Who came up with this Job anyways?

Really Long Vacation

2011-11-07T07:57:00.000-08:00

A year ago, I fell down a slippery slope, both mentally and physically. In a physical sense, I slid down a muddy hill while holding my youngest (then one). I cracked the head of my humerus. From that physical impairment, I launched into the winter of sickness and house woes.

When summer arrived, I was still mentally buried under Amoxacillin dosage charts, Prednisone and allergy testing. This October, we scrambled all the opinions together, and produced an omelet of results. Instead of having questions about what was going on, we have a direction to move in. So, during a really long vacation, I would like to share with you what I have learned.

A: Anya. The child I nursed the longest is allergic to Oats and Fish, has seasonal allergies, asthma, and a tendancy to smurf out (turn blue) while screaming after licking the glass on the lobster tank at Meijers.

B: Bee. The child I nursed the shortest has Celiacs Disease. She is not allergic to anything, though. A gluten free diet finally made her capable of potty training, and instead of discussing variants in the childs diarrhea I talk about how she has so much more energy and a happier demeanor.

C: Cora. Is capable of being more adult like than any 5 1/2 year old should be. She is a rock worth standing with and supporting and yes, I am working on signing her up for Ballet lessons as per her request.

D: I can change diapers with only my left hand.

E: Eating. We now have a fish free, gluten free, oat free low lactose kitchen. In case you are wondering what that means food wise, almost everything is cooked at home. Insta-food, and half of the sauces and flavorings are no longer options. I do buy 25 lbs bags of rice though.

F: Fun! But between it all, my children are still teaching me new lessons. For instance, in the middle of writing this blog, they taught me how to clean raw egg out of carpet. Evidently not all eggs make it down the little people carnival slide in tact.

How children wake up.

2010-09-20T05:10:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke to the dulcet tones of my youngest. She woke up to her fathers alarm, which I did not hear. I could tell that because the sleep clogged form of my husband loomed in the door way. "I will get her" I said.

"Oh" He said, pausing. "that's good." As he went into the bathroom, the releif evident in his shoulders. We've been fighting a family cold. My dose is the slimmest, but I'm also dealing with all the sick-o's and sleep deprivation. Hence, my being up to get the morning call made his morning easier; that and tylenol.

lkkl
"Thank you dear" I said as I carried her gift into the living room. It was my husbands camera, almost identical to Nahnis, save the lack of a swanky strap. Rolling my eyes I set it up out of easy reach. The siren in the other room was at "Get me now" levels. When I picked her up, Nyobi at my heels, she immediately started giggling. The younger two jumped up and down and tried to help me make milks and coffee. They helped me fold up the futon. They insisted upon snuggling with me, and then tickled each other on my lap. This is how they wake up. Fast easy and ready to go! They have no tolerance for my clueless stumbling.

A half hour later, my eldest floats out of the bedroom on a cloud of sleep fog. She shifts back and forth finally resting on the futon. She climbs up next to me and sits side ways.

"Morning" I say.
"Mmmmm" She says. Then she realizes she is sitting on her blanket. She pulls on the edge of it. It will not move. She shifts her weight, and pulls harder. Before either of us can react, she flips herself off the edge of the futon, as the blanket pops free. In a stunned heap on the floor she begins to pout. I have to lift her back up on the futon.

This is how I wake up. My husband has learned (he tells me through survival instinct) how to cope. Offer the morning beverage of choice and back off until they start talking.

Where IS my coffee?

Dinner and a Doughnut

2010-09-15T17:19:00.000-07:00

Today at Meijers, my eldest managed to figure out how to employ the pouty face with the correct social interactions. First she asked why I didn't let her take Magic blanket into the store if the OTHER girl they met who was older than her could have her stuffed kitty. Then she stared longingly into the doughnut case as I tried to whisk them past it. Then she said with a slight pouty face, "I've never had a red doughnut before."

That was all. She just stood and stared. A few minutes later there were four doughnuts (one red, one containing a Bee acceptable worm, one Anya sparkly and one chocolate chocolate) in a box in the cart. My willpower and reason were abandoned in the face of self restraint and non-bugginess.

We brought them home, along with the milk that we were supposed to buy. I unloaded them from the car, and designated the donut box to Cora. Our new place requires a few yard hike from the car port to our door. The doughnuts arrived with very little frosting smeared off considering they were flipped twice and tossed willy nilly onto the kitchen table. I quickly seated small ones and plated doughnuts. Cora received her whole pie, as well as Bee, whose appetite at lunch lacked her usual vigor. Anya, who consumed copious amounts of hummus for so small a child, I gave a quarter of a chocolate sprinkled special. I had no intention of allowing her the entire doughnut. There was no way she could fit the whole thing in her stomach, and if she tried to, she would probably return some of it early.

Then I made my first mistake. I put the milk away without consuming my own doughnut. As I walked back into the room, my elder children fled back to their seats, and my own doughnut and Anya's remaining three quarters had several large chunks missing. Admonishing them to stay seated I took a few bites, and slipped off to the bath room.

That was my second mistake. They DID listen, and only ate their own doughnut. In fact, my own sweet stood temptingly upon my plate when I returned. However, Anya's plate was empty. "What happened to Anya's doughnut?" I asked.

"She couldn't reach it, so I gave it to her." Cora explained. At this comment, the sugar high, chocolate smeared one year old smiled. I re-assessed my opinion of her stomach cavity, and reminded myself not to put any pressure on her abdomen while holding her over carpet.

"Done!" Anya said, waving a frosting and sprinkle covered palm, then pausing, she stared at the center of her hand. She licked it, giggled and reached for her hair.

Nobody ate much at dinner tonight.

As for that special red frosting, for the girl whom adores red, it tastes "scrumptious, like cherry tomatoes."

Glad I had the chocolate on chocolate, cherry tomato flavored frosting sounds just a bit odd to me.

Games Infants Play

2010-09-09T04:41:00.000-07:00

Anyas new favorite games include peek-a-boo, ambulence siren and mountain goat. All children must play these games, and I am certain my elder two did their fair share of peek-a-boo. However, the penetrating noises at volumes expected of megaphone enhanced speakers are singular to my third. She will make you deaf. I have noticed an impairment to my elder twos hearing already. No wait, that is normal child behavior.

It is the game of Mountain Goat which is aging me the quickest. She insists upon climbing everything. While moving into our new place, she managed to reach the apex of a computer monitor, attempt to position herself on the bar (from the floor via the futon) and stand on the childrens rocker. I would not mind her interest in the child size rocking chair, if she would just put her butt down on it. yesterday I watched her attempt to stand on the arms, to reach something on the book shelf.

At eleven months, she already managed to sit on top of the kitchen table, proud as punch. When I walked into the room she did what every brave shnookie attempting to grey their mothers head would do. She stood up and took a couple tremulous steps across the flat surface.

Upon finding herself hugged sharply and deposited on the safe fluffy carpeted floor she smiled at me. Then she crawled back to the bottom of the high chair to try it again.

The games infants play are why parents drink.

A Week with a Dog

2010-08-02T05:45:00.000-07:00

After spending a week with a dog in the house, my youngest learned many new skills. At the end of a meal, she now joins her sisters in a chorus of "Done". She also politely tosses her surplus off the edge of her tray. Poor Sammy is probably going to have a tummy ache after all the childrens bits they fed him "accidentally" and his job cleaning up thier usual surplus left in the high chairs.

The real problem comes in differentiation though. If Nanis pet loves leftovers then our pet must as well. Our cat Bombay views small chunks of chicken hurled at her not as a blessing, but as lava fire balls from hell.

Shopping with children

2010-07-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

At the bulk discount grocery store I frequent, the sales man who checked us out gave me a great deal. He sold me a free toddler with the box of diaper wipes and a free infant with the box of diapers. I asked him how much I owed for my four year old, and he shrugged, "She comes as a bonus with the vodka." Before I could close my mouth I had said it. "Thats how we got her in the first place!"

Then there is the farm market. Nyobi beat Cora for the most produce procured because of nibbling. she added two salad cucumbers, one zuccini, one banana pepper and a hand full of blue berries to my fruits and vegis. I have to admit though, that it feels awesome to walk through the market with two cucumber munching children. It felt even better today when we passed the Mom of the child crying for cookies, and my kids didn't even look at the confections.

Here is another parenting blunder that we encountered today. There were two separate parents using their cell phones to entertain their children, one with precisely the same phone that I have. Perhaps I should have shown them the pointed impact that Nyobi made on my phone. Then again, I doubt they would have believed it. To finish off our marathon shopping trip, Anya decided she wanted to drive the car home after I was done nursing. Being a Mom, I'm certain she said "drive!" when she grabbed the wheel. Is it too soon to move to Mackinaw Island? They do not have cars there.

Learning to Speak

2010-07-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

Helping three small children learn to speak creates some interesting moments. Dinner last night was punctuated by Cora repeating one by one all the bad words she has learned in English, waiting for the reaction and then repeating the suggested substitutes. This is advanced language.

Nyobi is learning enunciation. Removing her nuky from her mouth creates three or four words distinguishable sentences. "Ice Cube Please Mom" is one of my favorite. "I like coffee, MMMM" is another.

My favorite is Anya though. She can say Mama. "Caaa" for Cora. "Kiii" for Kitty. "NNNNN" for nyobi, and "IEAAAIE" for Dad. Right now she is saying "WAAAH punctured by "YAAAAA" because I'm not holding her. Laptop time has ended.

Exiting an Age

2010-07-05T14:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I started the process of clothing shifting. Most people change over their clothes in the spring and fall to match the season they are about to enter. I am changing them in accord with life seasons rather than the four seasons of the year. I took down the changing table, put away the baby burp cloths, and removed all the 0-3 months and 3-6 months clothes from the room. I threw in recieving blankets, infant bath supplies and the bumper set that now only serves as a foot boost towards escape.

As my "going" pile grew, I realized that this was the exit of an age. Next time I went through the room I would be removing the rest of the infant-esque clothes and putting toddler wear in the drawers. As I found the small anklets that my three daughters wore home from the hospital, I felt a pang of remorse. It is a very sacred gift to be able to create life. To carry a child under your heart, and prepare a safe haven for it to emerge and begin life. It is a gentle gift to care and nurture a newborn.

Then Anya smiled up at me from a pile of stained clothes whose destination was the trash heap. There were two teeth and a wad of indistinguishable paper in the smile. As I reached over a pile of diapers to remove the mashed up pulp, my remorse vanished. As if to hammer the point home, my elder two children started to bicker from the living room.

I might be exiting an age, but we are entering a life of constant adventure. Now I must nurture these small beings with my mind and heart not just my body. There would be new mysteries rather than the mystery of babies.

For instance, what WAS this wad of paper before it was gummed up?

Uncle Beers Playground

2010-06-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

At Uncle Beers house, his community has a play ground area. You have to jump across a small creek to get to it. Whomever built this does not have children. it took a lot of planning to cross the creek without anyone getting wet.

At the playground, we met several other parents, all of whom were pleasant and chatty. it was a nice change from our usual sulky parents we end up meeting. They shook hands and compared childrens ages. After they learned I was the visitor they were still pleasant. Their uncle was distracted by the hot Mom of the group. He was also very concerned over Nyobi.

"She's deaf" he concluded after listening to me scream at her and she failing to respond in the slightest.

Nothing I said could convince her otherwise, and floating in her own little world, she was happy to maintain toddler "deafness". I tried the other approach. "She choses not to hear me." I told him, "call her yourself"

Of course, Nyobi didn't respond to that either.

But on the walk home, a plane flew over. "Plane!" Bee mouthed, pointing up to the dot in the sky.

"What?" Steffen said, then looked where she was pointing. "I guess you aren't deaf after all."

No, she's not deaf. She is two, and at a cool play ground. Not quite as cool as the house with the fridge that gives you ice cubes by pressing a button, but its up there. Note to self, do not invest in ice cube dropping fridge.

When all is quiet

2010-06-28T13:10:00.000-07:00

When all is quiet during the day, I get suspicious. Today there was a good cause. Anya was napping in her crib. Bee was asleep in my chair. However, Cora whom usually siezes upon these naptimes to induce direct Mom attention was far too quiet. I went to the kitchen to check on her craft project she needed her scissors for earlier. She was not there, but her scissors were.

I found her in her room, playing quietly. Cora is not a playing quietly child. My suspicions were confirmed when she said "I'm sorry about the hair."

"What hair?" I asked.

She reached up and pulled a few wisps of hair on her forhead. "It was in my eyes and you would not help me find the salon. They cut hair at the salon, and you do too for Bee and Daddy, but it was just in my eyes..." She really was remorseful. "You make it look nice...and easy..."

She really was remorseful, probably more so because the Cora self cut was so dramatic. It took me thirty minutes to even it out enough and hide the damage. When will I learn that when Cora says bangs I should just cut them?

Why is it that in the middle of her Mom hair cut I asked with growing horror "You did not cut Bees did you?"

Thank God she did not.

I breathed in hair fuzz and can not stop coughing.

Lunch a la Children

2010-06-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

Incidently, if you act like buggs bunny and chew carrots, your children will spend the next twenty minutes nibbling away and hopping around the kitchen. I must find some Popeye the sailor man cartoons. Then my spinache souffle will dissappear in the right place.

Lunch for children is no different than lunch for adults, only it comes with a side of complaint. Evidently my kids will not eat open faced sandwiches. Anya does not want help getting her egg salad sandwich nuggets in her mouth. Why should she want assistance when she can make a big mess doing it herself. Oh, and now Cora will only eat red peppers and Nyobi will only eat green. I would threaten to buy yellow, orange and purple peppers the rest of the summer, but then neither will eat them because they are not their perspective colors. I feel like I'm in fashion color pepper school.

Complaint; my daily side dish at lunch. But in all fairness my children will comment happily about food. For instance last night my Husband made dinner in a snap. This consisted (wisely) of mac n cheese, noodles (for the cheeseless), saurcraut and hot dogs. Cora tasted her small portion of saurcraut after her complaint about it was rejected for "non-tasting". She looked at me and her Dad and said "MMMMMMM, this is delicious! This is one of the most delicious things I ever have eaten."

Surprisingly we fell for the trap. When she cleared her plate the heap of pickled cabbage was still there, untouched since the tasting. She didn't like it, but she learned the fine art of cover lie ing. I am so proud and so irritated at the same time.

Voluntary and involuntary muscles and brains

2010-06-21T07:23:00.000-07:00

One of the odder things I purchased over the years was an anatomy and physiology coloring book for adults. It has all the line drawings from cellular structure up to entire organ systems. I patiently colored the first few chapters and learned names and characters before losing interest while discussing nerve synapsis's and trying to learn chinese cooking techniques. One of those hobbies is tastier than the other.

In an effort to show Cora why Nyobi might look a little like Dad but was NOT a boy, I pulled out the book and flipped to the scientific line drawings. The coloring book aspect made it very attractive to her. After talking about boys and girls differences, we talked about the skeleton. I faithfully read all the bone names, and we actually made a large cardboard skeleton and wrote them on the back of the bones. What a great halloween decoration.

I figured that the complex latin words washed right over Coras head until I touched my collarbone in the car and refered to it by the laymans term. "Its the Clavecal" sounded from the back seat. Some of it stuck.

Today while I was throwing breakfast together, she asked for the coloring book. We usually do some learning stuff at the table, but I was surprised by this request. "the one with the skeleton in it Mom" We read through muscles and organs and the nervous system. Some names came up, like the heart arteries and veins, ligaments, tendons and cells. We mostly talked in concepts. Muscles are like rubber bands, they can be either voluntary and involuntary. Nervous system carries thoughts from the central place (brain) to the tips of the fingers. As I flipped through pages she stopped me and points to a squiggly picture.

"Thats a brain mom! I have a brain, and its right here (pointing to her temple) in my skull."

Yes you do have a brain darling, and I am going to have to read the fine print in my coloring book at the rate we are going, because it is super active and absorbing things like a little sponge. Those girls have involuntary brains, they can not seem to stop learning.

The dangers of a shared sewing room

2010-06-07T12:36:00.000-07:00

This last Christmas, Santa brought my eldest the gift of her dreams; a children's sewing machine. She adores the incredibly badly made pile of junk. I adore it! It makes her feel active without her little fingers getting into my big machine. We go down together to "sew" which really includes her liberally distributing needles, material scraps and other fru fru around the sewing room, while I try and ward the cat off the material I am cutting.

Today we went down for some shared sewing time. After removing my foot from the pedal of my serger, I stepped on a needle. I did a good job of stepping on the needle. As I lifted my foot, non-child freindly words pouring from my mouth, I found only about half an inch of the barb sticking out of the pad. The other inch or so was wedged straight in. It hurt!

"Are you okay?" Cora asked.

"Damn!" I said to myself, realizing I was going to have to pull the needle out myself. "yes sweety!" I said to cora. "I just stepped on a needle and it hurts." My "nnnnn" as I removed it was not nearly as elegant, but at least Cora would not recieve a second litany of bad words. Maybe, I thought to myself, she was not paying attention and did not hear the first installment.

"I could tell it hurt." Cora said sagely. "Because you said all sorts of unfriendly words."

So much for that.

Just an update...nothing more.

