uniquety

Schedule

2012-01-30T20:10:00.000-08:00

I was much more precise with my other babies. We had nap times and snack times and play times and work times pretty much figured out. Not this time. In the past two months we've finally worked out a routine that works for us...pretty much.

The routine includes nagging at the back of my mind every Monday -Wednesday about whether I have babysitters lined up for the children not involved in the various lessons we go to. It also includes daily (or nearly so) walks/bike rides. Weekly-ish grocery shopping with only half the kids along. Quiet time that partially lines up with nap time and reading time which means if I'm lucky 15-20 minutes of by myself time. There is time to shower but not generally time to bother with my hair or make-up. It includes laundry time, but usually not enough to get everything folded as soon as I'd like, and time when I wonder about what I'm going to make for dinner. Finally it includes time at the end of each day when I sit and think about all the things I'd like to do that don't quite fit into the routine we've finally mustered.

I have got to find a way to make things. A way that does not include the sacrifice of sleep. Without the outlet of creation I'm getting washed down like an old bar of soap.

Eight months

2012-01-26T19:22:00.000-08:00

The past month brought four or five new teeth, (He's got the top center four and three on bottom) and all kinds of new tricks. It always seems that he catches on to something new the very week before I'm due to write this post. Guess what it was this time?

And then there was also...

He's been working on crawling since early December, once he got that down it was only a day or two before he'd moved on. He found the next skill much simpler to master.

He's reveled in pulling books off the bottom shelf ever since he managed to maneuver himself to lay beside it. Imagine the joy he felt in discovering yet another shelf full waiting for him in his new upright exploration.

Tell me: what am I going to do with this boy who refuses to stay as tiny as I want him?

Things will always go your way

2012-01-26T19:05:00.000-08:00

If you can manage to turn your math homework into an art project.

Casserole

2012-01-23T14:15:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up if I went into the kitchen and asked my mother what was for dinner, 90% of the time the answer was the same.

Casserole.

On good days I would groan and slunk out of the kitchen. On bad days I would groan, stay in the kitchen and complain about it.

Casserole meant that whatever contents of the kitchen could be rounded up would be tossed in the frying pan and cooked up en suite. This post is like that. Whatever I can round up in my head will be tossed in. Sometimes my mama's casseroles turned out really good, sometimes they were awful, most of the time they just were. Not too good, not too bad just...food. (we ate really good food too, it's just that the really good dishes all had actual names) I imagine that's how this post will turn out.

Duke got a wool diaper cover for Christmas. Thrilling gift, no? I've been reading about the wonders of wool since I started investigating cloth long ago while expecting Enzo. Diaper covers made simply of yarn? No plastic? And somehow your babe does not wake up lying in a pee puddle? Not to mention the claims that the wool was soft rather than scratchy. It was magic I wanted desperately to believe in. I begrudged myself my lack of faith in the matter.

I finally got around to using the wool cover today. Guess what. The magic is real! He wore it all morning with no dampness seeping through. When I changed him out if it I found myself contemplating wool covers of all kinds.

Tomorrow it's my turn to teach pre-school again. This week, the letter O. This letter is much more fun than the other letters I've been dealt. I think I'll bring the blender to the table and let them help make orange julius for snack time one day.

I'm going to be re-painting my table soon. I'd planned to do it this week but I just now realized the flaw in that plan. I'll need the table for pre-school. What happened is, the table top that I spent so much time sanding, went all to hell once I got it in the house.

The Polycrylic recommended by the man in the paint department is what did it. That stuff grabs messes and holds tight with both hands. If you write on a piece of paper, turn it over and write on the back the graphite from the front side will transfer to the table top. Removing the resulting marks will take buckets of elbow grease and leave a dull smudge on the table's finish. Imagine the trouble caused by substances more stubborn than pencil. Substances that at times wind up being applied to the table top directly rather than transferred from the backs of papers.

It wasn't long after I finished the project that I accepted the reality that I'd need to re-do the most time consuming portion of it. Meanwhile, as I've been working up to the task I decided to change the colors in the house so now, instead of just the table top I'll be painting it in it's entirety.

Zizza is sitting by me. She ran out of things to do elsewhere. She insists that she can sit beside me quietly without disturbing. She cannot. She tries, but she just has to talk to me. She has to. Right now she's crying at me about a preschool project she wishes she'd been able to participate in seven weeks ago. Even when she has a book to read she can't manage to sit here quietly as I type. More than once I've come out from under a paragraph to realize she's been reading a passage aloud and now wants a response from me on the hilarity of it's content.

You'll have to excuse the lack of conclusion to this casserole, as my child is now pouncing and whispering the word "Pecaw" repeatedly. This inhibits my ability to form sentences.

Thanks, Ziz for the blog post

2012-01-19T19:47:00.000-08:00

Zizza is learning about birds this quarter. Today she brought home an essay she wrote on the topic. Here it is for you to enjoy.

Tiny Bird

By Zizza Earl

I am a tiny peger (peregrine) falcen in a warm soft egg. I love my egg it's cozy inside.

Hay, I hatched now I'm a cute littel fluff ball. I have fetheres but I can't fly yet. I don't have the right cinned of fethers. I can flap my wings but I won't go any where.

My mom just flew away to get food I love pigens I hope she cachis one! She cot one time for dinner! Mmm this pigen is yummy.

Time for bed I tuk my head under my wing nighty night. It's morning mom cot another pigen mmmm this one is good to.

ot-ow the wind blew aur nest. Owell time to rea bild. Bey

I added a few periods and capitals but everything else is as she wrote it. They've been working on contractions this week. I didn't add a single apostrophe. I'm high fiving her in my head right now.

Anything that's not about elephants is irelephant

2012-01-18T21:32:00.000-08:00

My last few posts have been such a pity party. "My baby's sick," "I'm sick," "I cut my finger," Boo-Hoo already, geez Eva. So today instead of posting about how Moo was sick last night, (four separate barfings within the hour of one o'clock) I'm going to show you a project I did.

Did you even remember I can sew?

Yeah, me niether.

I'm a big fan of Jodie's I have a whole stack of her patterns. I finally got around to making one. I like it so much I went head and made it in quadruplicate.

When Parsley and Beet the two elephants who are not quite big and not quite small first made their way onto my computer screen we were all (me Ziz and Enz) head over heels for them. In so much that those two still remember and occasionally ask me for "The elephant story on my computer," It went without saying that I bought the pattern as soon as it was available for purchase. I just didn't get around to making it for a few years, but I was determined to have an elephant per child this Christmas

I was lucky enough to find nice wool flannel that was already grey, thus saving me the trouble of dyeing it. I ordered it in more than plenty of time and when it was delivered I found it much greyer than my computer screen had portrayed it to be. So much for saving time dyeing fabric. I had to put it through a number of bleachings to get it light enough to suit. They're still decidedly on the dark side (Not in a may the force be with you kind of a way. My elephants are in no way affiliated with the Sith) but they'll do.

