiku this last Monday and I’m hoping to give you a taste of one of my postcards for this Friday’s Illustration. Below is my first of the 52 Figments, which asked the question, “What is your theme for 2006?” Do I know what this response means? Goddess no! This is just what showed up on the paper. So much for New Year’s resolutions to loose weight.

Niiice!

Lily’s been having some sleep issues these days. She’s night waking and then making the trek down to our room for comfort. Mark’s been getting really good at hearing her wake and will simply go up to her, cuddling her into her narrow bed and sleeping with her there so she doesn’t wake me or the baby. She’ll ask as I tuck her in to “sleep a me!”
“I can’t, baby. I really wish I could but I need to nurse Anya at night.”
“Daddy sleep a me?”
“I can ask him. Maybe he’ll come in after you’re asleep.”
“Yeah, ask him, Mommy.”
Then we talk about her day and give kisses and hugs. As I head out of her room she stops me, “Mommy!”
“Yeah, boo?”
“ASK HIM!”
“OK!” I giggle and head out of there.

This morning I awoke to find Mark gone. He’s getting really good at this. I heard them stirring and listened to the sounds of ½ my family waking upstairs through the monitor. Dragging my own ass outta bed I left Anya sleeping and stumbled into the bathroom. When I got upstairs Mark asked me if I heard what Lily had said this morning. I hadn’t. For Christmas, I had purchased Mark a couple new pairs of underwear. Yes, our marriage is that hot. Anyway, he was wearing the new blue pair and as Lily got herself up and declared all should wake she threw back the covers of her bed to get Mark going.
“Oh! Niiiice runners!”

And there it is, folks. My kid has complemented her father on his underwear. We can all die happy now.

Holy Crap

Anya can now climb stairs.

Self Portrait Tuesday - Personal History

This is Mark’s favorite photo of me as a child. He does not love it for my chubby cheeks or my adorable little outfit or even the smile gracing my lips. He loves it for the barrette so bravely loosing the battle with my hair. Do you see it? Pink and plastic and oh so ridiculous. My hair was a force to be reckoned with as I grew and refused to be tamed.

This is my favorite photo of me as a child. I do not love it for the glint in my eye or the tilt of my head or even the way my collar ruffles complement the blue ruffles below. I love it for the memory of running down the street barefoot and eating ice cream made in an old fashioned wooden hand cranked tub with ice cubes and rock salt. I love it because it makes me excited about when my children will be that age and smile just like that and loose battles with hair clips.

You can find other self portrait bloggers here.

I LOVE that kid

Me: Lily, don't go outside right now; it's raining pretty hard and you'll get your jammies all wet.

Exit: one naked toddler, running circles in the rain.

Poetry Monday #1

Haiku

Pockets full of goo
Snotty children whine & fuss
I signed up for this?

photos Photos PHOTOS, my god woman, STOP!

Finally had a chance to upload some photos from Holiday Events!

Check out our Solstice Party (14 photos):




Then take a gander at our Christmas Eve family bonanza (12 photos):




Don't forget Christmas Day and the craziness that goes along with it (20 photos):




Now go outside or something, you computer geek. Geez!

And what did you drink* this New Years?

New Years Eve saw us at Oreet and Johns this year, enjoying homemade pizza and a mean chocolate fondue with a handful of friends. Other than the hosts and our little party of four, my sis and her family (Rebekah, Chris and Nichole) were there, newlywed friends from out of town (Ken and Mary) and the sushi and tequila authority (Bill) were in attendance. Hey, that’s more than two handfuls! Kick ass.

John is our resident brew master and had made a honey mead that was quite good; very sweet, very smooth and very strong. Bill picked up a very expensive bottle of tequila that I refused to even look at straight on. And I? I made hot buttered rum. DAMN that stuff is good. I didn’t even have a full mug but still felt happy and mellow; life was spiffy. I made one for my sis, who is also nursing and we wondered aloud how quickly this stuff would make it into our breastmilk. That’s when Dr. Jack, MD called.

Dr. Jack, MD is our buddy who has a family practice out in the sticks. He’s a research whore and is pretty laid back about meds and treatments and is about as natural as one can get with that much schooling under his belt. We don’t always call him Dr. Jack, MD, but when we do we like to use our announcer voice, imagining he has his own show like House . Dr. Jack, MD rocks and was calling to join the party. Naturally, someone asked him how long it takes for alcohol to make it into breastmilk and without skipping a beat he announced, “32 minutes!” Really? “I have no idea! But since I’m the well respected Dr. Jack, MD you will unquestionable accept it as the gospel truth and think me brilliant for all I say!”

Ok, so he didn’t really say that. At least, if he did, I didn’t hear it as I wasn’t on the phone at the time. But he said something to that effect ‘cause he’s a silly silly man. Then he decided to fine tune it a bit, “What kind of alcohol are we talking about here?” Rum. 40% alcohol by volume. “AH! I revise my statement: 28 minutes!” he announced in his super sexy, yet sardonic and powerful Dr. Jack, MD TV voice. We all appropriately bowed down and whispered his name in awe. He’s that good.

Then we ate more chocolate and my husband crawled under the stairs to pass out nap.

Where were the children, you ask? There was lots of running and jumping and laughing and dancing and fan gazing and playing with potentially breakable objects. Lily had dropped off to sleep quickly and quietly around 8:30 in our friend’s big comfy bed while Anya had remained WIDE awake and watchful. I guess she was worried she’d have to be the designated driver and didn’t want to fall asleep on the job. Nichole (about four months old) had been bound and stuck in front of a TV showing nothing but static, an excellent poor mans white noise machine.

When midnight rolled around Mark and I ushered in the New Year with a kiss and then rained kisses down on our little babe. She giggled and kissed back in her awkward baby way. We were in our own beds by 1am.

It actually was one of our nicer new years I’ve had. We didn’t drink enough for hang-overs and (so far as we know) nobody got killed. It was a damn fine year and I’m looking forward to the new one.

How did you celebrate?





*DISCLAIMER: I’m not much of a drinker, what with being pregnant or nursing for the last three years. Even before babies I rarely drank and almost never to excess. As the mother of two, I am learning the value of a good drink every once in a while. I’m wound so damn tight sometimes that I figure the impact of a drink on Anya, after getting processed through my body and into my breastmilk is probably less harmful than an insane, stressed out mama. I still don’t have a drink often and never to drunk but when I do imbibe a little, let’s just say it’s usually a very good idea.