2010-06-02T06:31:00.000-07:00

Nature Girl #2

Nyobi was playing in the toilet when I walked into the bathroom. That is the only reason I can think of why Cora set up the water pitcher on the floor. I arrived just in time to watch her squat over it and poop into the container. She successfully figured out that toilets are not the only place that you can "do your business". I am sort of impressed, but not really happy. All hail nature girl!

Talking Bee

Nyobi is talking but not necessarily using the words that you want her to. We've been trying to get her to say Please when she wants something. The other day she wanted an ice cube. She would just stand, point at the freezer and whine. I told her to say ice cube please. She didn't. she just said ice cube and then started forcing out crocodile tears.

"Please, say Please, Bee"

"No. ice cube waaaaaa"

"Say Please."

"No."

"Say I would like"

"No."

I gave a deep sigh, realizing that it would come with time. "Say jalopy then." I threw out.

"Jalopy."

Fireworks
We purchased a small lot of fireworks to celebrate Memorial day with. I am a weird person. I like to remember the fallen with acts of joy rather than tears. We sat outside on the steps and lit them off. the first few were beautiful colored fountains. The girls loved them, even Anya was happy with them. the third one had a loud whistle chamber in it. When it went off, all the girls jumped. Anya clung to my arm, burying her face in my shirt, Cora gripped my leg, and Bee's eyes lit up with delight.

"Whoa" said Cora. "That was very so loud!"

Bee was clapping excitedly.

Anya wasn't so sure about the rest of the show.

Plate Envy

2010-05-23T17:09:00.000-07:00

Anya is a peculiar eater. She reacted poorly to oatmeal and milk products. She reacted poorly to breastmilk when I ate oatmeal and milk products. She likes baby pea puree but not pears. She loves carrots but not the texture. Recently her food preferences have fallen into the "little to nothing" catagory. Frustrated on Friday I handed over a slice of french bread in an attempt to at least get her to pretend to eat something.

Guess what? She loves french bread. She whined when I took the soggy chewy crust away.

Yesterday she refused to eat bananas and sweet potatos. I was eating chinese fried rice. She wanted that instead. Handfuls of rice later, I moaned quietly in prayer that the Chinese restaurant didn't use any substances to cause Allergy Anya to erupt. This was not the first time I just gave in, nor my spouse either.
There was some stew she got from Pete, and a couple pieces of french toast until the spoil sport mother pointed out that maple syrup should not be fed to babies.

It is sad but true. My seven month old has plate envy. If its YOUR dinner, she wants it. Unfortunately, two teeth and tiny tongues are really not ready for chewing up calories. There is only one solution.

My food should go in the baby jars, and hers on a plate! The bonus of this program is that I would lose a lot of weight quickly. Six ounces of space is not very much.

Foam Swords

2010-05-21T14:01:00.000-07:00

Yes, I bought my two elder children foam swords. No, I am not crazy. I got tired of getting sword fought by overenthusiastic fencers with wooden blades, dowels and sticks. Foam is softer, squishier and doesn't leave a mark.

Of course, beating up on eachother gets boring quickly. While sitting and reading my news, I hear from the bedroom. "Lets go beat up Mom!"

"Da!" says Nyobi.

I look up to see two small musketeers charging down the hallway. They attack amidst the screams of their victim. "Don't step on Anya she's at my feet! Be careful of Anya! AAAAAAAAH!"

I peak out between foam whaps to see what the smallest girl is up to. Just her head is visible, but the older two girls are avoiding her body. I go back to my dramatic cries for mercy! "Quit teaming up on me!" I add.

"Anya SAVE me!" I continue.

Thats when I feel it. "OUch!"

I grab both swords to stop the onstaught and pear down at Anya. She smiles at me, slobber leaking out of her mouth and proceeds to bite my toe again.

Foam swords don't protect you from every danger.

How can three on one be fair?

Strange Conversations

2010-05-19T18:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I married two lego people. I talked about where Gods Garden is, and our job to take care of each other. I also said "Please don't eat the garbage can." and "What did you do with the clothes you were wearing?"

When you have children, your conversations are often strange and discombobulated with minor distractions. Sometimes though they are so to the point that they make your heart ache. Today I witnessed Cora attempting to kill a large fly on my window, with a thirsty stone coaster. It attracted my attention because of the loud clang the first attempt made.

"Don't do that!" I yelled. Then calmed down a bit.

"Why?" she asked impudently.

"Because the stone will break the window."

"But its a BIG BUG" She said.

"Yes." I said. "But it will nto hurt you as much as broken glass. Beleive me. Mommy did that once."

Of course I was using a baseball bat and it was a giant mosquito. She killed it with her hand instead.

Why am I still imagining her hand through the glass?

Nature Girl Strikes!

2010-05-18T10:07:00.000-07:00

Because of an exceptionally pleasant road trip back from Ludington, we stopped at a rest area. It had scenic overlooks. After we finished making certain Anya was not dieing from some horrible disease (like her constant "bunny in pain" pitched wails broadcast) we relieved some stress by hiking to the overlook.

At the very end of the hike, ten minutes from our car, the restrooms and probably my sanity, Cora announced that she had to pee. "Can you hold it?" I asked.

"No." She answered.

Being a country camping girl, I took a deep breath, handed off the smallest one and proceeded to educate my daughter in the squat/hold position. Once correctly postured and informed, she decided she could not go. She repositioned her outfit and started to hike back to the car.

Not ONE minute later my husband says "look at Cora!" I turn just as she announces. "Gee! I really had to pee after all."

Peeing in the woods is difficult for girls, and a useful skill for you children to know. We praised her. I praised her to my Mom at lunch the next day also.

As the girls played outside and we sat and talked, my Mom interupted me. "She's showing off."

Sure enough there was Cora demonstrating these new skills in the middle of the yard. "Well," I said, turning back to the table. "it was bound to happen."

"Um," My Mom said. "She's not done."

I'm so blessed to have children who make it necessary for me to poop scoop my yard.

Butterflies

2010-05-11T05:02:00.000-07:00

As Nyobi grows, her personality exerts itself. She is definitely a unique character. She lives with reckless abandon, but she also lives in her own world. She will phase out and stare at an ant colony for ten minutes, barely moving a muscle. Then the next moment she zips sideways and finds the only puddle deep enough to soak her sneakers.

Last evening, we asked her to go get her blanket and lovey out of her room. She took a couple steps down the hallway, tiptoe hopped faster for the length and then paused in front of the mirror at the end. Cocking her head to one side, she spoke to her reflection, gave it a blown kiss, then flopped over on the ground. She lay there on her back, arms crossed on her chest, humming to herself for over a minute.

"What are you doing?" Her dad asked when she turned to look at him.

"Daddy!" she said then, and raced down the hallway to give him a hug. I went and retrieved her lovey and blanket.

I really want to know what goes on inside her head, but I am afraid mine will explode in an overabundance of butterflies. They will float out with all my thoughts for the last ten years.

Sharing Toys

2010-05-03T06:08:00.000-07:00

Slowly but surely we are learning to share toys. I look forward to the day when I go in to check on the elder two and find them sharing Coras loft bed. Mostly it would give me warm fuzzy feelings because both of them are asleep.

Nyobi is learning to share too. In Nyobis case, she is also learning to not share. Not sharing must be one of those things they do not write about in baby books because they want the human race to continue to procreate.

Not Sharing goes something like this; Cora is playing with her pink rubber snake. She sets it down for a moment to adjust its pillow. Nyobi grabs it and takes off down the hallway giggling hilariously.

This game is only fun until Cora loses interest. Then Nyobi sets down the object and searches for the next great thing to not share.

Actually I wish she would stick to not sharing. As aggravating as that game is for the other two it beats pounding your six month old on the back to dislodge the Lego head Nyobi decided to share with her.

Congratulations Dad, you have joined the ranks of the parents who have performed the infant Heimlich.

2010-04-30T06:59:00.000-07:00

I have a walker. One of those odd contraptions that let crawling age children propel themselves around the room in a standing position. I was informed that there is risk of death associated with it. "The baby can propel themselves down the stair case!" Deformity "It will corrupt their posture and they won't be able to walk properly." and Serious injury "They can go through one leg hole and break their back!"

Nyobi adored it. Anya loves it. I think it is brilliant, simply because my six feet radius infant can mush around the kitchen when I cook, but have a foot wide circle of plastic for me to bash into rather than tender little limbs. having almost stepped on hands and feet, and pretty much body checked my elder two, extra padding is awesome.

So why does the world seem so against my baby walker? I mean, we advocate the use of them for the infirmed (albeit without the bear print and chewy toys). There are risks associated with every aspect of life. The stairs are there regardless of the walker. Posture can be ruined by bad habits as quickly as a chair. As for injury, that is just as likely from her sisters trying to pick her up.

I am not an advocate of throwing infants in traffic, but rather a reasonable understanding of risks and benefits. A safe world is one where we assume risks these and deal with consequences. It is the parents job to get the legs in the right holes, not over use a baby care item, and block the stairs. As for my walker, the giggly Anya just grabbed the edge of the trash can, so i think responsible me must go.

The Pigeons are Eating My Grass Seed

2010-04-29T05:59:00.000-07:00

My two year old is "playing" a vacume part at the top of her lungs. Anya is screaming because I am typing between spoonfuls of sweet taters rather than holding the spoon in readiness while she finishes what is in her mouth. Cora wants it to be Nyobis nap time, so she is constantly telling her to go lie down.

But those do not bug me nearly as much as the pigeons who are gorging themselves on my carefully laid grass seed. I have large areas of my lawn that need coverage, and I seeded early. I thought that it would be sprouting nicely by now, but it is not. Now I see why. The early morning breakfast of a couple of trumped up game birds is ruining my lawn.

Where are all the neighborhood cats when I need them?

Lesson Learned

2010-04-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

For the last couple of weeks, Cora dominated her sister. She covered her when she did not want to be covered. She whacked her when Bee got in her way. She pulled her, pushed her, and coddled and tattled on her. I found myself repeating again and again that Bee needs space to learn her own lessons and do her own things. I told her that hitting her sister was not the best choice. Cora did not listen.

Today, I listened from the kitchen as Cora tried to take toys away from Bee and cover her with a blanket. Bee whined. I yelled into the mix, "leave her be, Cora. She doesn't want to be covered."

Cora did not listen.

All of a sudden, my eldest appeared in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face and hands clasped over her head. "Nyobi hit me over the head with the fife!"

"Were you still trying to cover her with her blanket after I told you not to and taking it away from her?" I asked.

The tears were extra heavy now. "Yes" Cora said in a small voice and then began to wail even louder. "She hit me!"

Inside me, I felt very bad. Here is my daughter standing there in pain. I love her. I do not want her to suffer. On the other hand a secret possibly evil thought popped into my head. This was an ideal lesson in how to treat others. This was the incident that the last few weeks built towards. I knelt down and gently reminded Cora of every injury such as this that she had done to Nyobi in the last week. "Now, where do you think that Nyobi learned to hit someone?"

Cora gulped. "Me..."

"So lets teach her not to hit people. And also, Cora, you HAVE to give her space. She can do things for herself now. She does not need as much hands on help from Mom, Dad or Cora, okay?"

"Okay."

Then I kissed her owies, and went to talk to Nyobi. I yelled at her for hitting her sister, but secretly I was elated. My political science classes taught me that a balance of power is the most logical cause for peace.

Of course, it is also cause for mutual annihilation...

Wait, did my children just whack each other with a fife?

Fridges and Kisses

2010-04-26T05:35:00.000-07:00

I began purchasing the big boxes of eggs. Rather than just a dozen, these boxes hold 2 1/2 dozen eggs in a cardboard tray. Around it, a cardboard box bears all the labels. With small children, we eat a lot of eggs.

Last week, when I purchased one and slid it into the fridge, my Husband stared at it and grumbled. When I asked him to clarify, he told me he hated having to open the box and move it around to get the eggs out. To please him, I took the box and threw it out, just sliding in the tray and eggs. The tray looks good up there.

Its aesthetics vanished this morning when I walked in on my 2 year old dipping her fingers into the partially opened vegi drawer. She places them in her mouth, looks at me, says "mmmmmmm" then smacks her lips and offers me a yolky kiss. Prior to my arrival, she had cracked three readily available eggs into the vegi drawer and scrambled them with her fingers.

My fridge needed cleaning anyways. But yes, that would be why I left the eggs in the troublesome box.

How my four year old views her world

2010-04-22T07:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a friend of ours stopped over for the first time in a couple of years. My eldest gave her a tour of the important parts of the house. here is the list of pictures that Cora wanted to share.

First, she showed off her room. She wanted to show how she and Nyobi shared it. She showed how bouncy the bed was. It is "very so bouncy."

Next she showed off the swing Gramma gave them that is hung on the tree in the back yard. That is "very so fun". She commented on the sand box, and bike and trike and wanted to play outside.

Then she commented on our modest TV. In a world of 54"ers, she said how "very so big" it is. It is definately not a big TV by objective standards.

The things she showed off that I as most proud of though, were her manners. She ate politely, didn't squirm at dinner, cleared her place, washed her hands and even initiated conversation. She even came up with a relevant to her topic to ask our friend. "Do you have any sisters?" How many four year olds attempt to make polite dinner table conversation.

She is very so wonderful!

The Summer Routine

2010-04-20T05:21:00.000-07:00

Yesteday we drove into allegan to visit a new store, drop off books at the library, and go to the playground. As we arrived at one of the main intersections there was a sign in the corner for an upcoming Soup Dinner. From the back seat Coras voice rose in giddy excitement "The FARM MARKET Mom, we can go to the FARM MARKET."

She can't understand why we aren't planting seeds in the gardens yet either. How my children love the summer routine. The play ground trips, the weekly farm market mornings and the beauty of eating fresh. It was so sad to explain to her that the farm market did not start until May.

Why did she think of it then anyways? The Soup Dinner sandwich board was located at precisely the same place the farm market sandwich board gets placed. The sign was another small signal. I never pointed it out to her before, but she remembered that a sign at that intersection and farm markets coincided.

I am so proud of her skills of observation and reasoning, especially when exercised over time.

In the time it took me to make this post, Anya covered her face with a blanket and Nyobi and Cora raided the cereal. I need to feed them before I post from now on.

Lilac Hideaway

2010-04-19T06:59:00.000-07:00

The girls started to hollow out the lilac for a secret hide out. Unfortunately hollowing out is fun too. I must be vigilant to protect the lilacs interests or I will have several tall leafless twigs. They will smell so lovely after hiding out in their fort.

Actually I'm quite excited by the advent of the "fort" stage of childhood. I now know where to find things they borrow that they are not supposed to have. I just look back in the lilac. Without the cool secret fort, it is a bit of a challenge to find all their squirrel sites.

Morning People

2010-04-16T05:43:00.000-07:00

Nyobi is a morning person. I pick her up totally asleep and within five minutes she is bouncing all over the living room and her big sister. This is a problem. Cora is definately not a morning person. I have never witnessed fangs on a child so young be so long or lethal. You fork over her milk and allow her to sack out for twenty minutes at least.

Cue problem. Bouncy toddler sits on big sisters legs, giggling. Big sister kicks her off, crabbing. I can't really be upset or happy with either one of them. I need a couple of arm chairs to seperate the morning moods.

I also need some coffee, evil bad moods on wake up are heredity.

The Beach

2010-04-15T05:14:00.000-07:00

One of my friends showed me a play ground and beach place in South Haven, Michigan. Aside from the pirate theme, the flat, low traffic park sits across the street from the beach bluff. A helpfully sturdy stairway allows for immediate access down to the sand and shore.

It is April in Michigan, so after consulting the weather forecast, and seeing that the temperature would be high of seventy five, in between two days of rainstorms, and a low wind from the lake, I decided that the selling point of our adventure would be the park. The wood play structure WAS a hit. There were abundant swings, lots of nooks and crannies, and several steel built slides. Several other girls appeared as well, making it the perfect play date for my eldest. It was a treat for me as well, because the extra hands made the new place less daunting.

Then we walked down to the beach.

I know what I was like for my parents at the beach. There is something about a giant sand box and a vast expanse of water that just calls to children. Its a magnetic force. I swear that both children started vibrating when they saw the slow waves lapping at the windless shore. As we neared the bottom of the stairwell, I admonished both children, "take off your shoes but just your toes."

It was a waste of breath. The first wave to hit my sturdy toddlers ankles and her diapered butt wumped in the water. As we attempted to lift her back up, and steady her, she leaned forward and put her face into the next wave. After convincing her that she must hold an adult hand and only get her toes wet, I turned around to check on Cora.

My four year old playing chicken with a wave. The depth of the lake made her feel it was necessary for her to hold up the corners of her shorts. This kept the outside of the leg about one half an inch further out of the water, bringing its total lull clearance to about an inch. The wave soaked her to her neck.

The two elderly people sitting on a bench at the top of the bluff drinking coffee found my frantic search of the car for dry clothes and towel substitutes hilarious. They were kind enough to tell me I was a good parent. I have no idea what they thought of my patient attempts to convince Cora that clothing WAS NOT optional.

I have learned my lesson. Even if the weather forecast says it is going to snow, taking children to the beach requires dry clothes swimsuits and towels for everyone. Now if you excuse me, I need to go vacuum my car.