One day, as Christmas drew near, one of our favorite babysitters offered her services free of charge (See why we like her?) I took that opportunity to get stitching on these guys. I'd had them cut and ready for weeks but I hadn't found time to sew them without being observed. That day I did all the machine sewing on all four of the elephants in 1.5 hours. Not to shabby.

I planned to finish up the stuffing and hand work in the car on out way to Utah. That would have worked just fine if I hadn't run out of stuffing mid journey. Once out of the car my time to sit and stuff diminished drastically.

On Christmas Day while the kids were napping (yep, I totally enforced quiet time on Christmas) I was trying my best to get these little guys finished up. Before I knew it the kids were up and there beside me. With the surprise factor out of the way I lost my drive to get the elephants done and put them away.

Three days ago when I finally pulled them out and completed the remaining minutes of work (four sets of button jointed arms and legs) I lamented that they'd already been spotted. They would have made fantastic valentines for those kids of mine.

Anyway, I made them and they are loved. Most notably by the eldest and youngest though the middles are fans as well.

Duke took his elephant in his hands gave it a shake, tasted a foot and thoroughly approved. He also enjoys manipulating the ears and grasping the trunk. Unfortunately for him, button joints mean close supervision so he doesn't get as much pachyderm play as he would if it could live in his bed.

Ziz carried her elephant with her, held it in her lap while reading and generally adored it all day. In the days to follow she worked on finding a suitable name. While gazing at the movies on the shelf she toyed with "Charlotte," or maybe "Enchanted" my comment on the latter was that an elephant named "Enchanted" could easily come to be known as "Ella Enchanted" (she got that book for Christmas) Now it wasn't safe to call her elephant anything. She was rotating through names at such a rate you'd be sure to use the wrong one. How many times did I say "Ella" when her name was "Charlotte" or "Enchanted" when her name was "Ella" and Etc? Yesterday she finally settled on a name for better or for worse. The Elephant's name is "Giselle" but her nick name is "Charlotte" so that's what you should call her.

Zizza's elephant being the most played with was also the first to break. Do you spy the buttonless hip joint in the photo above? See, I got to the jointing part and realized I didn't have any suitable string for the job, so I just used black embroidery floss. The result is; I'm going to have to re-do all the joints as soon as I get some good string.Also, I didn't have a good shade of floss to use for "character lines" on the trunks of my little friends so I'll have to sneak them away one by one and add those lest these playthings be accused of undergoing botox treatments.

I'm going to let each kid chose fabric for his or her elephant's wardrobe and dress the herd in the coming weeks.

I like toys.

My house smells awesome

2012-01-17T21:41:00.000-08:00

I made cinnamon rolls today. I used P-Dub's recipe except I prefer brown sugar and cream cheese frosting to the white sugar and maple glaze she uses so I did that instead. They are lots of kinds of good. I have to tell you, that dough smells divine. The rolling process was especially enjoyable because the warm sweet yeasty aroma wafted so pleasantly.

Less pleasant was the part near the end when my finger got in the way of my super sharp slicing knife after which, I had to spend thirty minutes with my hand elevated to stop the bleeding thus making me late for the remainder of the day.

Zizza thought I must be overreacting. "How did you cut yourself with a butter knife? A butter knife is just a regular knife. They're not even sharp. I don't know how you could cut yourself with a butter knife,"

She said all of this while I was at the sink washing sugar and blood out of my finger and groan-screaming. You know, a long sustained "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh," but not real loud and sort of guttural. After a minute as my vocal reaction subsided her monologue started to wear on me and I managed to growl out "It's not a butter knife, I use it to spread butter but it's not a butter knife and it is very sharp." Then I betook myself to the bathroom where I attempted to staunch the bleeding long enough to get a bandaid on. It took a while.

The good news is; only two puny end of the roll-rolls were involved in the accident. The rest were safely nestled in pans far out of contamination's way.

Snow ball

2012-01-13T21:39:00.000-08:00

Say you're seven years old and you're having "snowman day" at school. What do you wear?

A snowball skirt of course!

The night before snowman day I was struck with the necessity of such a skirt. I had a crinkly eyelet button down blouse in my refashion pile courtesy of my mother-in-law which proved to be just the thing I needed.

I cut off the top just below the sleeves and straightened out the shirt-tail hem. With the resulting tube of fabric and some white knit from my stash I fashioned a bubble skirt. Then I unbuttoned the still functioning shirt buttons and stuffed it with poly-fill.

When she first put it on it was just as plump at the top as the bottom. Unfortunately, there's such a thing as gravity which has the audacity to apply it's force to novelty clothing items just as strongly as anything else.

Rude.

Sick

2012-01-11T10:09:00.000-08:00

Are you noticing a theme? Yesterday we discussed the baby's ill-health, today I'm 'bout to tell you about mine.

I have an aunt who can't yell.

Well, she sort of can.

I mean, she tries but her voice cracks every time she raises it. If an announcement needs to be made at a family gathering; she is not the one to make it.

Today I sound just like her. Enzo, Duke and I went shopping while Moo was at dance class. Enz could barely hear me above the din of the grocery store and the louder I tried to talk the worse it got. I have new sympathy for my aunt. How frustrating not to be able to yell at you kids. (Though I think her's learned to respond to croaking)

I keep laying my cold fingers against my neck hoping that their chill will somehow soothe the raw soreness of my throat. It actually sort of works, though not as well as if I could figure out a way to apply a cold compress from the inside out. (I just figured it out. Ice cream. But did I buy any? No)

Between the essential oils I'm using and the raw garlic I just swallowed I pretty much smell like a pizza. Maybe I should invent a tomato based poultice to smear on my chest just to round out the similarity. One thing science's pharmacy has on natures, it's much less...pungent.

Aaaand, I'm out.

Is there anything as sad as a sick baby?

2012-01-10T20:19:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, Duke and I simultaneously caught the hacking cough others in the family (all but Ziz) have been enjoying.

It's the weirdest thing to have a deep, settled cough with no other congestion. It's never happened to me before.

Anyway, poor little duke is so busy coughing and feeling sickly (his nose is runny) he's not even interested in eating. This is odd as the consumption of any and all food he comes within reach of is generally his main concern. Not this week. This week he throws his hands in front of his face and bats away any spoon that ventures near.

Very sad.

In his happy moments though, he perches on my hip and sings "la la la la la" (his first and favorite repeated consonant syllable) as long as his voice holds out.

It's one of the great paradoxes of life that things considered enchanting when one is seven months old become quite the opposite well before seven years have been achieved.

In the mean time, while it's still adorable, I mean to enjoy every incessantly repeated "la" and do my best not to let my heart break when his little voice wavers with his infirmity. That is one of the saddest, sweetest sounds I think I'll ever hear.

2011- The hardest year of my life to date.

2012-01-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

Started out with Moo coming home. This was harder for me that her leaving was. Happier. For sure happier, but harder.

I guess because when she was leaving I knew it was going to be hard. All my friends knew it was going to be hard. I had mental preparation and support and a crazy number of sewing projects plus a long trip as distractions. Not so when she came back.