Frustration

2010-04-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

My eldest decided to give her polly pocket a bubble bath, in a cup on the counter of the sink in the bathroom. Unable to reach the bubble bath, she looked under the sink for a spare. She found another white bottle and added some to the cup. No bubbles. She added more and stirred with a paint brush.

I do not know when in this repetative cycle I appeared. What I do know is that Cora was so frustrated she turned to me and said "its NOT bubbling" then put her hands on her hips to frown at the cup. Suddenly it dawned on her that bathing toys in cups on the sink was not an activity I usually condoned, and she looked back at me with a look of horror that said "Shoot, I'm caught."

Its frustrating when the conditioner refuses to act like bubble bath Cora. Next time use the baby soap.

My bathroom smells like coconuts.

Children See, Children Do.

2010-04-10T10:43:00.000-07:00

Which is why my eldest uses a napkin like her Nani, and poses with hands on hips like a miniature Chelsea or Gramma. It also explains why I am loathed to show the girls movies with excessive teen angst, but happy to show them films with bad words and great deeds and hearts. One of my sister in laws described it as strong female protagonists.

Maybe thats why I'm not so worried about kissing or fighting with my husband in front of them. I certainly don't mind breastfeeding with them around either. My two daughters learn by seeing and doing so much, they can operate a laptop better than some of thier adult relatives.

What I cannot figure out is why my eldest thinks clothing shopping is so much fun, and why she has such refined and peculiar fashion sense. Would the relative responsible please step up and fork over some plastic? I'm going to need it in about ten years when she enters the teens...

Museum Trip

2010-04-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

I took all three children to the Kalamazoo Valley Museum yesterday. Its mostly a science and technology museum with some small displays about collecting. We listened to a video about how they reconstructed their mummies face. We observed various aspects of how robots are created, and we explored natural phenomena. Its facinating to share science with children. It is also facinating to observe the children.

Nyobi show attraction to words and art. Cora likes mechanics and movement. They both love the knights from the chess board. Nyobi will stare in facination at displays and meander slowly. Cora loves hands on, and is constantly moving and touching. Anya thinks the stroller is only fun if its moving. Then there are the random things you realize about the environment you live in.

For instance, the collection displays that are panned out opposite a three story stair case are only worth looking at if you can press yourself against the railing above a gaping abyss, not if you are actually on the same level as them. Similarly, two children always go in opposite directions. Maybe that has something to do with magnetic fields.

The fire alarm in the elevator is conveniently cute and located right at toddler eye level where as the number buttons are higher up and blank. That, and the thrill children get from going round and round a parking garage is similar to their enjoyment of a roller coaster.

All in all, we had a fun time, and learned some things too. I will be opening my cliff side museum right after I figure out how to avoid liability for all the parental heart attacks.

The "I Pooped" ballet

2010-04-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

It started. Three times now, Nyobi, who is not quite two exclaimed to the adult in charge "I Pooped". On Monday she removed a wet diaper as well. The delicate and fragerant ballet of potty training has begun. This evening I will piroette up the stairs with the potty chair. The magical padded big girl panties will leap off the shelves and out of the drawers like a few dozen sugar plum fairies and I will spend a messy week cleaning urine out of innumerable objects, hopefully the potty chair topping the list.

My eldest is logical and straightforward, imagine it as the swan lake driven potty training situation. Nyobi is a space cadet. I have watched her get distracted by the noise the velcro on her shoes makes. I expect this dance from diaper to throne to be filled with many Sleeping Beauty moments. Here is to the second most frustrating lesson of childhood, just please plie over the toilet not the floor.

Modern Children.

2010-04-07T05:44:00.000-07:00

Having just purchased a new laptop, the old one was shuffled off into the multi-use pile of computer refuse that every house with a tec nerd possesses. Then the four year old pops up in front of us with big eyes and her "reasonable negotiating" face on. She eyes the laptop enviously.

"Can I use it?" She asks.

"It can be yours and your sisters." We tell her.

My four year old can plug in this laptop, turn it on, open the web browser, close out of extra stuff, use the bookmarks to find her web pages, and navigate a web page. Cora can also distinguish when the laptop is asking her to type, and present it with letters. That is pretty impressive. Now if only she could put the letters in her name in the right order instead of signing things ROCA.

We also got new phones. They flip open and contain a mini-screen and a querty keyboard. She explored mine yesterday and looks at me. "These are really nice Mommy. I think you need one more, for me."

"What?" I said.

"One for Nyobi and I, so we can call people. These are very so nice." As she flips it closed like a professional texter, I realize that modern children have different envies than I did in my youth.

These modern children play digital paper dolls and want to instant message daddy. They video chat with gramma and think that all phones have cameras on them. I wonder how my grandchildren will think of communication and toys?

Do you hear that girls? You will provide me with grandchildren. Real ones please. No virtual babies.

What nobody ever told me about Co-Sleeping

2010-04-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

The hot topics on all the parenting blogs revolve around "natural parenting". And include concepts like natural diapers, organic baby formulas, the health benefits of prolonged breastfeeding and co-sleeping. My feeling for the first three are mildly ambivalent. Organic foods, diapers with smaller carbon footprints than something made of petroleum oil, are all rather personal choices. Co-sleeping however is dangerous! What if you roll over? What if baby falls down a crack? What if baby dies of SIDS right next to you and you go through the rest of your life convinced you suffocated your own child?

What if a meteor strikes your house while you sleep and your baby dies because it takes out your bedroom, but it somehow misses the nursery and the aliens institute a protective globe around the crib to keep the shrapnel and ensuing flames from harming your child, but he or she isn't there because you are a rotten parent and put them on the bed with you?

Unreasonable fears aside, I did not, per se, approve of co-sleeping. It seemed to me to be a great way to get extra snuggles, but create all sorts of separation issues later in life. My husband is such a sound sleeper, I was certain he wouldn't notice a screaming infant under his leg. It took me five minutes to wake him up to when we were having our first child, shaking him and yelling at him. So I went through life full of snotty superiority, especially when my single girlfriend told me her 2 year old still snuggled in bed with her.

Then Anya hit.

This child does not need alot of sleep. I think I need more than she does some days. She has serious separation issues, and has since birth. After trying for months to get her to settle into a normal baby pattern, my husband came up with a solution. He sleeps on the extra bed, and the third child sleeps in bed with me.
Suddenly I was sleeping! ME! I could close my eyes and sleep!

Oh yes, Co-sleeping is important. I've apologized to my girlfriend, and quit worrying about meteors, flopping on the baby and other crazy and obviously societal fears. Some children just need that extra love and touch. Parenting is part science but its also part instinct.

As for the Aliens. I'll just leave a note in the crib informing them where the baby they need to protect is located.

Snowball Fight!!!

2010-01-26T09:57:00.000-08:00

Cora and I just came in from playing outside. The snow is perfect for packing, but not thick enough to form a big snowman. Our play degenerated into missile filled attacks. I need to take her outside more often. Its nice to hurl items at your child and have them giggle in pleasure rather than scream in pain. Not like I throw things at the children regularly, or in anger EVER. It still was nice frustration relief.

In the midst of a snowball battle, Cora goes "stop stop stop!" Then walks up to me munching on her current projectile. Then she says with a piously serious face "Once Daddy threw a snowball right in my face!"

Awwww, I think. Cora is explaining to me a scenario that she does not want repeated. I kneel down to explain to her that Mommy aims for her butt and chest. "Did he?" I start. "He probably didn't mean to do it on purp..."

My speech halted as I received a mouthful of fluffy white snow. "Yeah! Like this!" She said, running off and scooping to refill her mittens.

In snowball fights, I show no mercy, none. Not even if you are four and half my height.

Master of Elimination.

2010-01-25T12:50:00.000-08:00

Some babies are born to sleep, some to scream, and some to eat. Anya was born to poop. Neither of my previous two children had quite the nack for filling their diaper, or rather for missing it. In ten minutes I have changed four diapers and three outfits. All three outfits covered in giant bright yellow poop stains.

This morning she crabbed a little sighed, smiled and then gave a grunty squirt. She relaxed against me then, snuggling into my shoulder. I felt something warm on my stomach.

Having once again defied the laws of human excrement toward mass relationship, I discovered poop leaking out of her diaper, down the leg of her outfit. It stained my shirt, and completely soaked the front of my pants. It coated the pillow cover on my lap. I rushed her to the bathroom and stripped her and myself. That is when I found two surprises.

First, there was less than a one inch square section of the diaper covered in poop. How that little poop went into the diaper, and that much ended up all over I will never know.

Second, my underwear was soaked with baby poop.

Changed and wrapped in a new outfit, Anya was happy and sleepy.

I still feel like taking a shower, only three is a bit excessive. I do believe my daughter is a master eliminator.

concept

2010-01-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

Mom: "Go put all the books back on your bookshelf, and put your princess stuff away please."
Five minutes later Cora emergest from her room.

Mom: "are all the books picked up and put back on the bookshelf correctly?"
Cora: "Yep"
Mom: "Is all your princess stuff in the trunk?"
Cora: "Yep"
Mom: "If I go in there now I will throw out any princess stuff not in the trunk and any books not on the bookshelf, should I go in your room now?"
Cora; "um... No... I'll be back."

The SEWING machine!

2009-12-28T07:49:00.000-08:00

All Cora wanted for Christmas was a little sewing machine that came in a pink box so she could sew stuff herself just like Mommy. She got it. Instead of squeals of absolute excitement and insistancies of immediate use, her reaction was one of solid confirmation. "Oh, He remembered." she said, in reference to the scary man with the white beard.

Seriously, my four year old daughter is afraid of Santa. She won't go near him. She showed timidity in writing to him, and on Christmas Eve, she stated she HATED Santa. I give it a year or two before his roll as the procurer of candy and cool toys fully sets in. The Sewing machine was a big step.

This is not a highly built nor well made toy. However, it does make a simple, large chain stitch, which is enough for one girl to work on many projects. She is in love with it. She sews seams into material, and then tears them out. She quietly played with her own sewing machine for almost an hour yesterday, after helping Mom install batteries and RED thread. We started to make a pillow. If she never plays with it again, the look on her face as she sewed her own seam for the first time made it worthwhile.

Note to self...

2009-12-17T05:40:00.000-08:00

I found time to post! Either that or my elder two girls have colds and woke up at six this morning. It is officially eight thirty, and for the second time this month we ate breakfast already and are quietly enjoying our morning. The last time we were up and breakfasted before eight thirty Nyobi gave me back her breakfast. Regurgitated scrambled eggs and strawberry milk smells nasty. Note to self; Nyobi gets car sick.

Cora is doing scratch ornaments. I love scratch paper, but the idea of intended use is lost on Cora. She does not scratch off cool designs in the paper, she scratches off all the black covering because she wants to show all the colors underneath. They are beautiful. She also painted some Christmas ornament sun catchers this week. Most of them are black. I cannot wait until she explains these odd penchants for self expression.

Nyobi is trying to figure out how to make the TV play. She is my stealth child. Whilst cooking last week, I lost my new pink handled chefs knife. As I turned in frustration to my husband who was sitting at the table saying "I just set my knife down, where did I put it?" I saw it attempting to slice a milk carton dog house in the living room. I retrieved the blade sans incident. Then I retrieved it the next day, and ironically two days after that as well. Note to self; Nyobi can move chairs, likes pink.

To be fair, moving a chair around the kitchen was not my shock of the week. That was courtesy of my biggest girl. She came into the living room while I was nursing Anya with a handful of Tootsie Rolls. As this candy contains milk products (and therefor Nyobi is not supposed to have it) we store it atop the refrigerator. Even at 40+ inches, Cora is not able to reach it. "No problem," I thought, "They probably fell off during morning milk/ coffee retrieval."

When Anya finally decided she was full, I put her in her swing. Strolling into the kitchen to pick up the bag of candy I met a sculpture to ingenuity. On a kitchen chair, its rockers thrust through the bars to provide stability was our childrens rocking chair. Small and compact, it created a nice step ladder effect that added the last few inches Cora needed to explore the top of the fridge. As she stood beside me watching my reaction, the problem solver reached out and shook the chairs handle. "It won't slip." She assured me, referring to my earlier concerns over child created height enhancements.

Note to self; New house rule is no stacking furniture.

The beginning of wrapping season.

2009-11-19T18:33:00.001-08:00

I did it! I am sucessfully most of the way done with my Christmas shopping and it is before Thanksgiving. In a rhapsody of happiness, I even managed to wrap up the presents for my brothers family on the west coast and re-wrap that unsent baby present, and start them on their journey. This is a miracle.

My girls helped me wrap presents. This was not a miracle, it wasn't even saintly. I re-taped places where Nyobi, once wrapping accomplished decided that unwrapping was necessary. I said "too much tape" at least eight times a minute. Grabbed scissors from Nyobi, and put the lid back on the wrapping paper box a couple dozen times. After shoving all the presents back where they went and throwing out the left over ends of paper and the ribbon that got hopelessly tangled around the chair and the cat, I sat down and breathed deeply.

Nursing Anya, I heard the sound of wrapping paper. "I must be imagining it." I informed myself. "Too much wrapping on the brain. I can SEE the presents from where I sit."

After putting down a now full baby, I walked down the hallway to see what my two elder helpers were doing. They had rescued three wrapping paper tubes from the center of Christmas wrap and were sword fighting with them. The paper lay discarded in my room, unwrinkled and usable, if I could roll it up without the help of the cats.

Ah yes. It is wrapping paper season, when the children wait with baited breath for you to finish THAT roll, so they have another cardboard weapon to shred.

I should have bough bigger presents.

Perspective

2009-11-19T18:33:00.000-08:00

My dear eldest daughter informed me that she did not want to eat. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I will get big." She told me matter of factly. "And I don't want to get big."

"How will you get big?" I asked, wondering how, in the midst of a household that was supposed to be healthy centric, this little grain of anorexia was already implanted.

"I will get big like Mommy and Daddy and Nani and Chelsea." Cora answered. "If I don't eat, I won't get big."

I laughed. I could not help myself. This was a big that was entirely unrelated to eating disorders. It was a childs attempt not to grow up. "Thats called "growing up" not "getting big"." I informed my daughter, "And you will do that regardless of whether you eat or not. Besides, the trick is to eat good healthy foods, like apples and tomatos and yogurts. That way you grow up and big the RIGHT way, not the wrong way."

"Oh." Cora answered. Her mind was turning though, attempting to figure out how big and growing up are different, or inventing another stalling tactic for sitting down at the dinner table.

I guess I am doing something right. Cora understands that life will change her. Now if only I can make sure I show her the change is fun and exciting, so she will quit trying to stop it.

Either that, or I need to cook something for dinner she likes.

Words!

2009-11-13T10:36:00.000-08:00

It is always so amazing to hear children begin to communicate. Nyobi speaks more words every day. She loves being able to say things, though sometimes her statements don't add up to communication at all, unless you understand BeeBee isms. She spent a good five minutes staring at her reflection in the mirror last night, saying "pretty BeeBee", "nosey" and "Hi Woo!". When I pulled her away she clung to me for one last glance and said "Kissy" and blew herself a kiss.

She talks to people other than herself as well. "No ears!" was her mantra this morning. "no ears" evidently means, I'm not listening to you mom because you cannot get to me before I get away.

Last night, it was a standing at the door where Dad and Cora went and saying "Me too Me too!" until she knew that she wasn't going to go. Then she started knocking and saying "Come in! Come in!"

For the most part, it sounds like the teacher in Peanuts cartoons, garbled sounds instead of sentences. This however, is Nyobi. If you can't understand the words, the body language will say it all, and for the most part, it says I love life!

...especially when life includes driving her parents crazy.

Family Crafts

2009-11-05T07:20:00.000-08:00

Today, Cora, Nyobi and I ate the experimental low lactose pumpkin pie and began our useful thanksgiving project. I drew out designs on poster board for turkey napkin and place card holders. Once the girls finished their pie, I cut out the templates on one sheet for cora to paint. The other sheet I left assembled. One and a half year olds eat little pieces of paper, they do not paint them.

Getting out the water colors, Cora immediately started covering one turkey in purple. I dipped Nyobis brush and began helping her paint yellow on the paper. Anya began to cry. "No problem." I thought. "I only need one hand to help Nyobi paint."

Retrieving the crabbing infant, I returned to find Nyobi munching on the paint brush. "Yum" she said. We dipped again, in the orange paint and began brushing. Both girls glowed with excitement, and Anya scrunched and squeaked in her usual awake gestures. She seemed to be having fun too.

Once again thwarting Nyobis attempt to eat the watercolors rather than paint with them, I leaned over to dip the brush in red. As I straightened up, Anya made a squirting noise that could only mean one thing; diaper change time. Then she made another. To my horror I watched bright yellow brown poop slide out the side of her diaper and plop down on my shirt and the poster board.

I laughed, as Cora scrunched up her nose and said "gross!" Carefully cradling the baby as to not squish out any more "yellow gold" I went to the nursery to change Anya. I guess she just wanted to contribute to our craft project morning. By the time I returned to the kitchen, I discovered she had also contributed to Nyobis color palate and diet. The toddler was smearing around then poop stain, and munching on the paint brush.

We did accomplish something. We made one dark purple turkey placecard and napkin holder. We could use the other ten, but family who attend Thanksgiving read this blog. Good thing I have one sheet of posterboard left.

When IS Christmas

2009-11-02T12:31:00.000-08:00

Cora loves the idea of Christmas. This year, she understands Who or What Santa Claus is. She already knows what she is going to put on her list. She wants her own little pink sewing machine, like Mommies! I'm pretty sure it is lurking in the closet at Nahni's waiting for Santa to pick it up. After hearing about my own mothers last minute drives to fetch roller skates and a two wheel bikey, I decided to play it safe. I can always return it, if she hasn't been good, or she changes her mind.

Besides that, she loves the idea of a Christmas Tree in the house! She likes it so much, she suggested we go get the one we had last year from the wood pile and put it back up. "It's not green!" I protested.

"I will paint it! That will be a good deal!" she said.

Then she saw the Christmas lights. My Mom picked up two strands of new Christmas lights, as our old ones were missing too many bulbs, or dead. She wanted to open them up immediately, and the need for the tree became urgent. "Its not Christmas yet!" I informed her as I put the lights downstairs.

"Yes it IS Christmas!" She retorted.

An hour later, grumpy that I would not let her drink my soda pop she wandered downstairs. I caught her with one pack of lights hacked open with her notorious child approved scissors. Fortunately she did not cut the wires. I told her to go sit on her bed. Then I put the lights out of her reach in the room she is forbidden to enter.

I went upstairs to explain to her that it is NOT christmas yet, and that I am upset with her. I find her and Nyobi sitting on Coras bed, drinking my soda pop.

Two pairs of guilty blue eyes and two sets of chipmunk cheeks stared back at me.

When is christmas? For Cora right now, its just a word. The gift of seeing my daughters working together, of hearing Cora willing to WORK for her fun (I'll paint it MOM!) The family around me. That is the joy of christmas.

Maybe when the actual "holiday" arrives, Santa will bring me a padlock for my child free room downstairs, and some more soda pop.

A Spooky night schedule for halloween.

2009-10-27T07:19:00.000-07:00

Come share a night.

8PM; Nyobi goes to bed.
8:10 PM; Nyobi goes to bed again.
8:15 PM; Cora gets a snack.
8:20 PM; Baby starts to nurse.
8:30 PM; Cora goes to bed. \
8:40 PM; baby gets a diaper change.
8:45 PM; baby starts to nurse again, makes hideous pooping noises.
9:PM; Baby stops nursing, burps and falls asleep on my shoulder. I set her down, set up coffee for the morning and change into pajamas.
9:10 PM: baby wants to nurse again (why is she so hungery??)
9:20 PM; baby is done nursing, falls asleep on me again. I move. she wakes up and
9:40 PM; baby wants to nurse again.
10:PM; sleeping baby given to dad, I go to bed.
11:30 PM; Dad wakes me up. Baby is hungery, but dad made the diaper clean.
Midnight: baby is done nursing. I try and burp her, nothing happens. I wack her so much she wakes up.
12:10 PM; baby finally lets out a gentle belch and closes her eyes.
12:12 AM: put baby in crib, and use rest room. hoping to crawl back in bed.
12:15 AM: baby cries. Pick up baby, baby belches like she was drinking beer from a kegerator not milk from a boob.
12:20 AM; baby goes to sleep and remains sleeping when placed in crib (ALEHLUIA!!!)
2:14 AM; I awake to baby crying.
2:16 AM; Change babies diaper. sit down and nurse baby.
3:14 AM; I awake to find baby snuggled against my chest, still sitting in the nursing chair, I put baby in the crib.
3:16 AM; Baby starts to cry.
3:20 AM; baby falls asleep and I put her in crib again. she immediately wakes up and sucks on her knuckles. Her eyes say "I'm hungery Mommy!"
3:22 AM. feed baby again.
3:40 AM put sleeping baby in crib. crawl back in bed.
3:45 AM get out of bed, feed baby.
4:05 AM put sleeping baby in crib. crawl back in bed.
4:10 AM get out of bed, comfort hiccuping crabby baby. Put baby in crib.
4:11 AM Hear diaper filling noises, baby smiles.
4:12 AM change diaper, watch baby suck knuckles. sit down and nurse baby.
4:30 AM put baby back in crib. pretend baby is asleep. Ignore little "but wait..." noises. Crawl back in bed. Smile when noises subside. Fall asleep.
4:35 AM Cora had a nightmare. Tell her cats eat monsters, tuck her back in, turn on her bed light to frighten monsters away. go back to bed. fall asleep.
5:00 AM Go give Nyobi her nukie, tuck her back into bed, turn out Coras bed light so Nyobi can fall asleep.
6:00 AM Baby wakes up. Go change and feed baby.
6:28 AM while rocking baby, stare at clock and try and decide if you want coffee or to pretend to sleep for another 30 minutes more. Decide on the sleep. Place baby in crib.
6:35 AM crawl into bed, close eyes.
7:00 AM Husbands alarm goes off. Nyobi wakes up, starts to crab.
7:05 AM Get out of bed, get Nyobi up, talk to Cora who also gets up, pass babies room, only to hear the sounds of her crabbing as well.
7:15 AM sit down with coffee and milks for the big girls.
7:30 AM Husband gets up.
7:40 AM Baby gets up. The day has officially started (but only because I'm on my 3rd cup of coffee...)

Good Morning! I expect my insomniacs acceptance papers and membership badge in the mail tomarrow. My husbands auxiliary membership will come after I remove the snooze feature from the alarm. Oh well. The children are cute and we can always sleep next year.

Making Freinds

2009-09-21T07:15:00.000-07:00

Nyobi is slowly learning the skills of making friends and sharing. Her targeted audience is NOT her big sister. No. Big sisters are for sitting on, biting, pulling hair, and giving really big hugs. Big sisters also torture little sisters though, so Mom does not interfere too much. Nyobis targeted freinds involve the cats.

First she learned to talk to them. She makes little realistic cat meows and noise to attract their attention. She coo's to them, and gently patts their sides. She snuggles her face into their bodies, she gives them kisses. They tolerate it until the arm snakes out around their body or grabs their paws or tails. Then they either bite or wack her hard and run away.

Now she is starting to recruit through other methods. She offers them her food, candy or sippy cup. She brings them toys. She even tried to put a necklace on Bombay. That attempt resulted in Neosporin and bandages. Mom and Dad keep telling her that kitties are your freinds if you pet them, but for her the treat of being able to body hug them like big sister is evidently the greatest goal.

At least I know she is determined. No matter how many wacks or nips she's taken, she still trys to recruit the two furry and ambivalent play mates.

The Youthful Art of Room Cleaning

2009-09-16T13:07:00.000-07:00

My mother always advocated a clean room. She would stand and lecture us about pride of appearance, cleanliness and simply keeping things nice. I didn't really get it. Children have different ideas about clean than adults. On top of that cleaning is a SKILL, not just a habit. Where something goes is almost as important as putting it in its place. Recently, we (my husband and I) have been working on teaching Cora to pick up her room and her own messes.

Don't miss understand. Niether Pete nor I are excessively cleanly people. I'm sure his mother and hazmat still have nightmares about Petes high school room clutter. My own Mother will occassionally mention the rope joke. It has something to do with a walk in closet that usually resembled an overcluttered treasure trove of clothes toys and puzzles. There might also be a story about finding molded paper mache projects tucked under my bed and encased in stuffed animal sized dust moosies.

Today I discovered that our eldest has inherited her parents love for youthful clutter. Her room, with barely space on the floor for walking was not offensive to her. SHE could find stuff. Pregnant Mom couldn't even make it her dresser. Prior to pregnancy I would sit in her room and assist her in the task of dividing up the cleaning chores into little jobs ("first lets put away the puzzles") and then supervising the overall effort. It worked. I was helping her sort and organize, and cleaning became a kind of game.

Her Dad has a different method. Relying on old parenting tactics he gave good orders "clean your room!" and then would check on it occassionaly, promising dire consequences for lack of continued effort, and praising the sight of the purple carpet. It worked, and I was amazed at how little time it took Cora to accomplish clean with Dad directive. "Supurb" I thought to myself "No more babysitting, she understands the concepts of how to put stuff away."

At least I thought she did until I noticed a cardboard brick sticking out from under her bed.

Yep. The catch all of my daughters cleaning efforts were simple. Shove everything under the bed, and purple carpet appears faster, dad says you are done and you can play with the super interesting toy you lost and finally found under a layer of puzzle pieces to your sisters wood puzzles. I laughed silently in self dirision, and then tried to drag some of the mess out of its hiding place.

I'm too pregnant to do this. I realized. I can't even lie down well, let alone move my arms efficiently.

A super cleaning will have to wait, but at least I've learned a super lesson. A three year old cleans the way all children eventually learn to do. The FAST way, which involves finding a place your parents won't check and shoving all the clutter out of sight, and out of their minds.

How to feel like a hero in five easy stitches

2009-09-15T18:01:00.000-07:00

Today I finished a pair of impromptu and totally made up slippers for Cora. They are slip-on crocheted wonders. I use the word "wonders" only because the balls of brightly colored yarn look almost identical. After the first one was finished Cora was so enamored with them she wanted to wear it around outside one footed. I had to explain that I could not remember how to make number two without the first as a guide.

Molified she waited the hour or so it took me to finish the second slipper. Once she tried them on and held her feet out to be admired, she began to exclaim. "This is what I always wanted Mommy! They are perfect! They are absolutely beautiful. You made me so happy Mommy!"

The slippers are discarded on the floor by the chair. They stayed on for less than five minutes. The got put on only once after that. I really do not care. I made something for my eldest daughter, and she loved the gift and gesture. If she never wears them again, I will see them and hear her little voice so filled with joy at her homemade footwear.

Small Hero

2009-09-13T18:54:00.000-07:00

We have BIG concrete steps down to our patio. Cora excells at big steps, because she has more legs than anything else. Nyobi is not so lucky. Nyobi is an inch taller at 15 months than Cora was at 17 months, but the length is spread evenly, not segregated to her lower extremities. For Cora, the outside steps are a breeze. For Nyobi, they are a place to stand, signal and yelp until her well trained and adoring older sister could assist her.

With a practiced face to face firemans lift/hug Cora would lower her sister one step, then step down, and do the final tier. Nyobi knew just how to lean, just where to reach with her toes, and just when to let go. You do not need speech for team work. All you need is love, compassion and a closeness that I always hoped my children would share, and had no idea how to teach.

Of course, when you leave a willow built 32 lb girl to help a 26 lb girl down a flight of cement steps, as a parent you don't wander away. No, you stay right there, and hover, and worry about little heals and balance, head injuries and broken limbs. Today I watched the horror of my nightmares played out before my eyes.

I was outside as the pile of small limbs disentangled, and the gasping end to catastrophy burst into wails of anguish. The wails of anguish sounded pretty awesome to me. If my children can cry, they are probably not brain damaged so much as banged up a bit. I blame the family cold for the poor balance, but I was amazed to find out how FEW injuries the girls sustained.

Given the hug hold, Cora fell backwards, and is big and strong enough she never hit her head, just her butt and elbows. There are some nasty bruises and a small cut on one elbow, but those are her only injuries. Nyobi, who seems to absorb catastrophes on the left side of her face, came up with a slightly scraped knee and some grubby hands. Her head was cushioned by her sisters chest and stomach.

That is my small Hero. Cora took the brunt of the fall and never let go of her sister. One band aid, and two parents worth of hugs later, we had the girls back in working order and safely down the steps again. Now I can give up my nightmares of broken limbs, and move on to some other imagined horror of un-safety in my back yard.

Demonstrating Concepts.

2009-09-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

Nyobi:

Clearly demonstrated today that she could solve a puzzle. As the 100 piece puzzle sat on the table awaiting Coras return, the one year old picked up a puzzle piece, gave it a tentative bite, then threw it on the floor. She then proceeded to try and find a tastier one by patting the edge of the table. I pushed the puzzle out of her reach.

Nyobi grunted, in her usual thoughtful way. Then she proceeded to demonstrate her ability to climb. Standing on the chair she proceeded to grab and remove as many puzzle pieces from the table top as possible before I grabbed her. By the time I managed to replace the majority of the little cardboard wonders in the box, she was running down the hall with a tasty one soaking up the spit.

Cora

Demonstrated an exceptional use of literalism, and due to her audience, I got a wonderful dose of seeing how silly I look when my children manage to outsmart me. She got a hair trim today. Ensconced in the barber chair, the lovely blond barber did what I suggested. She turned to her small customer and addressed the question I just answered to Cora.

"How do you want your hair cut?" She said, turning Cora to face the mirror.

Cora looked at her, looked at me quickly and then pointed to the table in front of the mirror. "With your sharpie Scissors right there!" She responded.

I did mention the barber was blond didn't I? The poor young women did not realize the humor, nor understand the irony of the literal answer Cora gave her. Bemused she stared at me with an expression so helpless I felt pity for her and managed not to laugh out loud.

Mom

Actually, in all deference to my husband, Nyobi and my husbands family this probably has less to do with the hair color and more with the way some people view children. They do not believe that youth have the ability to make choices (within reason) about their appearance, nor express themselves as adults. My goal is to guide choices, not monopolizing the decision making process. Sometimes this puts me in uncomfortable situations; like trying not to laugh at a barber while very pregnant or trying not to cry with your 3 1/2 year old as she discovers that Mom didn't lie about it hurting when they pierce your ears.

After all, it is the tools, not the choices which they will use their entire life. Hair changes. Life changes. It is how we decide what to do each day, and how to live our lives that is truely a testament to our own parents efforts. My Mom and my Mom-in-law should both feel very proud of the lessons they gave their children. I hope I can do as good a job.

What a 3 year old says...

2009-09-01T16:29:00.000-07:00

...to help you get through labor contractions.

Okay, first off, I am one of those strange women whose bodies will decide to labor for a day or two, then stop for no apparent reason. It is like my particular genes dictate Olympic style practice sessions rather than the mild "false labor." Today was a practice day, and courtesy of an inside infant who has wedged down into my pelvic cavity and refused to surface, a painful practice day.

Nyobi is oblivious to most of this goings on. For her, Mom is just extra crabby and needs more snuggles and pats on the cheek. Of course, having a one year olds attention span, this means that five minutes later (if I'm lucky) and still ensconsed on Moms lap (if I'm not lucky) it is time to squirm and move. Having a 25 pound child dig into your contracting midsection in a moment of gleeful play is not very pleasant.

Cora on the other hand was a very helpful child. At lunch, as I leaned over the counter and wondered how women could go through child birth with back labor and no drugs, she looked over and asked me if I was having another "tack gun".

"They are called contractions dear." I said as this one passed, and I began to pull the french fries from the oven. "And they make Mommy very uncomfortable, thats why she had to wait to get the fries out of the oven."

"Mommy," the very wise child said. "If they hurt you, then they will hurt Anya Lee (the inside babys potential name)." There was a thoughtful pause. "I know Mommy! We will go to the Doctors, and then they will get Anya Lee out and then you will be okay, and we will have a baby!"

There is another pause as she watches me take the non-vegitable half of lunch off of the cooking stone. "After we eat our french fries." She says.

"Thats a great Idea" I said. "Unfortunately, Anya Lee gets to decide when she will come out or not, and not you nor Mommy nor the Doctor can really do much to change her mind. It might not be that she wants to come out today. We have to wait and see."

"Oh." The slightly deflated child stared at her plate, and began to dip stuff in ranch dressing. "But I want to go to Nanis and play Barbies..."

Nice to know that there are already ulterior motives in a 3 year olds mind. On the other hand, at least she is concerned for mine and her soon to be new sisters comfort. Either that or she just hates dealing with the crabby Mom of bad early labor days.

Slow Mind

2009-08-31T08:00:00.000-07:00

In our morning sit down time, Nyobi decided she wanted to be naked. She took off her pants, then got stuck in her shirt, requiring me to rescue her. I let her run off with only her diaper on. Some days she likes that.

Today the diaper was too much. She quickly stripped it off and plunked herself down, facing me under the TV. As I slowly began putting my crochet stuff back in the bag and getting out of the comphy chair, I watched her reach down and touch the carpet between her legs.

"Oh no you didn't!" I said, it suddenly dawning on me why she decided that she HAD to be naked. Sure enough, under where her butt was on the carpet is a little puddle. The diaper I scooped up with the unclothed child was dry though.

My slow mind should have realized that this wasn't your every day baby strip. Well at least we can start potty training early if this behavior keeps up.

PS: I need to clean the carpet in the living room and install those fake wood floors.

Blue Jean Buy In.

2009-08-30T19:05:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has witnessed the clothing consciousness of Cora can tell that she genuinely CARES about what she is wearing. Actually she cares about what anyone is wearing or smells like, and will kindly and ungraciously inform perfect strangers about appearance flaws and odor issues. Leave it to a child to make one feel like crawling under a table in embarrassment.

Aside from all her peculiarities, she does NOT, or rather did not like anything made of thick, un knit material. Blue jeans, denim, and corduroys never stayed on her body for long periods of time. She was more apt to wear only my bra and run around the house than the groovy purple owl pants. She liked the owl pants. She just wanted to look at them, though, not wear them. After one winter of continuous refusal, I consigned these garments to the "next child" box, and chucked them down stairs to the storage room.