When she came back what I had was an aching pregnant body, and a tentative cautionary attitude (would she settle in ok? would she be mad at me?)

During the first few weeks she fit back into place easily and I relaxed a lot. Then things got harder. She was getting more comfortable and accordingly more screamy, frustrating and etc.

Meanwhile I was growing larger, more uncomfortable, less patient, more self centered, and less aware of anything happening outside the cocoon of my body and it's hormonal cocktail.

Also, having a kid in school every day for the first time. That's a big deal.

And then there were four.

Again I had myself convinced that everything was good on the Moo front. Sure, she was difficult, but three year-olds are. I watched for signs of jealousy toward Duke and didn't see any. Probably should have taken a moment to evaluate my own emotional health in the relationship between the three of us. Live and learn.

I've heard it said that the transition from two to three kids is hard but after that adding more is no big deal. This was not my experience. I had some extenuating circumstances, it's true, but I find four exponentially more difficult than three.

So to sum up. 2011 beat me bloody with a combination of the most difficult and painful of my three pregnancies and the strain of reincorporating the once lost child back into the family. I have every confidence that 2012 will be a healing, growing, reprieve of a year. In the 9 days of it I've lived it already has been.

It's always pajamas

2012-01-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

Whenever the topic of Christmas traditions came up in gatherings during my child hood there was always someone who'd raise their hand and say "We get to open one present on Christmas eve and it's always pajamas,"

This is a fairly wide spread tradition so you may assume I mean one kid or another in any given situation was bound to mention it.

I don't. I mean one specific girl raised her hand and said it every time. I don't know how she managed to be there to make the comment every time it warranted making. She wasn't even in my grade at school so you wouldn't think she'd be there to answer every time but some how. She was.

I haven't jumped on the Christmas Pajama bandwagon previous to this. Sure, a few years ago I happened upon matching footie pajamas for dirt cheap at The Children's Place Outlet in sizes to fit the 3 kids I had at the time and went with it, but that was more a halfhearted hop in the direction of the bandwagon than a jump.

Anyway, in October when we visited the Mr's grandma I relieved her of some various yardages of fabric among which was a high volume of red cat patterned flannel. The three kids with the vocabulary to express it pledged love to the red cat patterned flannel so I told them I'd make matching pajamas for Christmas.

Does this count as jumping on the bandwagon? I didn't wrap them or anything. I just made them and allowed them to be worn for the first time on Christmas Eve. If it counts as a jump, I'm ok with that. I just want to know where I stand in relation to the bandwagon. you know, for safety reasons.

Here they are on Christmas morning in their matching sleepwear. What's wrong with Enzo you ask? Why does the boy stare tearfully at his empty hands?

He wanted to be the one to hold Duke for the picture.

So then of course this had to happen.

Will I do the matching jammie thing again? I dunno. Maybe. It is kind of fun seeing the set of them all lined up. I think it will largely depend upon whether the appropriate fabric falls into my lap again in the future.

Seven Months

2012-01-05T20:14:00.000-08:00

He's practically a grown up.

So close to crawling. He can do the hands and knees thing and he can do the propel himself forward thing, but he's still working on getting them both going on at the same time. After a long stretch working on it both his knees and nose wind up red from being rubbed in the carpet. What happens is, when rocking on hands and knees fails to achieve forward motion he face plants, scrunches his legs up under himself and gives a mighty shove in the desired direction dragging his nose along the ground as he goes. Any day now his arms will catch up with his legs and he won't need the nose anchor anymore.
He's working just as hard on fine motor skills. During the past two weeks he's gone from extreme frustration over his inability to release hard won cheerios from the vice of his fist into his waiting mouth, to working the pincer grasp like a pro.

blather

2012-01-03T20:50:00.000-08:00

It's a fact. The longer I wait between posts the harder it is to jump back on the wagon. Today, right now is the first time I've even turned on my computer in well over a week which is nice, but also leaves me feeling terribly behind. I keep sifting through the post fragments in my brain and feeling pressure to write them all RIGHT NOW which leaves me terribly discouraged, also guilty because they're not written and if they're not written they'll fade and die and then what will my children have to look back on? I already lost all the photos of the past how long was it? If I don't write anything now I may as well erase the rest of the year as well.

I posted every day of November. I did it and it felt good. I went to bed later than I would've liked for the bulk of the month but I posted and by the end of it there were no post fragments pestering me.

Anyway, I guess what I'm getting as it a commitment. Not to post every day but four times a week. The trick will be figuring out how to do it without sacrificing sleep because friends, I love me some sleep.

On a completely different topic. I'm in the market for a high chair. I'm on my fourth baby and I've never had an actual high chair before. True story. Anyway I don't want just any high chair. I want a sweet vintage beauty like this one. If you see anything like that kicking around for sale and you'd be so kind to pass the information along to me I'll count myself in your debt.

That is all.

Advent box

2011-12-18T20:24:00.000-08:00

Last year I started the search for an advent calendar but I didn't get much past searching. I decided on Martha's Matchbox job for it's general simplicity and itty-bitty fun-ness but then I couldn't figure out where the matches were in the store (at the front by the ice freezers) and soon it was too late.

This year, having gained the knowledge of where to find match boxes, I got it done. I have a ziplock baggie full of matches in my cupboard but what-cha gonna do?

One side has numbers and the other has a picture, everyday we open a drawer, turn it around and put it back in. The only problem is I painted it up with out considering that the portion of the picture on each box would need to be both rotated and flipped in order to line up once it's turned around. Does what I just wrote make any sense? Look at drawer number 6, see how the picture doesn't line up? Bummer.

It was an easy fix though, I just turned them all around and now were working out way through turning them back again. The only difference it makes is that now the numbered side runs right to left instead of left to right. Live and learn.

I write activities on little slips of paper and slip them in everyday. I didn't stock the whole thing at the beginning because I wanted to be able to chose an activity that would fit in with the days activities. On crazy days we're apt to find a paper directing us to do something like read a Christmas book, once it even said "eat a piece of candy."On less busy days we've had things like snow paint, paper chains, baking cookies, and taking a drive to look at lights. We also took turns singing favorite Christmas carols in the glow of a flash light spot one day.

Ah, Christmas.

What do you think I should put in the box the day we drive to Utah? Sit in the Car and watch The Grinch over and over?

First comes love

2011-12-16T20:56:00.000-08:00

Enzo has reached a milestone.

He likes a girl.

She is in his preschool class.

At the Church trunk or treat he went missing. The Mr was busy judging the chili cook off (poor guy) and I was busy taking Moo to the bathroom 3 times in 30 minutes (every time we got settled ready to start eating our dinner she'd proclaim again that she had to go) After the third bathroom trip I decided I needed to take her home so her tummy could work out it's troubles in peace. But where was Enzo?