Well the "next child" is currently trying to set growth records, which will be immediately broken by her new cousin. Nyobi (almost 15 months) is currently in a size 2T. Her diaper butt could almost use a 3T, but her stubby legs are still in an 18 months size. The chest filled with blue jeans and purple owl pants resurfaced this weekend. With the help of both children we dug through the chest and refilled Nyobis drawers with her new stylish wardrobe.

Amongst the discarded jeans, Cora discovered a pair of extra large jeans a girlfriend kindly gave me, whose boy fit the Nyobi growth pattern. These particular pants were a 4T that was tight in the waist. Cora pulled them out and asked, as she had with the last few pairs of knit pants "are these mine?"

"They could be yours if you like them." I answered carefully, folding another pair of cute blue jeans for my other daughter.

"These are itchy though." she says, staring at them.

"You don't know that unless you try them on." I point out, trying hard to ignore my growing excitement. Cora is an independent spirit. She decides many things for herself, and I am best to point out logical choices and leave her to act.

"Okay." she says, then she proceeds to try them on immediately. "Hey! These are NOT itchy, and they have a zip just like Daddy!" She says, sucking in her scrawny little gut to button them up.

Not only are they not itchy, but they are a lot tougher than knit leggings. Its not time to run out and buy fifty two pairs of little girl jeans for Cora yet, but I think its safe to say she is over her aversion. Two days running she has hung out in the new found wonders. It helps that Daddy has jeans, though it did puzzle me why she associated zips with Daddy. Then it occurred to me. Cora's functioning memory of Mom includes two pregnancies and I have yet to try on maternity pants with a functioning zipper.

Oh and did I mention that Nyobi loves cordorois? Cute purple owl pants here we come!

High Glass Entertainment

2009-08-28T11:54:00.000-07:00

Today, Nyobi came wandering down the hallway with a new find. A glass of water from my room clapsed between her hands, she took one or two steps then stopped. She giggled, then shook the glass suddenly up and down. It didn't slip out of her hands. Instead the small ammount of water in the glass splashed up and fell back into the glass (mostly). The sprinkles on her face made her crinkle up her eyes and nose, the noise made her giggle again.

She managed to giggle shake wander into the living room before she noticed me. She suddenly gets big eyes, looks at the glass and then at me. In an attempt to take off, she gives the glass a giant shake, splashing all the water out, all over the library book, table, herself, carpet and my foot. She was having a ball with a simple device we take for granted.

Of course, I did confiscate the High Ball Glass. It was real glass, and not something an one year old should play with. And I set the library book to dry. No great harm was done, but perhaps I should not leave glasses within Nyobis reach anymore. Coffee would be much tougher to clean up.

Right now...

2009-08-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

Right now, I feel like crying. My body woke me up at 3:30, and by 4:30 all the usual relaxation techniques failed. An hour later, I finally managed to start to feel sleepy. By 6:15, I thought about crawling back into bed for an hour or so before the alarm went off. Nyobi went off instead. I can not blame her. She was soaked through her pants on all sides.

After a typical display of the usual morning schenanigans, I got the joy of rescuing Nyobi from the futon. Somehow she managed to wedge only one leg through the arm. It had sunk all the way up to the hip. As I wiggled and snoogled, and she screamed, I seriously thought I would end up calling the fire department. I wonder how many people call with complaints of children stuck in futons a year?

Sometimes life is reduced to lists.

2009-08-26T14:38:00.000-07:00

For instance, this is a list of things I have taken out of the toilet since Nyobi learned to walk.

2 full rolls of toilet paper.
Nyobis lovey (at least 3 times in the last week alone)
3 Nukies (this is why you boil disinfect).
Plunger at least 5 times.
24 Toilet brushes (or rather one toilet brush 24 times)
4 shirts
2 paint brushes.
1 dress
1 pair of size 4 panties.
8 towels or wash cloths
1 tooth brush (trashed)
2 fish (plastic)
148 small hands (immediately washed, and all belonging to the same child)
1 match box car
1 diaper (hey, at least she is getting the idea)
1 cat (plastic)
1 cat (not plastic)

I am so glad that Nyobi has not learned how to flush.

Scissors

2009-08-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

The children, forced rest and general bad mood have made writing difficult these last few weeks. Who knew the hormones of pregnancy could make one view life so negatively that humor failed to surface about the every day gripe that constitutes human communication. Wait, that last sentence is depressing, and this has nothing to do with the current trend.

The Current Trend is Scissors. It is important for two reasons. First cutting things helps Cora learn fine motor skills, shapes, destruction and texture. She has a new (identical to the broken pre-first haircut) pair of childrens safety scissors. She loves them. She cut all the coupons for me, after I was done cutting the ones I wanted. She cut the frillies in the edge of her birthday sign for dad. She cut the wrapping paper, a mask, and when I asked her, used her scissors to cut open the giant package of paper towels.

Outside, she spent a good twenty minutes today trimming the lawn, with her little blue safety scissors.

Safety Scissors. Being a parent, I felt that term would constitute scissors which though dangerous for cutting, didn't have as finely honed blades nor points that they could seriously damage household items without the direct application of force. What I expected them to cut was paper, maybe cardboard, thin plastic, and by accident fingers and hair.

But NO! No, Cora managed to cut something today I thought it impossible for safety scissors in the hands of a 3 1/2 year old to penetrate. She cut and or stabbed a can of pop. As it hissed and sprayed out of the side of the can, she sat on the floor calling out to me. "Mom! What is the Pop Doing?"

Her scissors cut aluminum. How does that constitute any remote chance of safety for 3 1/2 year old?

Hey, what is that Pop doing? I think I have a science lesson fizzing all over my kitchen floor.

Library Club Crazy

2009-07-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

My children signed up for the library club this week. Reading a child two books earns them one sticker. Fourteen stickers gets you a coupon for a personal pan pizza. The club started the beginning of June, and ends the last day of July. The track sheets have enough space for eight rows of seven stickers each. Simply put, if someone read their child two books a day most of the days the club ran, they would fill out the sheet. At twenty eight, a book every other day would have sufficed.

In four days, we read well over twenty-eight books. I created a new rule that all books be different out of necessity. I had to. Cora found a book called "Bad Kitty" (by Nick Bruel) that she and I read a total of eight times, and she read it to herself at least twice every day since we checked it out. Nyobi spent one evening on my lap, and in a half an hour read "Moo, Baa, La-la-la" (by Sandra Boynton) twelve times. I actually read it with my eyes closed the last few renditions.

We now have seven days left in the program. If we make one more trip to the library we will finish that sheet. If we make one trip to a book store, I will be able to return "Bad Kitty" and Cora will not be a "crabby girl, because you made me give back the Bombay Bad Kitty book".

Wait... did I just whine about Cora loving books? I take that back. If I have to read about the cat that "Zeroed the Zinnias" two-hundred more times in my life, at least they are not staring at a TV screen watching Oxyclean commercials.

Now if only I could quit dreaming about singing pigs.

I am a good Mom.

2009-07-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

This is a snippet of a conversation I overheard between Cora and another girl (about 5) at the library. They are working on a wood puzzle of a kitty. Cora started it and the other girl showed up in the middle.

"I can help you!" Other girl says.

"You have a pony tail! I like ponys." Says Cora ignoring the offer for help.

"I'm Anna. Whats your name?" says Anna.

"I am called Cora. Oh look here is the tail." They work on the puzzle for a bit, and I emerge from the stacks with nyobi in the stroller.

"Thats my Mommy." Cora says proudly, "and thats Nyobi."

"My Mommy told me not to talk to strangers, they might be bad people. We shouldn't talk to strangers." Anna tells her, peering at me as I try desperately not to laugh and to continue searching for books as normal.

"My Mommy yells alot and drinks coffee. She's a good mommy!" Cora exclaims.

So, now I have the confirmation I never thought I would get. I am a good Mommy. Of course, there is this tingling sensation in the back of my mind that perhaps I do not want to be thought of as a good Mom for my vocal demonstrations or beverage choice. Why do they chose those items instead of the cooks fabulous food, reads to me, hugs me, or takes me cool places?

Maybe when it is all totaled up, the yelling IS important. Sometimes I think the worst thing a parent can do is NOT set reasonable boundaries for their children, or not enforce them. Its physically dangerous, but it is also psycologically dangerous as well. Whether we like it or not, our world comes with laws. Laws are limits. If, as a child we never learn that there are limits, we will be unprepared to face the adult world ahead of us.

Excuse me. I have to go drink coffee and kick two troublemakers out of the bathroom. This time I am going to try and moderate my tone. Maybe next introduction I will be "talks through her teeth and drinks coffee."

Definately a Trouble Maker

2009-07-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks, I have noticed the development of a certain streak in Nyobis personality. I am not enthused. This child, at just over one years, understands the word "No". She also understands that a parents arms are only so long and she moves only so fast.

"No" Dad and I said to her as she banged her butt against the french windows. She grinned, stood up, and proceeded to smash her diaper padded rear into the glass as hard as possible. As I started rising from the chair to grab her, she took off as fast as her chubby little legs would go.

"No" Her Dad told her, watching her splash in the side of the kiddie pool. She turned around and looked at him standing on the steps, and proceeded to put her whole face into the water. Obviously she will not have too many issues with swimming. It is also nice to know that her Dad runs pretty fast.

Even gentle admonishments are met with dissent. With help, she was ensconced in the small wood rocking chair. The antique used to be my Dads, but has found a loving group of owners in my little girls. Nyobi will sit there for her occasional evening TV time. This TV did not hold her attention. No matter. She dropped her Lovey on the ground, then proceeded to half stand, half kneel on the rocking chair, lean forward precariously and reach down and retrieve it.

"Lets not do that again." Mom suggested. She glanced up. There was a merry little light dancing in her eyes. She threw the lovey off toward the front, meeting my gaze the entire time. "Uh OH" the little Imp said, and began to position herself for the dangerous retrieval again.

She also enjoys climbing up on said chair herself. During that same movie segment (having been removed from the seat) she was entertaining herself by attempting to climb back up. When her inventive, over the arm method, resulted in her tumbling side ways her leg jammed in the rung, she appeared astonished but not too upset. Her Dad removed the leg, and moved the wood chair out of her reach. She stood up. Looked at the chair then stared at her dad.

With slump of shoulders and a boo noise her whole stance summed up her feelings. "Dad you took away all my fun!"

I am blaming his genes for this sort of behavior. From his own recount and his Moms, he was definately a trouble maker. Somehow I have an odd feeling that the emergency room and Nyobi will see alot of each other. As she gets bigger I am definately throwing my camera in my purse whenever we go out.

A new form of bribery...

2009-07-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

The Television in our house can be tired easily. After one hour a day, it spontaniously communicates to Mom that it is time to turn off. However, today it took a different tactic.

Given my doctors, Moms and Husbands instructions to laze around a bit, I ensconsed myself in my comfy chair with my communication devices and turned on a bugs bunny movie for the kids. When it ended, I decided I wanted to watch M*A*S*H. There are just two problems. First, my children tolerate my obsession with this show, meaning that if given any choice, or moodiness M*A*S*H is not on the menu. Second, the disk is way over there, and Nyobi is eyeing my computer. What to do what to do?

"Okay," I tell Cora. "The TV should turn off now, BUT if you put in one of Mommy's Colonel Potter disks it should do okay for another hour."

"Really?" she says.

She turns off the TV, and I think to myself. Well I guess I do not get to watch my show. Instead she rifles through the DVD drawer and turns it on again in a few minutes as a khaki menu pops up on screen.

"I gave it a nap to help it last longer." She tells me. Then she sees the moshi in the box next to me. "Is the pink one for me? Will you lick off the powder?"

It seems we both learned a new form of bribery.

AntePartum Panic

2009-07-11T18:46:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in bed, ice blocks on my feet, trying to remember what I planned for next week when the realization suddenly sets in. I am 28 weeks plus. In less than three months I will have a baby; it hits me.

Really, said baby does hit me. The little allegedly female creature who has slowly been rearranging my insides for six whole months is already active enough to make my mid-section jiggle around. The only problem is that babys do not seem obliged to rearrange your mental state until after they have deigned to arrive. All the changes in my body just make it harder for my mind to cope with the task ahead of me.

I know frequently I joke about the schenanigans of my two outside children. Actually, I can not honestly think of a post where I did not. Parenting is not an easy job. From the moment a mother first finds herself vomiting with pleasant sounding morning sickness, the path of her life must be shared. True, the every moment needs diminish in frequency, but not in intensity. Actually if you could look at my moms phone bill, you would probably doubt the frequency statement as well.

Being needed, being responsible for another human beings existance is a heart rendingly terrifying act of love. At what age I will quit leaping across space and time to form a cushion for impending injuries, real or imagined I do not know. My suspicions say never.

That is why I am suffering from an acute case of AntePartum Panic.

Do not look it up in your pregnancy manual. They skirt around this issue, as much as they skirt around pregnancy guides for third time Mothers. AntePartum Panic is the realization that there is a point in which you can stretch the Mom too thin to protect against most known dangers. It is the fact that time, and the physical resource of Mom is limited. Not the love. No the love is never limited. Just well, everything else about me.

It takes me half an hour to tuck two small children into bed. My 13 month old clings to me as I lower her towards the mattress telling her about how she'll get a cool new BIG bed soon. My 3 1/2 year old asks for one more book or one last hug, or the un-sleepy-without-it spongebob happy meal toy she has not played with in three weeks. My life and my arms are so full it seems impossible to make room for one more. Where will I have the time? The patience? The hands? How will I ever cope with sleepless nights when it takes so much energy to make it from 6:30AM (Nyobi's wake up time) to 8:30PM (The time Cora usually falls asleep)?

Once baby three is home, it will just happen. My ankles will not be swollen. My hormonal levels will not be so out of whack, and my two outside girls will be a few months and miles ahead of where they are right now. Unfortunately, that does not stop the itching feeling of panic I have. The next year stretches out dauntingly before me, a mountain of diapers, feedings and caffeinated delirium. This is Ante Partum Panic. It hits every woman who has ever had a child, but usually the ones working on number two or three harder. The cure for it is birth, when the imagined horrors dissappear in the exhiliration and joy of parent hood again.

For me, it is a syndrom with two silver linings. The new life growing into a strong little baby, and enough new and crazy experiences to fulfill my blog posts. That is, if I manage to make time to write them.

House Keeping

2009-07-06T08:46:00.000-07:00

The other side to being a stay at home parent is the fun of dealing with all the home maintenance and bills. It seems completely reasonable that the parent at home has time to talk to the cable guy, deal with the energy people and hurl insults back and forth with the telephone and insurance brokers. After all, adult contact is ideal....

Either that or it is a pain to make time when you can hold an un-interrupted adult conversation and keep track of different billing systems, rate changes and payment plans. Most recently, I found time to delve into the problem of why I kept getting really low energy bills. These energy bills successfully timed themselves with the installation of our new furnace, so in a way, my interest was not entirely piqued by the first couple low charges. When replacing a thirty year old appliance with an energy star and non-soot clogged device, one expects to see changes.

Somehow I do not think that my energy charges over the last three months totalled only eighteen dollars. Correct! Close examination of my online statements revealed that my meter reading was exactly the same for the last three months. In true Mommy fashion I took a break to start a movie for the children. The one before that only showed 15 kwh of use. Perhaps my husband installed solar panels without my knowing it.

I doubt very much that I could miss enough solar panels to generate power for our household. We do not make it over the 1000 kw use very often, but we come close. The polite people at consumers energy informed me that they would send someone out immediately to deal with the problem. While she answered what immediate meant, I covered the mouth piece to inform Cora I could not watch Mulan with her because I was dealing with boring stuff on the phone.

Immediately means within twenty four hours.

Then, hoping to leave me with a happy impression, I was informed that I could expect to receive a bill for the estimated energy usages for the last four and a half months, based on what they could wring out of the now defunct meter, and a review of my account. Mulan ends and Cora dances into the kitchen. The only happy thing I could get out of this statement was a mental picture of a maintenance guy torturing the energy meter. Great. When I get the worlds largest energy bill in July, my monthly budget will jump up and down in celebration.

Time to re-do the next six months budget with a catagory for the Energy Company Can Not Self Review Electronic Accounts. I decide to do my own estimates. Fortunately the Mulan disk has some marvelous music videos which buy me a total of 18 minutes minus walking time. My estimates show a several hundred dollar discrepency. I hate being honest.

At least I will sleep better knowing that we pay our way in this world. Perhaps I can help "wring" information out of the old meter. Or just be given it as a loser prize to destroy with a sledge hammer.

Mulan music ended and Cora trips through the kitchen on her way outside. No. Paying bills and dealing with services is not an easy task to do at the same time as watching small children. It has its benefits though. You get very quick service when there is a screaming child in the back ground, or at least sympathy.

MMMM. Berries!

2009-07-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

Blackberry Bonus!

2009-07-06T05:55:00.000-07:00

Our house came with a well planted back yard. Some enterprising bird also delivered a bonus to the previous residents that they either did not recognize or did not enjoy. There are blackberry bushes, wrapped around the base of the flowering cherry. Its quite a bonus. Cora went out every morning last month to check on their progress. I thought this was an excellent bonus. Nothing like a tasty treat to draw your children out into the sunshine. Then, as they discover the berries are not quite ripe they wander away to the sand box, or pick flowers and play in their fort.