We looked and looked. We looked between all the cars, we checked the dark corners, we located his friends and ascertained that he was not with them. We looked around the two similar parties being held in other portions of the parking lot. Couldn't find him. Zizza sacrificed candy collecting time to help search. Finally, we thought to check inside the building. I was sure he wouldn't be there, aside from the bathrooms the whole building was dark and lonely (or so I thought) Lo and behold, there he was in the Gym running around with Miss Cutie Pants.

Since then he's started mentioning her more and more often. We walked by her house on the way home from preschool and he suggested we drop in and say hello, you know, since we were in the neighborhood. He heard her name mentioned at church and immediately sat up straight and scanned the surrounding area until his eyes settled on her.

The best part is, it hasn't occurred to him to be shy or embarrassed. We try to tease him. "Enzo, do you like her?" and he says enthusiastically, "Yeah! she's my friend!" Sometimes we approach it from a different angle, "Do you think she's pretty?" This one generally earns a baffled stare as a response.

Last week we received her family Christmas Card.

A photo Christmas Card.

I gave it to him. "Hey Dude, look what we got today," A smile broke across his face when he saw her picture. He admired the card all evening. At one point he hugged it to his chest and proclaimed "I love this piece of paper!" He asked if I'd hang it on the wall in his bedroom. We decided instead on a place on the bottom shelf of the hutch. It's positioned so he can rest his chin on the shelf and gaze at it.

I hope he doesn't grow heart sick missing her over Christmas break.

The Kids Wrote to Santa

2011-12-08T20:11:00.001-08:00

Dear Santa,
I would like a flashlight for Christmas. By the way, what list am I on?

Love, Zizza

Dear Santa,
I will make a new list for you.

Santa, I know that the scriptures are true! You should read them a lot.

Santa, Now I want to do the list.

I want a blue umbrella and all of the race cars I love I want. And also a book. And I want to have a new...
some more monster trucks.

I wish I had another cat and can you please give us, our whole family a cat? And dear Santa will you please give me one more thing that's a new notebook when I'm bigger and a new pen?

Love, Enzo

Dear ~~Santa~~ Mrs. Claus,

I love Santa. I love Grandma, and I like love Dada.
I like you. I like Duke, I love chairs, I like books, I like pencils, I like the Christmas tree, I like the ottoman, I love our Christmas tree, I love my bowl, I like our table, I love and ride and ride and ride, go on a train. I love library books, I love making lunch and have a good quiet time.

Love, Moo Moo

The morning's emotions.

2011-12-06T08:05:00.001-08:00

Tonight at our church the young women are babysitting. One needs only drop one's children off and they will be played with, fed a snack, helped to make a craft of some kind. Meanwhile the parents are free to buy stocking stuff, go out to dinner or do whatever it is they wish to do for two hours.

This service project is brilliant, perfect, inspired! For day's I've looked forward to it. This morning I woke, practically giddy with anticipation.

Then I realized.

Dance.

The girl's Ballet recital is on Friday. This means practice practice practice every evening until then.

I was crestfallen, dejected, mournful. Why? I asked myself. Why did I enroll my children in this time consuming activity?

Then a glimmer of hope entered into my heart. Hope that I'd mis-remembered the schedule. I opened my email, I found the message outlining the weeks rehearsals. SUCCESS! JOY! JUBILATION! Tonight's practice is from 4-5. My evening is saved.

To Enzo from Zizza

2011-12-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

Zizza was feeling a little anxious to get a present under the tree after both Enzo and Moo got their's wrapped. (Moo bought rather than made) By Friday there was no holding her back, she simply had to get a present made.

Another thing Zizza was distressed about during the past week was her lack of play dates. (I hate that term, I don't use it myself (wait, I just did) but I lack the power to expel it from the vocabulary of my children) Enzo and Moo had both played with friends during the week and she had not. This simply was not fair.

As luck, and strategic planning would have it, I downed the two birds with a single stone.

On Friday after school we invited her friend over to play and together they made air planes as gifts for their respective little brothers. The idea came from Pinterest. We had, a good plan for what Ziz would make for Enz already but she chucked it when she saw the shampoo bottle planes. Here you see how our's turned out.

The girls had fun making them and I think they'll be well received, but I'm not too sure how well they'll hold up. My fingers are crossed for the strength of the hot glue. The total cost of this project was $3.50(ish) for a pack of 5 colors of tape. Not too shabby.

I'm pleased to report that I've not heard a word of complaint from my dear Ziz on either front in over twenty-four hours. In other words, our Friday afternoon was a complete success.

More Christmas Music

2011-12-02T20:40:00.001-08:00

Remember how I was all Christmas Music-y early in the holiday season this year? Here's the sad thing about that. I can't find any of my Christmas Music.

It wasn't too bad at first. When I was listening on the sly before Thanksgiving it didn't bother me too much just listening to the Christmas Station on the radio. I can't really relax and listen to that though, because I'm always afraid that shoe song will come on and ruin my day.

I hate that song with a startling intensity. In so much that I had to stop myself from typing the worn "damn" about five times during the composing of the past two sentences. Not only is the song pure awful, it's also catchy so if perchance I wind up listening to it, days pass before I can chase the horror out of my head.

If you don't know what song I'm talking about count yourself lucky. Don't go and investigate to see if it really is as bad as I say it is, just trust me and live a blissful life, free and unencumbered. Honestly, it's a sickness. I've been forced to leave a store before when that song came on because try as I might to endure I couldn't take another second of it. You don't need that in your life.

The other problem with radio Christmas music is commercials. I live a relatively commercial free life. Sure, I see billboards (especially in Utah, what is with Utah and the billboards anyway?) and internet adds but I mostly only listen to Car Talk on the radio and I don't ever and I mean ever watch live T.V. so willingly subjecting myself to commercials on the radio is a tough burden to bear.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I was able to deal with the radio before Thanksgiving because I knew (or thought) my own favorites were there waiting for me on the other side with a promise that as soon as I'd eaten my Turkey and felt properly thankful I could pull all the Christmas paraphernalia out from under the stairs and there would be my CD's packed happily in their box and the sun would shine it's happy face down on everyone and everything even the bugs and the worms THE END (name that book)

But the CD's weren't in any of the Christmas boxes.

They also weren't in any of the CD cases. Or the cabinet in my sewing room where I've got a few others stashed.

This means that in my car we're still listening to the radio. The other day the song came on. (shudder) I'd let my guard down so far that I listened past the opening chords almost to the onset of the lyrics before I realized the dire straights I was in and turned it off.

In the house there's a Trans Siberian Orchestra CD, and there's Pandora so things are pretty ok but Zizza does continue to try to turn on the Radio.

I can't handle the radio in the house. For one thing, commercials as background with the kids making kid sounds and the dog barking at the tree branches outside and all. For another thing, what if the song came on while I was more than arms length from the off button? Huh? What then?

The good news is new CD's are on their way. The Mr, armed with a hard drive full of music and a little help from his good friend Amazon is coming to my rescue, and not a moment too soon.

presents

2011-11-30T20:57:00.001-08:00

The first presents were tucked under the tree today. Gifts from Enzo to his sisters.I've become a full fledged Design Mom disciple when it comes to Christmas gifts. The other day as I was about to tell The Mr. about another of her gift giving practices I meant to institute I felt the need to preface my statement with "No, I wouldn't jump off a bridge if Design Mom told me to, but..." So I'm helping the kids make gifts for each other Design Mom style.Enzo made leg warmers for his sisters. He picked out a pair of adult sized socks for each one then he chopped off the feet and sat in my lap while I hemmed the remaining tubes. I just folded the raw edge under and zigzagged around. I've serged them before hemming in the past but that's really not necessary. Enz was also kind enough to lend his manly little legs to the effort of photographing our morning's endeavor to share with all of you.

Sort it out

2011-11-29T21:12:00.001-08:00

Friends, I have sorted until I can sort no more. Yesterday we did Enzo and Moo's toys, this morning I did a grand reorganization of the off-size/off-season kids clothes and this afternoon Ziz and I mounted an attack on her unruly toy collection.I told her she had to give one thing away for every thing she kept and she did awesome. There were a few silent tears here and there but she worked through it. After she heard me on the phone telling her auntie how she'd tried to get away with putting a single accessory in the give away pile to balance out a whole play-set in the keepers this went down.Zizza- "I put two things in the giveaway pile"Me- "Cool what were they?"Zizza- "A barbie ballet shoe. The other was was missing anyway so..."Me- "So what? That makes it count as two things? And here I thought that meant it was garbage."Zizza- (giggles)Me- "Nice try"Most of the toys are pared down pretty well with the exception of the stuffed animals. She saved those until last and then rather than give half of them up she pulled other things from the safety of the keep pile to meet the ransom. Girlfriend is nothing if not loyal to her plush toys. On the flip side, her My Little Ponies are probably feeling a little undervalued.

Personalizing O Henry

2011-11-28T21:00:00.001-08:00

"When I grow up to be a father I'm gonna go on dates all by myself," Said Enzo from the back seat of the car the other day. We've been trying to remember what it was he said he was going to do once he reached fatherhood ever since. Today The Mr asked me in the hearing of Zizza if I'd had any luck remembering. I had not. Fortunately Zizza's spry seven year old brain had logged the information and once she knew we wanted it, she was happy to share. Thus we now have the full quote.I used to have a brain like that. When I took phone messages there was never any need to write more than the phone number. I could then identify that number on sight based on it's position on the paper and the color it was inked in. I thought creating contacts in my email account was a waste of time, it was so much easier just to type in the address I wanted from memory. Now in place of my memory I have babies. Babies who do and say things worth keeping forever in the memory I once had. It's my own Gift of the Magi.

Duke's birth- can it really be six months ago?

2011-11-27T12:09:00.001-08:00

Before you start reading be forewarned: This is a birth story. It's not the most graphic birth story I've ever read but if you are squeamish about such things you may want to consider this post dead to you.

Forty one weeks and a day. My mama had gone home 4 days earlier. Contingency plan after contingency plan for child care had been made and passed by. I became more uncomfortable with every passing hour. Aches and cramps that I knew would never get any better until the elusive magic of labor intervened.

I called my midwife. She was cheerful, "So you want to try to do something?" she asked. "Yes!" I said "anything!" her suggestion was castor oil. I rethought the "anything."

As much as I wanted to have that baby already, I knew I didn't want to start labor by making myself ill. Hypnobirthing is calm, peaceful, serene. There's no way I'd be able to get my focus with my body already working to expel castor oil from my system. So I told her I was thinking of trying acupuncture. "Yes!" she said. "If you're willing to do acupuncture that's a great way to go." Apparently most women would rather give themselves diarrhea than have needles inserted into their feet and ankles.

Moriah, my doula has a friend who's an acupuncturist so she set up the appointment for me. We drove across town, I lumbered into the office and soon enough I was lying on a table in a dark room with porcupine feet and instructions to relax.

The worst part of the whole thing was lying there. If you've been forty one weeks pregnant before, or even just forty or thirty-something weeks you know that on your back is not a comfortable place to be. The Dr had cushions and rolled up towels and whatnot strategically arranged to support me so I could lie comfortably during the treatment, and it worked for a while but after fifteen minutes or so, my baby girth was seriously inhibiting my breathing.

I lay there counting heart beats and listening for the timer that meant my treatment was through and the Dr would come back and help me up. I would have shifted my position somehow but I didn't exactly know where the needles were (The only ones I could feel were in my pinky toes) and I thought likely I'd disturb them if I rolled over. He was surprised to see me craning my head toward the door waiting when he came in. "You're waiting for me?" he asked. "Yes," I said "it's hot and I can't breathe"

I was disappointed to learn that the acupuncture wouldn't send me straight into labor. It triggered the hormones but I'd still have to wait a few hours for those hormones to circulate through my system and pushy my body into labor. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I'd been not in labor for weeks at that point so continuing on in that state was a dreary non-surprise. Still the Dr. assured me he'd never had anyone come back for a second treatment. Every woman he'd ever treated had gone into labor within 24 hours.

We picked up the children from the most recent unused contingency plan and went home. Moriah called to check on me later in the evening and I told her we were just putting the kids to bed, and then going to bed ourselves hoping not to make it through another night.

At 1:00 am I woke up to the welcome joy of a contraction. This had happened a time or two in the days before. I'd wake up, feel the contraction and jubilantly check the clock thinking it was finally time and then wake up again an hour or two later having fallen asleep waiting for the follow up contraction that never came. This time though, I timed them. One. Two. Then another! Five minutes apart. Finally! I woke The Mr. told him to make the phone calls and put my hypnobirthing CD "rainbow relaxation" on repeat. Then I rolled over, tucked in and slept for awhile as my body continued to labor.

Soon I heard the midwives(Sue and Selena) and Moriah arrive. Sue came in to listen to the baby and asked me what time I'd woken up and how close the contractions were. They were so gentle at that point I was worried I'd called a false alarm but Moriah assured me no one felt like their time was being wasted and on we went.

I wasn't feeling sleepy anymore so I got out of bed and walked around the house a bit. I never thought I'd be able to maintain the level of relaxation needed to stay comfortable during labor without being perfectly still in bed, but I did. I moved around the house, from the rocking chair into the kitchen and back with frequent potty breaks. if a contraction came wile I was walking I would just stop and breathe through before continuing on to wherever I was going. I was comfortable, relaxed and overjoyed to finally be in labor and having the gentle dream like experience I'd always believed possible but never managed to attain.

A birthing tub had been inflated and waiting for weeks, tipped on it's side in front of the closet door in my bedroom. A reminder every time it had to be rolled aside to access the closet that the baby was coming...someday.

More than once when I mentioned home birth people told me of their crazy friends who's had babies in a blow-up tub in their dining room. In those situations I chose to smile and nod rather than tell them they'd just described the basics of my birth plan.