This week the berries are ripe. They are so ripe and plentiful the flavorful little wild black bunches produced filled an entire childrens bowl this morning. As Cora and I circle the bushes and pick, I feel like there is no end. As I get to where I started there are new ripe orbs glowing purple in the sun. Nyobi happily brings me back to present by doing something painful, like banging a spade on my bare foot.

This mornings breakfast consisted of black berries, milk or coffee, and cereal. The girls ate the berries more so than the cereal but somehow I can not complain. Fresh picked produce outweighs boxed processed grains in my health index.

As I sip my coffee and feed Nyobi the last of her cereal, I have only one question remaining. Why did the birds not drop off some stain remover to help me with all the purple pink laundry stains? I mean really, it is not THAT heavy.

The doll War

2009-06-30T06:27:00.000-07:00

I have three larger dolls. Their names are Addy, Samantha and Felicity. Cora discovered the dolls in my closet, and has been repeatedly asking to play with them. They fascinate her. Aside from being an only sometimes pleasure of her life, one of the dolls became her best friend yesterday. This doll, named felicity seems to have more personality because there was a book in the case which included her story.

Once Mom read the story to her, and Cora discovered it involved horses, shopping and something called britches which looked like her shorts, she decided that Felicity was her freind. Now I have a War on my hands. Felicity keeps on dissappearing from my room, and when Cora is allowed to play with her, she will wrap her in her arms at the end of the day and insist that Felicity is her bestest freind. Amongst kisses and pathetic doggy eyes, ensues the verbal altrication in which I explain that Felicity is my doll, and that she must be returned to her place.

"She can sleep with me." Cora tries. I find myself thinking that this is just a doll, and that I am a little big for dolls. Then I remember the bargaining power of these play sessions, and the hours (literally) of peace they create for me. So far I have won all the battles, but the war is not over.

Maybe santa will offer a peace treaty in the form of a duplicate doll? Who knows. That little girl already has her own big doll, and is not the least bit interested in her. The insides of a three year olds mind are a mystery. Excuse me. Another battle commences.

Learning important lessons about you new car.

2009-06-29T18:06:00.000-07:00

After a disaster of a Monday morning, and owing to my eldests attempts to make ammends for her bad behavior and my pregnant need for onion rings, the girls and I decided to go out for lunch, and to the Rock Play Ground. Actually, I said, "I want to go out to lunch." and then added, "If you are good at lunch maybe I will take you to the Rock Play Ground afterwards."

Cora heard "Rock Play Ground."

WE got out to our NEW Shiny car. Cora watched Nyobi for me while I installed Nyobis car seat in said new car. She is really good at watching Nyobi. At 3ft 4inches, she serves as a little flag pole hovering over her sister, making it easy to spot both of them as they get into trouble. Sometimes she even says things like "Mom, Nyobi just ate..."

But I digress. As I put in Coras seat, she explored the new car, moving my purse to the passenger seat, she ensconced herself as driver and inspected the new wild array of buttons, and tried out the horn. I indicated to her that it was time to sit in her seat, and she dutifully returned to her chair. She exclaimed happily over the middle spot, and helped me buckle her in. Then I closed her door, walked around the car and pulled on the handle to the drivers seat.

It didn't open.

I tried again.

It didn't open.

I tried every single door on the car. They were ALL locked. "My Keys!" I thought.

Then I saw them sticking out of the purse, on the passanger seat. Not only that, but the extra electronic lock fob was still swimming in the mess that exists at the bottom of said purse.

"Cora!" I spoke loudly against the glass. "Unbuckle yourself, please sweetheart and open a door for mommy!"

Cora looks at me, then pops her thumb out of her mouth. She gestures to the top buckle and my lip reading skills tell me she said she could undo it. The bottom one when she points to it, she just shakes her head.

Great, two days into owning a new shiny car, I manage to lock the kids and the keys in the vehicle at the same time. How stupid can I get! I silently berate myself as I stroll back into the house to call my husband owner of the only key not currently in the vehicle.

I am brainless enough that I left my cell phone in the house, a fortunate mistake. Unfortunately, the battery is dead. Once I swallowed my pride and a uttered few choice words that my children should never hear, I phoned my wonderfully understanding husband, who borrowed someones vehicle, having biked to work, and drove home to use the last key to let me into the car.

Important lessons regarding new car. Do not let your children play in the front seat where there is an auto lock button unless the keys are on your person. Always keep some unlocking mechanism in the house. Onion rings are not worth making faces at two puzzled children for ten minutes while waiting for someone to let you into your vehicle.

Joy

2009-06-26T02:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes its the simple things that sooth the discomforts of life. There is laughter in my living room as two small girls run back and forth across the yoga mat, and hide in a princess tent. To them, the heat of the day has no effect. There is only joy, laughter and exertion. In effortless flow, the avoid catastrophic collision, and giggle as they tumble together into a pile of limbs.

This truely is Joy.

Five item grocery trip

2009-06-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

We needed five items from the grocery store; mayo, ranch dressing, lunch meat and tortilla chips. Do not think we have weird tastes in food. The only ones of those to be combined are the mayo and lunch meat, and there will be bread involved. I thought to myself. This will take little time, I should go do this now.

I wisked the kids out of the car and plopped them in the grocery cart. As I set the baby down, I noticed that strange odor coming from her rear. Oh Poop!

The first stop was a swing by the deli and fruit section. "Bananas!" Cora exclaimed. I thought about Nyobi and her recent issues with lactose, and grabbed a big bundle. There are no milk products in Bananas and they make excellent ice cream substitutes. As I set them in the cart, the Nuky came out and was discarded into the watermelon bin. As Nyobi began to whine because I refused to give her bananas immediately, I dug down through the giant green orbs trying to follow the sounds of pacifier plinko with my arm.

Luck was with me. I retrieved the Nuky, cleaned it, and tried to give it to the whiny smelly girl. She wanted nothing to do with plastic though. She wanted a banana, a diaper change and probably a nap, in that particular order. This is not a problem I told myself, soothing her with hands and soft voice. I only needed a couple things.

Twenty minutes later I emerged. Nyobi cried the entire time we shopped. I had three extra items and a giant pack of bananas. I went through check out twice because in my efforts to sooth the crabby stinky one, I forgot to purchase the Mayo. The only person who seemed satisfied was Cora, who was happily snacking on fish crackers, and loved being instructed that she did not have to share.

Next time I have a five item grocery trip, I think I will go in the evening, without children. Oh wait. I forgot to buy the Ice.

Rite of Passage; Cora is officially Autonomous.

2009-06-15T12:20:00.000-07:00

What I mean is, Cora demonstrated to me today that she acknowledges her power to make personal changes. Today she wanted short hair. She cut it. I should be grateful she did not decide to trim her sisters pitiful locks. I think I can still make a handy pony tail. She is thrilled with the results.

Actually she did a pretty good job of cutting it too. As the photo illustrates, she never got around to her left side, but the stuff she did is fairly even, considering the body contortion of the last snip I walked in on. The scissors are gone though. Mom might have broken them in a fit of pique at her discovery. Why couldn't she hack up that awful fluffy pink skirt that she was wearing at the time?

I asked her why she decided to cut her hair. She told me she wanted short hair "like Mommies." Flattery tends to soften ones anger, that and the realization that a crying cringing three year old will NOT cooperate as you finish the task they started. As I also had the added assistance of the one year old trying to climb on my lap or eat the hair clippings, I took a deep breath before I began to cut (with my scissors, not hers).

Why am I secretly more upset over her new hairdo than anyone else? I guess I loved the long hair princess look more than my independent girl. We'll go to the barber and have someone else finish the damage control tomorrow.

Criticism.

2009-06-08T05:25:00.000-07:00

Nyobi is my foodie. She likes to taste a variety of foods, and she finds ones she likes. For instance, she will eat multi-grain cheerios, but not the ones made out of bran. My floor will be littered with the dark brown cheerios at the end of a feeding session. Only one or two of them will be damp with evidence of tasting.

She also likes brownies. Actually, I don't know anyone who doesn't like brownies. Last morning I sat down to play some wake up board games online with a chunk of brownie. I sat Nyobi on the floor with her typical morning sippy cup of formula. She took a few happy sips and I took a bite of brownie.

She saw me.

She pulled the sippy cup out of her mouth. She stared at me as I took another bite, then looked down at her sippy cup with a look of perplexed disgust and then up at me again. Her eyes said it all. "How can you give me this crap and eat brownies in front of me Mom? Don't I deserve chocolate for breakfast?"

I can not stand criticism based on my inability to share fairly. After she ate half my brownie, she finished her now acceptable formula. I need to learn to eat in secret.

Purple Dress, Purple Shoes

2009-06-05T06:47:00.000-07:00

I would assume Coras favorite color is purple. How fortuitous that her bedroom came, pre-home purchase equip with carpet and walls to match. I suspected such a happy coincidence when her daycare lady showed me picture after picture colored with only purple crayons. There must be a "favorite color purple" gene attached to her Dads DNA, straight from Gramma.

Having recieved her birthday money from Great Grandma and Grandpa late (due entirely to MOM's fault), we stopped by the mall to acquire a present. Actually, we stopped to get a present, a new pair of summer sandels for her, and pants for the pregnant lady(my husband says the pregnant thing is entirely MOM's fault too.) She was only mildly interested in toys, she passed by the build a bear work shop with indifference, and she didn't appear interested in the hair fru fru store. Instead, she wanted to get cloths.

I can't blame her. Due to a bit of luck, her sister just got a brand new wardrobe for the summer and fall from a pre-yard sale. Its smashing cute outfits. Cora helped me fold them, and kept asking if it was hers or Nyobis. I could see the dissappointment when we ended the load with huge Nyobi stacks and not much Cora. Lets face it, having nice things can be very pleasant.

Thats where the purple dress comes in. It had cool india esque designs that she admired on the big girl cloths we passed. She literally began to strip to try it on the second she saw it. Amusing yes, but a little embarressing to yell at a child for trying to Nakify themselves in the middle of a clothing store.

She now has worn the dress for the better part of three days. She took it off to sleep at night only at my insistance, or threat of destruction. All her other new cloths lie forgotten in her drawers.

The best part for her, is that it matches the purple sandels. It also matches her purple room, purple carpet, and purple bed spread. She also might have purple toe nails.

Today we will go to the bike shop and variety store and see what else she wants to get with birthday money. I doubt even tassels for her bike or new sand toys will top the purple dress though. She glows with joy while wearing it.

I also need to wash it tonight, after I once again explain that dresses aren't for sleeping in. Then break down and explain that if she insists in sleeping in it I will have to get rid of it. One of these days she's going to call my bluff, and I'll be forced to eat my threat.

My peach!

2009-06-04T19:02:00.000-07:00

I recently purchased some peaches at the grocery store. Peaches taste almost as good as brownies right now. Both taste comparably worse than coffee, but my OB frowns on coffee while pregnant, something about increasing chances of miscarriage. I have to admit that is a dirty tactic when it comes to banning foodstuffs from pregnant ladies. For some reason I can break all the rules that lead to MY personal discomfort, but not the ones that hurt that little life on the inside.

Now peaches are one of those foods best purchased in stages. You pick some that are soft for now and some hard for later. I didn't have kids at the grocery store so I used time to weed through and pick peaches that would pretty much be the right soft at a rate of about one a day. This afternoon I went in to grab the one nice soft peach for dessert. Nani, Cora and Nyobi already scarfed down cookies, so I figured my peach was safe.

Wrong assumption. Cora appeared like a little bird demanding part of my "apple". Once she called it a peach, I realized I was required under the good Mom rule to share. After all, I assured myself. Cora doesn't like peaches, they have fuzz on the outside.

A few bites later, her little hands divested my fingers of the peach. In two minutes she returned to me the pit, said "Thank You, Mom. I'm full."

Well, at least she used her manners the little peach thief.

Fans.

2009-06-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

We have an oscillating stand fan that we use in front of the living room windows to help create air flow, and lower the chances of turning on the air conditioner. Its nice, portable and works well. When we brought it upstairs, we noticed Cora eyeing it in the way children eye a new toy they are not sure how to play with.

My instructions to place it somewhere where she could not stand behind it with her long hair puzzled my husband at first. Then when he realized the tragedy I was attempting to avoid, he quickly pushed it back against the window casement. If you have never had long hair, you just don't think about it getting pulled into the fans motor.

Second, in an attempt to demonstrate the danger of fans my husband took a crayon and with Cora in attendance shoved it through the protective grate. In true fan esque fashion, it chopped up one end in a wappity wappity fury. Coras eyes lit up in amazement, and something else.

He went on to explain in a grave voice that fingers could be chopped up in similar abandon. "Do not stick things through the bars!" He finished. She traipsed off to get ready for bed. My husband turned to me, and saw my barely controlled laughter. It broke him down and began to giggle regretfully. "I don't think that lesson went exactly as planned." He finished.

Today I got out of the shower to a wappity wappity noise. Cora came bounding down the hallway a short while later, a stick in hand. "I put this in the fan Mom, did you hear it?" She said excitedly.

"You're not supposed to put things in the fan, Cora. You could break things! Like yourself!" I admonished her, trying to crush the exuberance with a quelling look.

There was a pause, as she turned her eyes away in troubled thought, and then reverted to her usual state of excitement. "I didn't break my stick! So its okay Mommy! Besides, Daddy showed me how to do it safe."

Ah, Daddy, if you only knew HOW poorly that lesson went.

Watering, and revenge of the amateur gardener.

2009-05-28T04:27:00.000-07:00

I rushed out after dinner on Monday to plant my seedbeds in the garden. The sky grayed menacingly above as Cora, Nyobi and I feverishly drew lines, read instructions and popped seeds into the ground. When it was done I stared up hopefully, for the gray stormy picture to begin to rain.

It didn't.

I got out the sprinkler and began to water the seed beds. A light drop or two hit me, so I didn't "over water". God, I figured could take care of the rest. I went inside.

The next morning the same cloudy visage presented itself. The soil was damp, but with rain or just dew I didn't know. I waited. It didn't rain. I finally went out and began to water. It began to sprinkle, but I persisted to at least a lovely five minute soak. I came in damp, and hopeful for God to finish the rest of the watering.

It stopped sprinkling. The sun came out.

That evening, the same cloudy gray visage presented itself. The soil was damp still, but I was no longer hopeful for rain, given the fickle weathers past behavior. I went outside, watered for a few minutes. It began to sprinkle. I set the man made sprinkler for the back lot, and went inside.

It stopped its pitiful attempts at rain.

The next morning I woke at six AM. I lay down in bed and thought to myself. The sky is gray and overcast. It will probably rain. Then I thought. It hasn't the last three or four times I've operated under that delusion. I'm awake, I don't have children awake. I should go out and water.

No sooner than I thought this last thought, than the sky opened up in a blanket like down pour.

PS: The amateur gardener was correct. One should put a severed Tomato plant top in the earth, and provide good nutrients. They will take root when they are that small and tender. Silly Mom took it out and threw it away.

What a great Mommy!

2009-05-26T17:33:00.000-07:00

Recently Cora discovered her baby doll in her stack of toys. Actually I think we dragged it out from under her bed when we rearranged her room. We did the room thing Saturday. Its Tuesday evening and I can no longer walk in there. I have a strange feeling Nani and Gramma will have no sympathy with the latter.

The baby doll re-emerged, and came with a cute display of motherly adoration. The shopping cart became a pram, lined with a silk scarf, or Coras own special magic blanket. There was feeding, there was snuggling, and there was great neck support! For a while, Coras baby slept lightly in an impromptu crib made out of the foot stool.

Then Mommy and the girls went outside for a bit. Baby came too! She was cradled so nicely on her hip, just like Nyobi was on Mommy. Baby slid, baby sat next to the sand box. Baby got admonished for getting too close to the pool.

Then we went inside.

Half an hour later I glance out the door. There, lieing on the cement on the chalk "bed" Cora drew, in direct HOT sunlight was Baby.

What a great Mommy you are Cora!

She is a great little care giver. She is also only three. I couldn't ask for a better little helper to tell me important things like "Mommy, Nyobi found the splash!" and "I hear a Boo!" If she didn't leave her fake baby in the sun, or push her sister, or not listen I would be worried I did something terribly wrong.

On the other hand, perhaps the messy room is all the confirmation I need.

Motivation and Mosquitos

2009-05-24T06:21:00.000-07:00

Scenario One: The Mosquitoes of DEATH!

Driving back from Grand Rapids on Thursday, Cora, Nyobi and I let a cloud of mosquitoes into the car. As I sat in the drive way, smacking the little suckers, Cora demanded an explanation of my predatory behavior. "These aren't spiders or ants," I began. So far Cora's bug vocabulary includes these two small black ones and butterflies. "These are mosquitoes. They aren't bad, but they bite you and suck your blood."

Cora began pointing them out to me. I didn't think anything was odd about this behavior. After killing at least twenty buzzing terrors, I threw the car into reverse and began backing out of the drive way. A hideous scream of terror erupted in the back seat. It was the sort of terror that made me throw the car into park, ignore the grind of gears and unfastening my seat belt.