The time had finally come. The tub was filled with water and in I climbed. The contractions were getting a little stronger now and the tub was sublimely comfortable. I was also starting to get a little antsy. I knew it had been a few hours at least and as mellow as it was, I still didn't want to carry on hour after hour like I'd done with Zizza.(13 of them to get her) I'd talked with Sue about breaking my water, and Moriah (who's been with me for all three births) knew that really helped me with Enzo and suggested this might be the time.

First Selena tried, but I make a very tough amniotic sac (hence the 10 hours at 7+ cm with waters intact with Ziz) plus it was plastered straight against Duke's head with no bulging so she turned the job over to Sue.

With the waters released things intensified and I had to close my eyes and keep my focus. Soon enough ( I have no idea how long it actually was) I was in the throes of transition. All the mellow serenity I'd maintained through the bulk of labor was gone and it was all I could do to keep my head. Between contractions I noticed a few amusing things and distracted myself with the jokes. Like the "No Diving" sign on the side of the birthing tub. Really? The thing is two feet deep, there's a problem with diving? Or the fact that Sue had borrowed a t-shirt after her's got wet while breaking my water. She was wearing the one of the Mr's that reads "Monkeys steal my underwear at night"

As I got louder, fidgety-er and less in control I told myself this was a good thing. This meant it was almost through. I noticed Sue and Selena moving into position and getting things ready as they recognized the signs that I was nearly there. I was both relieved and annoyed to see them preparing. The relief was a rational thing to feel at that point, the annoyance I'll chalk up to crazy labor stuff.

I fought to keep my voice low. Moans rather than screams. Screaming tenses the body and slows down the process. Not to mention being extremely unpleasant. When the contractions let up I centered myself and prepared for the next round. I tried settling myself into a new position but as soon as a contraction came I flopped right back to the way I'd been. "It's worse!" I yelled "Everything is WORSE!" I also remember bellowing "WHY ISN'T IT OVER?!"

The next contraction came and I was freaking out. I didn't know where to go, what to do, how to position my body to get through this one. That's when the Mr dove (No diving!) into the tub and scooped me up. I relaxed (as much as possible) into him and made it through. I was finally feeling Duke engaged in my pelvis. Hallelujah! It's so much more bearable once you can feel the baby. Selena asked me then If I wanted her to check the baby's station I said "No" I didn't need that kind of help anymore. I knew right where he was. "That's a baby" I said as I felt him move down.

So I pushed, and I pushed and "Slow down!" Sue said "You don't want to tear," so I slowed down but even still, here he came and there he was! All fat and round and brown hair! I'd imagined brown hair. "It's you!" I thought as I recognized my baby boy.

Out loud I said, "I am NEVER doing that again!" (I was referring more to pregnancy than to labor though we do have to consider that transition was very fresh in my memory at the time)

It was 4:59 a.m. The rough phase had only lasted seven minutes.

I held him leaned against my knee as we waited for the cord to stop pulsing. Again, just like with Enz the cord was extra fat and so short the babe couldn't reach past my belly button. "I think I'll give you a 10 on the Apgar scale, " Sue said to my healthy 8 pound 10 ounce boy. "His first perfect score!" I thought. "Way to go baby!"

Soon enough we were all clean, dry and snuggled into my big bed and just in time because MooMoo was awake and down she came to see us with Ziz and Enz not far behind. What a treat to wake up to a new baby brother. I remember what it's like to meet a new brother, how sweet to see it happen for them.

The whirlwind wound down. The midwives packed up, Moriah said good bye and the Mr Took the kids out for breakfast. I lay down again, in my bed right where I started earlier that morning. This time with my baby Duke snuggled in my arms. I looked into his perfect little face and said "We did it baby. You and me. We did it together."

Then

Now

faker

2011-11-26T19:28:00.001-08:00

Tree wise, which do you prefer real or artificial?

I was raised on fake, then we went real for the first few years of marriage until we received a hand me down artificial. We've been using that for the past seven or eight years, then today we bought a new pre-lit plastic spruce of our very own.

It was pretty nice not to have to take the time to wind strand after strand of lights on but I have to say, I do a better job of lighting a tree than the factory did. I like my trees to glow from with in. The lights on this one are mostly at the tips of the branches with just a smattering set a bit deeper. I'm tempted to dig the light strands out of the closet and wind a few inside close to the trunk to give it that otherworldly glow I like so much. I'm not going to do it, but let the record show I was tempted.

The tree I grew up with was a monster. A horrific wire bottle brush monster. There were 2 (3?) boxes each large enough to house multiple children (we were never allowed to play in or near the boxes) where it rested during the bulk of the year. (Where the enormous boxes were stored during that time, I have no idea.) Then, come December my big brother would haul them out of hiding and assemble the beast.

First he put up the trunk, a green painted dowel about two inches in diameter. Around the trunk went a series of wire bristled rings meant to disguise the spindly green stick at the center of the tree. Then came the limbs. each one a long bristly arm with three clawed bristly fingers at the end. The bottom limbs were too heavy to support themselves, let alone lights and ornaments and they sagged to the floor until enough gifts were wrapped and deposited in their place of honor to support them. Row after row of claw-like arms were inserted into corresponding holes in the trunk until the final crowning piece was placed to form the point at the top.

The tree was enormously wide at the base and took up a very sizable portion of the room. Between each row of limbs was a gaping void through which one could easily see the bristled rings bravely attempting to hide that green painted trunk. If you walked too near the tree, you were likely to come away with a good scratch or two at the very least. But it was our tree and as such, we loved it.

My dad had (has) a light switch converter thingamajig, a little box with a light switch on it that you plugged into the wall, and then plugged the Christmas lights into the little box so there was no bother with plugging and unplugging to turn the tree on and off. It was pretty cool when you got to be the one to flip the switch. After all, even when your tree is made up of ghastly wire tri-fingered monster arms the magic of the twinkle lights is still in full force. I imagine the light magic is what saved us from the tree's coming to life and dragging it's self around the house by it's floor sweeping claws. No, that's not true. Large and misshapen as it was, that beastly tree had a good kind heart. May it rest in peace.

Troll the ancient Yule tide carol

2011-11-25T19:43:00.001-08:00

I can't seem to find consistency with my Christmas music appetite. Last year (if you remember) I was given the opportunity to indulge mid-November and turned it down. This year I've been craving it since October and the Mr is at his bah-humbug-est.

Yesterday he claimed that he's only ever enjoyed Christmas Music on Christmas it'self and even then the word "enjoy" was a bit of a stretch. I happen to know that this is not true. I remember specific examples (last year for one) when he has initiated holiday listening independent from me. He has a collection of festive tunes over which I've exerted no influence. Why would a person who only tolerates the striking of the harp for the benefit of others and joins the chorus out of a mere sense of duty, curate his own Christmas listening library?

Anyway, the point is that the time for Christmas music is here and I'm ready to enjoy it.

Also, I was thinking maybe I should issue a challenge to the Mr. A challenge that involves writing a Christmas themed music post. What say you, Mr?

sleepy

2011-11-24T20:04:00.001-08:00

Maybe it's the tryptophan, maybe it's that I haven't slept a solid night through in the past six months, or maybe i getting up to send Zizza off to school by 7 am every morning is catching up with me, but I am tired. Sleepy. Azausted. Just now I fell asleep watching "Cook's Country" Clearly, my need for sleep in extreme. I hope you'll excuse me as I trot off to bed, and I hope you all had happy Thanksgivings.

Preparation

2011-11-23T20:22:00.001-08:00

The pies are baked, the rolls are par-baked, the potatoes are peeled and refrigerated in a water bath (this is just so I don't have to worry about peeling tomorrow) the yams are diced for baking, spinach ready to go. The Mr is working on his brine for the turkey and there is Jell-o firming up, so I'd say we're pretty well on our way.

We're on our own for Thanksgiving this year. Before you feel sorry for us hear this. I've been looking forward to it for weeks. Spend a day cooking and eating with my favorite people? What's not to love?

We're thinking of heading out to join in a local 5K in the morning. (we'll walk this time, thanks) We'll go see a movie and then get our chef on.

I love that we get to make everything to our own tastes. I'm the type who always eats mostly my own food at a pot luck. Not because I don't appreciate or trust other people's cooking, but because the act of cooking something myself, making the decisions about techniques and ingredients isn't really complete until I eat it. honestly, its as much part of my enjoyment of a meal as the actual eating so if I'm not the one who cooked what I ate I don't end up enjoying it quite as much. Make sense?

I also like to analyze as I eat. Critique this, appreciate that, make note of what I'll do differently next time. I've been working on not doing this so much when I have company. I've noticed people sometimes think I'm just dissing my cooking skillz and it's not fun to hang out with someone who's dissing herself. Tomorrow I'll get to comment and critique as much as I want without causing any social awkwardness.

Zizza is a little bummed about not having any cousins to play with but if I really put my mind to it I'm hoping I'll be able to win her over.

The pledge

2011-11-22T20:08:00.001-08:00

Karen at The Art of Doing Stuff issued a pledge. A pledge to complete all Christmas preparations by December fourth so as to have the ability to enjoy the month and the parties and what not.

I took the pledge. Well, I took a modified pledge. My pledge was to finish the shopping and decorating by the fourth. The making I'll enjoy working on as the month progresses, though I probably should set myself some deadlines for that as well so I don't neglect to do any of it.

What all of this means is- it is now shopping crunch time. I've got to get serious and make those purchases. I tend to browse and browse and browse putting off pulling the trigger until the last minute even on gifts I'm decided on. I've got to put off those years of conditioning and end the browsing! The time is now!

Thanks for listening in on my self pep-talk. I think tomorrow we'll discuss pies. I've got sweet potato on my baking agenda for the morning. I love me some sweet potato pie.

Entreprenuer

2011-11-21T21:01:00.000-08:00

I'm at a loss today. If I worked at it I could drum up a post about the obstacles I encountered as I tried valiantly to prepare for the pie making activity I'm hosting/teaching tomorrow. But I don't feel like drumming. Instead I found this post in my drafts. I wrote it the evening of June 30th planning to snap a picture when morning came and there was light to work with.
The picture never happened. Probably something to do with the five week old baby I had at the time. The post was forgotten until I plucked it from the drafts pile to ransom myself from the predicament of non-inspiration during the month when I've pledged daily posts.

On Wednesday Ziz came down stairs, thrust a small piece of paper into my line of vision and said "This is not a game, it's for real." It said "Cards and Envelopes $1.00"

She painstakingly decorated three envelopes and was ready to take them out to the curb and set up a stationary shop in the drive way. Unfortunately I was unwilling to lend my card table to the enterprise so the driveway-shop portion of her scheme met an untimely end.

Not to worry, she was unfazed by this moved on to arranging up a studio space for herself in the family room such that she could carry on with her designs.

At one point she realized she'd applied the decor on her latest creation upside down. She was a bit dismayed but bucked up when I told her she could just sell that one at a discount rather than scrap it all together.

Today, (Thursday)I had the honor of being her first customer. She offered me the opportunity yesterday but I didn't scrounge up the necessary change until today. I paid a dollar three for an envelope with a rainbow theme. Some lucky member of my correspondence will receive a missive tucked inside that art piece one of these days.

2011-11-20T19:47:00.001-08:00

On Friday I bought Enzo new church clothes for the winter. This time I checked to make sure the sleeves of his shirt were long enough before I brought it home. During the past week he's bee particularly enjoying this story from the Friend magazine about a boy who got a new white shirt like missionaries wear. He was pretty pumped to have a missionary shirt of his own, though he did mention while we were at the store that he'd be needing a suit coat to go with it. I was pretty pumped about his new clothes too. Enz tends to drag his feet a lot on Sunday mornings. He was so thrilled with his new attire I thought surely at least this once he'd wind up dressed with no whining, moaning or flopping dejectedly to the floor on his part, and no exasperation, bellowing or threats on mine.Sunday morning came and I crawled onto his bed and rubbed his back until his eyes fluttered open and awareness entered into them. Then I reminded him of what was hanging in his closet. In response he closed his eyes again and said, "Yeah but I need a coat, like a black one or a brown one...and a tie that stays on." Darn it, my dreams of his jumping out of bed and happily dressing himself without protest were destined to remain merely dreams. It wasn't too bad though. There were some minor cases of whining and exasperation but all in all it turned out well. He soothed his longing for a suit coat by donning the navy blue cardigan I bought for him to wear in the family pictures that never happened in October and off we went to church.When meetings were over and I arrived at his classroom to pick him up his teacher prompted me "Ask Enz what he is," so I did. "Hey Enzo," I said, "what are you?" and he promptly responded "I'm a-FIX-ticated!" And so you see his new clothes were a success. Even without a coat.

2011-11-19T19:18:00.001-08:00

You know what I like? Yoga.

My first experience with Yoga was in college. My room mate had a Yoga video, P.M. Yoga with Patricia Walden, that I did with her. To this day, over ten years later it is still my favorite. The DVD also has A.M. Yoga with Rodney Yee but I don't care for that.

I did the routine last night for the first time in a long while and it was so delicious my body thanked me as I fell asleep. I'm getting anxious to go and do it again right now.

You can get your own copy here. I just love Patricia Walden. The flexibility of that woman's spine is an inspiration.

15 lbs

2011-11-18T20:29:00.001-08:00

My house smells like chocolate. This because there are fifteen pounds of it sitting on my kitchen counter. Well, really it's ten pounds of semi sweet chips and five pounds of peanut butter chips but I think peanut butter pretty much counts as chocolate when it's in chip form.

Anyway, the house smells like chocolate.This is both a good, and a bad thing. It's a good thing because hey, chocolate! Chocolate smells good!

It is a bad thing because I have sworn off sugar for six of seven days a week continuing through the next seven weeks and, well, (sigh) chocolate smells good.

The chips aren't really a temptation in and of themselves. I find semi-sweet chips don't suit me for eating out of hand. The temptation comes from knowing that my kitchen holds all that is necessary to elevate those chips from mere air-freshener status to the high and mighty post of My favorite thing to shovel into my mouth. ie-warm chocolate chip cookies.