What met my eyes was not grievous injury. It was a tearful, frozen Cora staring at her foot. "Its eating my blood!" She said in horror. There on her foot was a mosquito.

Evidently you should not tell a three year old that something will eat its blood. She is now more terrified of mosquitoes than she is of any other insect. Hey! At least I didn't pass on my unreasonable fear of spiders!

Scenario #2: Motivation.

There are two people in this household who can be motivated by a can of beer. My husband and my one year old. They like different parts of the can of beer package. My husband likes the innards and Nyobi likes the shiny outer. Yesterday both parties were sitting on the floor. The innards beer lover was enjoying a can, and avoiding giving some of it to Nyobi.

Frustrated and highly motivated by one of her favorite and least received toys, Nyobi stood up on her pudgy little feet and proceeded to take not one, but four dangerous steps toward the lofted treasure. She did not get the open can, but she did get lots of cheers and hugs. Wait until she gets big enough to understand that her motivation toward her first few steps was a can of cheep American beer. Her uncles have much of work ahead of them.

Thinking Skills and Humane Empathy.

2009-05-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

Today during the pre-school learning part of the day Cora and I did a thinking skills sheet. It had rows of four objects, and requested that the child circle the "different" one.

Cora did excellently. She got the hat without stripes and the sock without flowers. The third set, with fish provided a problem. She circled EVERY single fish. When I asked her about it, and pointed out that one of the fish didn't have a pink fin she looked at me like I was crazy. "All different Mommy."

"Why?" I asked.

"Names." She said.

"What are their names?" I asked.

"Bob." she said pointing to the first fish. "Fish" was the second, and "Fish Bob, and Bob Fish" the third and fourth.

Here is an interesting thought. A preschooler pointed out that fish cannot be the same, because like people, they have their own identity. They are living, where as the other objects are not.

Perhaps I am making a big deal out of something very simple, like Cora covering her butt over a wrong answer. However it is a heartening thought to think that at three years old a child has no stereotypes when it comes to living things, even fish, and values them all enough to provide them with unique (Albeit similar) names.

Changing Room

2009-05-20T05:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I swallowed my pride and privacy and headed to the mall to buy maternity cloths with my daily entourage. Nyobi's new umbrella stroller worked wonderfully, and at a total of ten pounds did not make my hip ache pulling it in and out of the car. Cora loves this particular mall. What three year old wouldn't enjoy a mall that contains a carousel, a tree house slide fort, a dairy queen, a Disney store, a build a bear work shop and enough "do not touch" stuff to get bribed with each of the previous.

Speaking of little things, showing up with two children, and on a serious mission for maternity cloths does have its perks. The sales ladies hung my stuff in a dressing room for me to allow my hands freedom. Of course, it might have been in their interest. I grabbed Cora about the same number of times as I did items to try on.

Once ensconced in the curtained changing room I only had a few more issues to overcome. First, my three year old wanted to SEE the store, so she kept on trying to open the curtain while I changed. Once I managed to convince her that it was a bad idea, and she would not get to ride the carousel if she kept it up, she desisted.

Instead, in a loud voice she began to give a running commentary of my clothing options, and body. "Mommy, your BIG baby sits here." she said, poking at my belly button through the belly panel on one pair of shorts.

"That shirt is BLECK! I think Not a good deal!" she said as I looked critically in the mirror. I was still on the fence, but knew the second she said those words that I wouldn't buy it.

"I think those pants are a good deal!" she said about another pair. "Your baby belly is showing." Then as if she needed to repeat the first utterance. "Its BIG!"

A fascinating interruption occurred, as the sales lady offered me an elegant outfit of tangerine top and stark white pants. Did this women have children? White? With a three year old and a one year old?

However, this did require me to remind Cora NOT to play with the curtain.

Her important feed back on clothing finished, and curtain attempt two thwarted, she decided to see what was under the wall to our left. Squatting down she peaked under the partition, and then began to drop down onto her knees, potentially to put her whole head under the wall. There was a pause in changing while I explained to her that this was not polite. I happened to know that the woman next to me was working on her first child, and those women tend to not understand the indecencies of motherhood.

Once Cora sat on the bench and began taking off her shoes just like Mom, Nyobi decided she didn't want to hang out in the stroller and started to scream.

In the end, some brilliant and possibly foolish woman put a bag of M&M's in my purse, which satisfied the attention of both children toward the very end of the dressing session. Actually, I think that mall is my favorite, it allows me all sorts of little leverages, like the carousel, and the treehouse slides (changing room trip two) and the disney store (changing room trip three). Then there is that treat at the end, for sucessfully not killing my children out of embarressment, the Dairy Queen.

Wedding Issues

2009-05-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

First off, Cora was a flower girl in her Aunts wedding this last weekend. Second, she was excellent. She participated in the petal sprinkling, and walked like she was supposed to. She enjoyed herself too. There are very few pictures of her standing still and smiling, but rather hugging arms, winking at the camera and making faces.

They are lucky she managed to make it down the aisle at her age. The other flower girl (and the older more responsible person) had to convince her that it was Okay that all the petals were not used. She was "finishing up" by throwing them AT the brides maids. Bored, she sat down in the chair set aside for the Bride, and was finally delivered to our pew.

Silence is not something children remember. With Nyobi, she usually doesn't talk much if the Nuky is placed in her mouth. However, she chose that particular morning to try and start conversations with the people behind me, and explain to me in a LOUD whining tone why she didn't want to be there. Cora was much better. She helped the father with his homely, and preteneded to read from the missal. How she manages to time her outbursts right at the points when the rest of the congregation falls silent I will never know.

I've decided I'm lucky though. I never MADE her go to the bathroom before the cerimony, a fact I realized about five minutes and one bouncy flower girl into the wedding. Do you have any idea how relieved I am NOT to have to deal with a loud "I need to go Potty!" request?

All in all, their Aunts wedding was beautiful and dream like. Coras finger missed the front of the cake frosting by a few millimeters. Nyobi didn't scream bloody murder, and the wee ones left the reception by 8 PM. Actually so did I. Partying and Mommyhood don't combine well, especially the in-vitro mommyhood type.

And the Award for Junior Gardener goes to...

2009-05-14T14:25:00.000-07:00

The girls and I bought three pepper plants at the farm market. There is this really nice lady there who grows them naturally, and sells them for about two dollars each. Neglecting the chocolate bells, Cora asked for the Purple Beauties, to couple with my Carolina Red Bells and some Fish Hot Peppers.

We let the peppers sit in their cups during lunch, then tackled the cake after a short break. Once Nani left, Cora appeared at the back door. In her hands were two spades. "Lets do our peppers now Mommy. That's a Good Deal?"

"I will be out in a moment to plant the peppers." I responded. "I have to wait for the cake to come out of the oven."

Three minutes and one cake later, I stepped outside. There, gently patting the earth around the base sat Cora. She looked up at me with a serious expression. "It didn't all come out of the cup Mom." she said.

Actually, she got the root knot out of the cup. The plant itself never penetrated that deeply into the soil. Her gardening care was excellent. The leaves were undamaged and the plant the correct distance into the earth. The soil was repacked with the perfect firmness. Cora did not get her green thumb from me. Mine is slightly lethal.

I immediately dug up the perfectly planted pepper. It was in the best interest of the plant to be moved. It appears that I have one skill as a gardener that Ms. Junior Gardener does not. I manage to keep my produce confined to the garden bed instead of placing it in the center of the lawn.

The Concept of Time

2009-05-12T18:24:00.000-07:00

Children comprehend the world they live in much differently from adults. One Concept that is evidently difficult for them to wrap their minds around is measurement; time, and weight especially. For someone who has lived only a few years, a minute represents much more of their existence than it does for someone who lived five or ten times as many years. Yet adults express time constantly. With children, the idea of these expressions transfer from concrete to abstract in ways that amaze and confuse adults. Cora has enhanced my life fabulously with her unique takes on time.

"I will eat this pancake after dinner I think Mom." She told me when confronted with some unwanted breakfast.

"Lets do that after later, is that a good deal?" Was her response to my request she clean her room. It was not a good deal, and when informed that she should do it NOW, she huffed and began.

"Next year, Tuesday." Is how she understood my refrain of "We are going to Nani's on Tuesday next week." I suppose years and weeks are difficult, they are both LONG.

Some things she gets right though. She knows that the farm market is Thursdays, and will ask about it when there are feet of snow in the back yard. Of course she did tell me that it was going to snow this week. However, as we live in Michigan, its still a possibility. I witnessed snow in July once.

As for weight. This is confused with time. Yesterday whilst I was working on a sewing project, Cora came up to me with a ruler, held it up and looked at me and said, "Yep. You are sixty pounds tall."

"How much are you?" I asked.

"I weigh thirty inches." She answered.

Actually she does weigh thirty pounds...hopefully a little more. As for me and sixty. I wish that were in Kilos and right. Oh well... baby girl three will delay me fixing that number the way I like it, as long as I don't start saying "after later" to the diet plan.

Time; the one resource you cannot purchase.

2009-04-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

Finally I have two seconds to rub together some words for a blog post. Between the chemistry demands of constructing child number three, the life demands of child one and two, the work, the extra work, and the private goals, I ran out of time. When you are a Mom and time tick-tocks away, the laundry piles up, the dishes refuse to do themselves, and the elves forget to vacuum while you are out.

No problem! The solution is simple. You start cutting back on those things you don't really need. No more fancy shmancy cooking. Simple meals appear on the plates, and sometimes (forgive me evil pollution monster) the plates are paper. If it comes in a can/ box or prepared and frozen, its all good to me. The other way of cutting cooking time is take out, and though tasty, its also hard on the wallet.

Next you can cut back on your private recreation. My crochet hooks and knitting needles feel very neglected. My craft stuff just now became useful. It had to. Cora was running out of pants, and my sewing machine makes them just her size.

And the blog. That gets neglected also, because it takes TIME to write, and that is time I spend. My apologies to you whom read it, but in reality you have three months of good posts before the chemical reaction and the body changes associated will zap me of the time it takes to post again.

Perhaps I'll give up sleep instead. After all, who needs that?

Hopefully NOT Clairvoyent.

2009-03-03T07:03:00.000-08:00

This last few weeks my energy level sunk to an all time low, and my mood, especially in the afternoons sunk from occasionally crabby to grumpy as all get out. The person who bears the brunt of the badness is not my husband. It is my eldest daughter Cora. She makes my heart glad, by showing a compassion and caring, not only for me, but for her sister and father. I do not think you can teach children this sort of compassion and caring. It is either there on not.

For instance, seeing me dragging one day, she broke into the medicine cabinet and got me some medication "for you mommy." she says, handing me three small pills. The pills worked and I didn't even have to swallow them. I no longer felt tired. I had enough adrenalin running through my system that I could probably have finished the Ironman without problems. "Did you eat any of these?" I asked with forced calm.

She picked up the unsettled undervibe in my voice and her eyes grew wide with fear. What had she done wrong? her wheels started spinning. "No" she answered.

I called poison control anyways. West Michigans number is 1-800-222-1222. That makes four calls for Cora, so far. She was crying before I got off the phone, from nothing other than nerviousness over my change in demeanor. Is she clairvoyent? Does she know what I'm thinking? Can she see things others can not? My great grandmother was excellent at that sort of stuff.

Being as sensitive as Cora is, I do wonder if she is clairvoyent. Not that I put much stock in such extra sight, but it would be strange to have a daugther who could see the unseen. Whilste I was contemplating this fact, my daughter leaned over and touched my stomach. "We are going to have two babies." she said.

"yes," I replied absently. "Nyobi and the new baby."

"No" she corrected me. "Mommy and Daddy, and Cora, and Nyobi and TWO NEW BABIES!"

She just cares about her mom. She is NOT clairvoyent. How helpful of her to supply me with a little extra adrenalin in the afternoon though...

"And they are inside daddy." she finishes.

Right. Why am I worried? Back to anatomy 101. "No honey, daddys can't get pregnant...Only mommies get pregnant."

Why Instant pudding is better than Jello.

2009-02-23T08:53:00.000-08:00

Cora likes jello better than instant pudding.

However, Jello making requires boiling water, and at least four hours to set the dang stuff. Instant pudding requires cold milk, and five minutes. When you are three, waiting four plus hours for a dessert is a very difficult accomplishment.

Last night we made jello. We put it in the fridge at 5:30 PM. At 5:35 PM I chased Cora out of the fridge the first time, admonishing her that checking the jello constantly would slow the setting process. Undeterred, I pulled her out of the fridge at 5:40 as well. This time I gave her a direct order, no Jello until after dinner.

She was sitting at the table before I even announced that the meal was finished.

In the hubbub of after dinner cleaning, cora went to check on her jello. In doing so, she spilled the extra cup all over my vegetables, the floor and her feet. After we deblued her body, she forgot the jello, or so I thought.

As I emerged from the shower, I found her curled up in her usual spot in front of the TV, a cup of blue and a white spoon in her hands. She looks up at me with a calm happy smile. "Jello is done." she says.

And sure enough, being a thoughtful child, she had placed jello cups at her parents seats at the table as well.

Next time i'll just make instant pudding.

Mom at work.

2009-02-18T06:43:00.000-08:00

Whilst in the middle of chatting with a girlfriend, and making breakfast, my telephone rang. From the number it was a client and friend whose problems were of an urgent nature. Interrupting both my activities with a polite "I'm sorry I have to take this." I answered the phone. This is the problem with the Other Job. Its not a set schedule of hours. It just pops up in the middle of the rest of life and expects to be dealt with NOW.

There was this one associate I worked with who ONLY called when I was up to my arm pits in a project. Once, he interupted himself to ask, "did I catch you in the middle of anything?"

"Yes," I responded. "I was making bread." At least he understood when I showed up at his office with flour in my hair.

Another associate only seemed to phone when I was in the middle of changing diapers. After almost dropping my phone into the poopy side of a big mess, I gave up answering, and just started returning his calls thirty seconds later. It is actually a good strategy for keeping the Other Job seperate. I love caller ID for the same reason. If there are screaming children in the background, I'm not about to answer a work call. Family will understand.

Of course, small children and phones have an ongoing competition. If all is quiet and you answer the phone, you only have five minutes to complete your business before someone screams, hurts themselves or demands loudly that you get them more to drink. Seriously. Ask any stay at home mom, even those who don't have another job on the side. It could be 2 AM, and the wee ones asleep for hours, and they will still pop up while you are talking on the phone.

At least my girlfriend runs her own business as well. She just laughed and said, "I'm glad to see I'm not the only one."

Valentines Dinner

2009-02-16T04:30:00.000-08:00

It was a romantic candle light dinner. A fine wine accompanied an elegantly prepared shrimp and pasta dish, and they were served under the delicate glow of candle light. As I stared across the table into my husbands eyes, the far off sounds of splashing water served as an auditory back ground. It lasted all of fifteen minutes.

You see, the table was our own, the dinner served during one of those rare down times when both children were occupied. The splashing was our eldest, sequestered to a bubble bath for the duration of the meal, and occasionally you would hear her happy little voice commenting on another bubble creation. Nyobi mussed once, but settled quickly.

The wine was sparkling juice, courtesy of baby #3 who can not have booze yet. One candle burnt out in the middle of the meal, and it ended before dessert course with the call of "Mom? Daddy? Mommy? I ready to get out!" from the bathroom.

Romance is where you find it. If you have small children, sometimes you have to slip it in quick, and smile at the absurdity of it all. At least the shrimp dish WAS indeed elegant. Pete cooked it.

5 AM, or thoughts about change.

2009-02-09T01:58:00.000-08:00

Spring and fall send me odd messages. The changes in barometric pressure, and the shift in noise all disturb my light sleep. Change is one thing I enjoy, loss of sleep is not. However, this late night did give me time to reflect on some oddities of life.

For those of you who do not already know (and between myself, my husband and my mom, that list should be mighty short), we are expecting again. I put "another baby" on my christmas list to my Mom-in-Law. I keep on forgetting that given the way Cora turned out (high energy, low sleep, stubborn), God answers her prayers.

Like Cora, though the love is there, the timing on this baby is not perfect. Having concieved Cora in 2005, I have now been pregnant parts of five years running. Nyobi and in-vitro one will be, at most, 16 months apart. I would prefer they be closer to 15 months. Over due babys are very uncomfortable.

Cora is taking the whole thing rather well. She wants another baby, however, never having had a baby brother, and thinking highly of her baby sister, she informed me that the baby had to be female, "or a puppy, or a kitty!" Her eyes twinkled with excitement and amusement. I am not going to take her seriously enough to explain the impossibility of interspecies gestation.

My husband, having decided that Gods hand played a serious role in this conception, is certain this baby will be male. It looks like he and Cora do not see eye to eye on this event. He is dealing well with the idea of new baby, though the crazy hormonal, sleep deprived wife is giving him problems.

Nyobi has no idea what is going on. She is just happy with life, as long as I hold her, and she can vomit up at the worst possible times. For her, Mommys pregnancy won't mean much until the baby appears. Perhaps then, it will simply be an opportunity to get bunk beds and share a room with her big sister. I'm not sure I will be able to stand the late night giggles that arrangment will produce.

Me, my life is consumed with worry, partially due to hormones. I worry about my husbands stress level, being the 90% provider for another two years. I worry about Cora feeling invaded by having to share her room and toys with her sister. I worry about Nyobi getting cheated out of toddler years. I worry about my "business" and whether I will have time to properly pursue that now, or ever. I worry about the idea of having three children in high school at the same time, and at least two in college for five years straight. And in the middle of the night, when I can not sleep a very evil little thought creaps in the back of my mind. What happens if my body is just playing a cruel joke on me? What if I am not pregnant.

And the thought that seems to keep me up longer than the one above follows closely on its heels. What if its twins?

For now, I will pick out a girls name and go back to bed. After all, divine intervention only goes so far right? Besides, I don't remember praying for any two for one deals recently. Hopefully my Mom-in-Law didn't either. She seems to have a direct line to The Big Guy.

Heavy Breathing

2009-02-03T18:19:00.000-08:00

With Cora occupied with dice downstairs, and Nyobi contained in her highchair, my husband and I stopped for a quick moment of hugs and kisses. In the middle of a steamy embrace, a hubba hubba, heavy breathing sound of excitement filled the room. Unfortunately it didn't emit from either myself nor my husband.

It was Nyobi. In one of those romance killing displays of child excitement, she was doing her usually exhuberant sounding talking efforts. To a couple with kissing on their mind, it sounded like a telephone stalker whose panting lust induced sweat seems to drip through the phone line.

Our laughter brought Cora up from the basement. "Whats funny Mommy?" She asked.

I still do not know how to answer her. I just hope she beleives that Dad was tickling me.

Lunch Anyone?

2009-02-02T13:29:00.000-08:00

Today Cora cooked me a special lunch. One bag of Tortilla chips, a couple cheddar fish crackers, and some honey, a dash of salt, and some water. Mixed together and set until the the chips turn into a gooey soup, this delicious meal was brought to my attention in a HUGE bowl. I must have a big appetite.

It a squeal of gratitude I kissed her and told her I'd take her outside. Once she was gone from the kitchen, I began my Lunch.

I did not even taste it. I just dumped it down the disposal, and smacked my lips at the wonderful love with which is was prepared.

Vacation Adventure #4 (The last one)

2009-01-29T09:26:00.000-08:00

Hopefully you have been taking notes of the toilet vs. Cora theme of this vacation. It really was a battle, and one which the child did not really win. Our last meal out was at The Cheesecake Factory, at the Mall at St. Matthews. The girls and I met my husband and his friend for a delightful dinner sized lunch and a couple pieces of super delicious cheese cake afterward. Once we joined up, Cora and I went to use the girls room.

All went well, until Cora leaned forward to say she did not want to go potty, she wanted to see Dad. From behind her, the potty interrupted with one of the loudest flushes I ever heard. It was an automatic flush toilet.

Now, adults understand how auto-flush work, infrared beams that track your bodies position, and start the flush process once you have moved close and then far away again.

A three year old does not.

What a three year old understands is that the toilet does not flush on command, but rather when it wants to. That the toilet is out to get them, and wants to flush them down the drain with their poop and pee. Toilets 3; Cora 1

I do not usually get cried on by a half naked child in public restrooms, but this time it happened. When we took her to the bathroom at the end of the meal and I tried to get her to pee. She cried again, earning me looks of distaste from other rest room users. Toilets 4; Cora 1. Three hours later when we stopped at a rest area to use the bathroom, she refused. Toilets 5; Cora 1.

At five hours, when we stopped for dinner, there was no choice. I had to make her go potty, regardless of her tearful pleas. I took her in the rest room with me alone. I peed. I showed her the toilet did not eat me, did not flush until I pressed the lever, and for the most part behaved itself.

Unconvinced, she cried as I tried to pull her pants down and struggled. I did my second to last option. I yelled. That did not work. Finally I offered her the choice; pee or be spanked. It is a good thing that I was convincingly evil. If you are convincingly evil, your child doesn't realize you will not spank them. They think you are serious.

Trembling with nervousness and sucking in breath after breath of half tears she crept up on the potty, peed and then gingerly slunk off. She was in my arms in an instant as I cooed to her about bravery, and congratulated her for overcoming the monster.

Does anyone know who invented the self flushing toilet. I would like to send her or him a letter expressing my true and unedited opinion of the creation.

I should not blog at meals. Cora just gave me the crusts of her grilled cheese and took my center.

Vacation Adventure #2

2009-01-28T05:30:00.000-08:00

Three year olds have a different idea of what constitutes fun on a vacation than most adults. For children that small, a vacation must provide two things. Junk food and TV for dinner, and a Pool. This one did both. The hotel had both a pool, and a hot tub, which, once she got used to the idea of it, cora adored.

"Mom," she said, our second of three trips to the pool. "This is your big pool here, and that hot pool is MY SIZE! This is my hot pool." As she happily sat down on the edge and dipped in her feet.

Some person who does not understand small children left a table near the button that turned on the jets. I took Cora off that table at least three times a trip.

Dinner on saturday was a delicious pineapple and ham pizza. Its one of coras favorite combinations. She even helped mommy by carrying the pizza box into the hotel for me. I didn't snap a picture though, because I was carrying a stuffed snake sovienier from the Louisville zoo, a bag of drinks, our back pack, and Nyobi. They really need to create a genetic trait that allows you to add more arms. I'll help fund research.

Cora was excellent with the potty in the hotel. In fact she used it alot the first day. When you are three new potties can be exciting. Please take notes. Potties 2, Cora 1.

Vacation Adventure #3 (because I teased Nanny about it)

2009-01-22T06:09:00.000-08:00

For some strange reason, I decided to take a three year old and a six month old to an art museum. Give me credit for at least finding one with free admissions. The chosen museum, called the Speed Art Museum is located on the University of Louisville campus. The campus itself is in an historic district, with beautiful old brick buildings, and elegant statues.

The visit to the museum actually went well (though fast). Cora enjoyed the impressionist paintings, and the still lifes, which made her hungry. What did not go well was our arrival.

First, I found myself under the road I needed to be on top of to get to the campus. Next I pulled into the parking garage at the museum. I parked and got the kids out of the car, Nyobi in the sling, and Cora in mittens and hat. I have a travel pack, back pack that doubles as a purse and diaper bag as well as a catch all snack buffet for the kids and map holder. For all I know, if I dig around in it long enough I might be able to produce a kitchen sink. I threw the last few Items du- jour into it, and saddled it up over the sling on my back.

This means that with Nyobi, I'm packing about 25 lbs of stuff. Good thing I have hiking boots. I go across a covered walk, out through a park, to the museum doors, no more than 50 feet from the car. They are locked.

The museum doesn't open for another half an hour.

It starts to snow. "No big deal" I think to myself. "I'll go to the information booth and find some other attraction that is open, didn't I read about the planetarium?" I take off through the cold, Cora in tow.

We get to the information booth. The snow is tiny icy pellets and there is a slight wind. The wetness of it saps the heat from your skin faster than the dry cold we came from. Cora is complaining about walking, and the information booth is closed.

Oh well, I think, we'll try the law library. Everyone knows law students study 24/7. I think back to the U of M and U of MN libraries I've visited. This one will have a display on Supreme Court Justice Brandeis. I boost Cora up to my shoulders, and begin walking again. I'm treking the U of Louisville campus with 55 pounds of kids and gear, at least.

This also is closed. No matter, between the Law school and the museum is the regular campus library, and there are students walking up the steps. I join them, seeking some way out of the cold.

At the top of the steps stands one of the desk clerks, he is laughing in amazement at me. "Thats quite a load!" he comments. I chuckle as well.

"Yeah, but at least I know I'm getting my hiking practice." and enter the library. We find our way down the stairs into a basement hall way that is both deserted, and away from the study areas. As I feed Nyobi, and thaw out, Cora demands to use the bathroom.

Please understand, I do not usually give into a three year olds demands. That is bad parenting. However, when a child that age say the word bathroom, manners asside, they cannot wait a minute to use the facilities. You get them there, or clean up the aftermath (see Vacation Adventure #1) I rush her into the deserted bathroom, and send her into the handicap stall to do her business. I sit down on a bench near the door and watch the ankle to knee display of potty ritual, feeding Nyobi the rest of her bottle.

As the potty ritual ends, I glance around the room. It reminds me of any other campus bathroom I've been in. My sucessfully peed out girl pops to the door of her stall with a big "proud of making it on time" smile. I share her joy. Then her smile vanishes.

"I forgot to flush!" she says, and runs back. Suddenly there is an awful high pitched ear splitting siren going off.

My God! A tornado! No, its more like a police car. I pull Nyobis hood up to dull the sound for her, and Cora comes running back and clings to my leg. "What is it Mommy?" she says.

As I glance around, I notice a button on the wall near the door. Its in an attractive blue case, with an attractive red center. Its hung at eye level for my Cora. I peak into the stall Cora used. There on the wall is a similar button. It reads Emergency.

This library has assault buttons in their rest rooms.
"Did you press this to flush?" I ask Cora above the wail.
"Yes!" she says.

Once again loaded up, I climb stairs to the front desk, meeting the desk clerks at the top of the stair case. There, the clerks suggest that Cora and I wait around for the Louisville police to show up. A couple students come out to complain, as I explain and appologize to whomever will listen. The officer quickly goes downstairs and turns off the alarm. After he and the clerks finish chuckling, and explaining in front of everyone how to turn off the alarm, I glance at my watch.

Trust a three year old to find some sort of amusement for me that will take up the rest of 30 minutes. The art museum is open!

As pleasant as the officer was, I could have done without that introduction to the culture of Louisville. Please mark your score cards. Bathrooms two, Cora zero.

Definately Not a Surgeon, but an MD

2009-01-21T05:18:00.000-08:00

For her birthday, Cora got the game operation. She thought it was cool! She opened it, and filtered through the money and cards while I was putting the plastic pieces in the person, and the batteries in the back. Powered up and filled with ailments, I drew her attention to the tweezers and buzzy fun. The second I touched the metal tip to the metal edge, his nose lit up and the teeth vibrating nnnnnn noise began.

Cora jumped backwards almost falling off the chair in her efforts to escape. I giggled, and did it again, expecting her to come back in excitement once the initial shock wore off. No such luck. She does not like the buzz. She found a pair of all plastic tweezers in her room and uses those to remove the ailments.

Aside from her fear of minor surgery, she does like doctor stuff. At her three year appointment she cooperated with the doctor, and then proceeded to take the examining instrument, examine her belly button under the flash light, look inside her own pair of surgical gloves, and listen to her own breathing, just like the doctor did.

For some reason the doctor didn't ask me about whether she remembered anything well, or if she was curious. I guess MD stuff is more her style.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to start making plans for medical school. Last time I asked Cora what she wanted to be when she grew up she told me she wants to take care of animals "horses, these are funner."

Chances are she will become a shoe designer. She definately loves footwear.

Vacation Adventure #1

2009-01-20T11:08:00.000-08:00

I just returned from Kentucky, where in I learned that vacationing with children is exhilerating, exhausting and exciting. We had many adventures, the first started a few hours after we left, while stopping for breakfast at McDonalds. We chose this particular store because it had a play area with a two story childs maze. At first Cora would not go on the maze. Finally her dad and I loured her up to the top, then encouraged her down the slide. Rather her dad did. I was too busy changing the super poopy blow out diaper on Nyobi.

Once she figured out how the play area worked, Cora was enraptured. She was so enraptured that she forgot to break for her own bodily functions until the last possible moment. We rushed to the potty in the play area. It was "temporarily closed" which explained what the dust was doing on the handle.

I grabbed Nyobi and my purse, left the diaper bag and headed to the first door, which went from the play area to the restuarant proper. Why did I need to take my purse and the baby? Because the only time Cora needs to go to the bathroom on vacation are times when Dad is not there. This particular time we met him in the hall to the bathroom, and handed of the babes and my purse.

In the toilet, i boosted cora up onto the seat then took the rather disgusting poop filled panties to swish out and rinse. Somewhere in the middle of rinsing them I gave up, and threw them in the trash. They were beyond saving. Cora wanted to get down and put her pants back on and go back to the play area, but she was smeared with poop, so i told her to stay seated.

She listened as well as she usually does, and whilst I was moistening some papertowels to help clean her up, I heard a loud thwack noise from behind me.

I walked back into the play area holding her. My husband looks up from the clean table, clean happy baby, and asked puzzled "Why are you carrying her?"

"We had a bit of an accident." I said, as Cora lifted her head off my shoulder.

"Woah kid." He said. "You're lip is FAT."

"We fell off the toilet and hit our face. We aren't wearing panties, because we didn't quite make it in time, and it was loose, and we are going to need a bath tonight."

He came over and took the poor girl from me, inspecting her swollen mouth.

"Do you need to go back and clean her up some more because she still kinda smells." He asked.

"No." I answered. "thats me. The poop smell from trying to wash out her panties."

"Where are they?"

"The Trash."

"Hell of a start to the vacation."

"Yeah." I smiled. "Lets leave before the try and figure out who broke the tile on the bathroom floor."

Hopefully she doesn't demand to know where he lady bug underwear are, because I'm NOT going back to get them.

Early This Morning...

2009-01-16T05:12:00.000-08:00

In between the flying wrapping paper and the now three year old with a party horn, Nyobi woke up. Her Dad went in to get her, as I was making coffee, milk with strawberry syrup and muffins. From her room I hear a grumpy "I take it the trash in here needs to go out!"

It was more of a complaint than a question, and rightly so. On top of the trash can sat THE diaper. Let me tell you about THE diaper.

At 3:30 AM I woke up to Nyobi chatting with her Doggy T. I went into her room she smiled and giggled at me. I groggily picked her out of the crib and hugged her. Her sleave was wet. She must have been up longer and chewing on it, I thought.

Then I noticed that the wet wasn't limited to her sleave. Her stomach area, front to the neck and to the knees was soaked. A pee diaper? I thought. I set her down on the matt to change her, and began to feel the sleeper. Even the toes on the booties were wet.

I stripped her to find poop and clammy skin up to her armpits, and out the back and legs of the diaper. This was a record holding diaper. It was unfoldable. It took half a dozen wipes, at least, to clean up the butt, and a couple extra to sponge clean her skin. Then I went through the crib. After I stripped it down to the mattress and put on a new sheet, we went and got a bottle. Even the blankets will need to be cleaned today.

After putting Nyobi back in her crib with a full stomach, I stumbled across the room and picked up the diaper. Afraid it would leak, squish or flop, I just set it on top of the trash can lid, figuring that I would deal with it in the morning. I fell into bed and didn't think of it until the word Trash drifted out of the room.

And I was actually gonna weigh it before I threw it out. It probably would end up in the guiness book of world records as the most filled diaper ever.

Not Quite Getting the Concept

2009-01-15T10:12:00.000-08:00

I asked Cora what she wanted to do today. She said she wanted to eat the cake we just made. I explained to her that the cake was for tomorrow, for her birthday.

Excitedly, she begins to jump up and down. "We having cake! It my birthday! Come OOON Mom, We got to wrap presents. Lets wrap presents!"

"you want to wrap presents to unwrap on your own birthday?" I asked her.

"Yeah." She said, pulling my hand to get my butt off the couch. "I like presents!"

I don't think she quite gets the concept yet.

Pancakes

2009-01-13T04:39:00.000-08:00

Cora decided the other day that she wanted to cook. Cooking is one of coras favorite activities. She will make her own muffins (she calls them cakes), and helps me make a whole slew of other simple foods. Yesterday she decided she wanted to make pancakes. She got out a bowl for mixing, a spoon for mixing and the "just add water" pancake mix. She filled the bowl with mix, added some water, and stirred.

At this point I walked into the kitchen from changing her sister.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I making cakes." She said. Digging in my cupboards. She emerged a little bit later with the biggest frying pan I have. "I make them big for you Mommy, cuz you are HUNGRY!" She placed the pan on the floor and poured in some pancake mix.

Then she stared at the pan for a bit with deep concentration. I wonder if that is what I look like when I cook in the morning. "You need slurp." She said, and took off for the pantry.

I smiled, and walked around to get a bottle for Nyobi. As I pulled the bottle out of the cupboard, I realized that slurp was Syrup. I managed to intercept the bottle still closed. pancake mess is one thing, but cleaning syrup up is a sticky situation.

Puffs and Patterns

2009-01-12T05:16:00.000-08:00

Puffs are the small delicate little melt in your mouth cereal they make for babies. Both of my children love puffs. Currently we have the blueberry version open. I think the blueberry are made by Meijers. My husband says they taste like low sugar boo berry cereal. I did not know that boo berry had a taste other than sugar.

Nyobi can now feed herself puffs. Its tricky and, depending on where they end up stuck to her pudgy little grabbers, some of them don't quite make it into her mouth. She loves doing it too. It takes alot of concentration on her part. Then, when you lift her out of her swing at the end of a self-puffing session, the misses fall out in a cascade.

I brought home some patterns for doll clothes. Cora was enamored with them. First she tried to open the envelope, but I demanded it back. No problem. She took off down the hall way, and the doll to be clothed was naked at my feed in the matter of seconds.

I guess this will teach her patience.

Hopefully, it will teach me patience as well. Either that or teach me how to sew quickly.