Sure, I could wait for the magical day outside the blighted six but somehow cookie baking just doesn't happen for me on Sundays.(my designated sugar day) I bake rolls on Sundays, I bake cobblers and crisps on Sundays. Sundays are a great day to try out exciting new recipes but my old stand by just never fits with my Sunday jive. It's a mismatch somehow.

That being said, I've got a freebie coming to me in honor of the coming week's holiday. I'm considering the inclusion of chocolate chip cookies into the pantheon of Thanksgiving pies.

Bracelets

2011-11-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

When Zizza was three I took her to the dentist for the first time. He took one look in her mouth and said these words "Braces Mom," Zizza has a classic cross bite, the sooner corrected the better. Or so he told me. In other words, start the ortho as soon as her six year molars came in.

On that day I had a mouth full of fairly new braces. New enough that all the jaw aches and the feeling of brackets against my lips and the liquid diet were fresh and raw in my memory. Not to mention the challenge of getting one's mouth clean when there's so much extra hardware involved. "And I'm going to have a seven year old going through this?" I said to myself as the fear of that coming day bubbled inside me.

As my fear was welling that day, Zizza was experiencing some emotions of her own. Feelings such as joy, anticipation, excitement. She started telling people "I'm going to get bracelets when I'm seven!" I never did correct the "bracelets" thing. Let her think the whole point is to accessorize. I was dreading it all enough for the both of us.

After some time, my "bracelets" came off and we both sort of forgot about it. Then recently it came to my attention that the required age and tooth count had been acheived. Again, I was afraid. On the other hand, here is what Ziz wrote in her "life book."

I looked at that entry and thought "Poor darling, she has no idea what's coming," She even chose to go in and have spacers put in on Halloween day so she could participate in the costume contest at the office. I asked her if she was sure about it, cause a sore mouth on Halloween would be a major downer. She assured me that going to the orthodontist on Halloween was what she wanted to do. Here's what she wrote in her life book that day.

She wrote it immediately after the appointment. For the rest of the afternoon I watched her and waited for the awfulness to set in. I didn't plan on trick or treating. Surely she would be holding her face and moaning by that time... But she wasn't. She wanted to go.

The spacers were such a non-issue for her that when she went back a week later to have bands put on her molars and still more spacers inserted the event didn't even warrant a life book entry.Today her "appliance" was inserted into her little mouth where it will stay for the next twelve months. She didn't need traditional railroad braces, just a thing-a-majig inside her top teeth to stretch that jaw wide enough to seat properly with the lower jaw. This was good news, no brackets to clean around, no mashing wax into said brackets to keep them from ripping up the back of lips. She talks a little funny, she says it feels weird, but that's it. This alone makes me think the head start on orthodontia is worth it.

I would have taken a picture of her new little brace face but in order to see the metal in her mouth she has to open up as wide as possible and lean her head back. like a commercial for a Reach toothbrush so I didn't bother.

I do have a picture of the day her first front tooth (finally) fell out. It was another week after I wrote this that it had the gumption to wiggle free. Here you go, this is what she looks like, all toothless and orthodontically applianced.

The End

a reenactment

2011-11-16T20:52:00.000-08:00

He started out like this

And when I came back he was like this

It was a few months ago. He wasn't moving much yet so one day I laid him on Zizza's bed while I attended to something or other in the other room.

In the drink

2011-11-15T19:43:00.001-08:00

Tonight in the bath The Dukester sat on his own for a series of nonconsecutive seconds. He thought it was pretty rad. So rad, in fact, that he went ahead and peed in the water.

Once I got that all taken care of and was about to start scrubbin' me up some beh-beh, he took it upon himself to poo in the fresh bath.

Eventually I did end up with a clean baby (and a newly scrubbed tub,hey hey!) but not before a series of warning bubbles surfaced in the third filling of the tub and I was like "Oh no you don't!" and soaped and rinsed that child with a speed he's never before experienced.

Anyhow, what I really want to discuss tonight are nick names. The lame potential nick names that have to be suppressed so as not to cause major embarrassment to both nick-namer and nick-named when that inevitable day comes that the name slips out into public hearing.

I've been calling Duke "Little Man" quite a bit for most of his life. Actually, it sounds more like "Littleman" all one word. Anyway it's morphed a bit. I mostly keep it in check but occasionally a "Littlemansy" pops out. More recently I've been been beating down the urge to call him "Mansy-Pansy" He's going to thank me for that one day.

I haven't encountered any dumb-bunny nick names for my girls the way I have the boys. That's probably because I mostly call them both "baby" all the time. I love that they let me. It's always so sad when a little one grows big enough to protest being called baby. I remember when my niece Nica stopped standing for it. I was a sad auntie.

I think I'm pretty much safe with Zizza now. She knows that being called baby doesn't make her any less a big girl, and with Ziz answering happily to baby Moo hasn't found herself too grown up for it either. Enzo does scold when I slip and call him baby but that's because he thinks it's a girl name, not because he thinks he's too big for it. I suppose only time will tell how Mansy-Pansy will respond.

Thank the land down under

2011-11-14T20:43:00.000-08:00

I'm getting ready to host Enzo's preschool group tomorrow. This week's focus is the letter K.

At this time I'd like to express my gratitude for the continent of Australia, for without it's contribution of Koalas, Kangaroos and Kookaburras where would I be? Kicking the keys of the kingdom into a kettle with a kite. That's where.

Visiting

2011-11-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

We were in Utah last month over Zizza's fall break. We dedicated a day of our visit to a Tour of the Northern Utah Grandparents. We headed north from Salt lake in the morning. First we visited one of Mr's grandmas, then mine, then his other grandma and grandpa and finally headed south again.

The weather was perfect that day and at our first stop there were walnut trees outside. Once the kids got fidgety I took them out side to explore while their Pop visited with his Grandma.

Turns out, walnut trees are pretty cool

The kids delighted in hucking the nuts at the sidewalk to break away the fleshy green husks. There was a woman watching us through her window. I thought she was enjoying the sight of frolicking children as elderly persons often do. Then she opened her window and called out "That makes it hard for people to walk, you know!" I was wrong, she wasn't the type to enjoy the joy of children, she was the type to enjoy worrying and scolding. I assured her that we would clear the sidewalk before we left, and we did. I hope the worry and scolding we inspired enriched her day.

Ziz left the nuts she harvested for the faeries to find.

Later on there was another curiosity to explore.

But once you huck a caterpillar at the pavement the fun is pretty much over...
(nobody really hucked the caterpillar)

Here's a question

2011-11-12T19:44:00.000-08:00

When you've been reading and you put down your book, do you leave it face down or face up? What do you think that says about you? I'm inventing a new personality analysis quiz and that's going to be one of the questions. I think it's very telling.

Not really.

Here's what this is all about. The other day the Mr started a new book. My first encounter with it was in the bathroom where I found it on top of the toilet tank.

Is that not unsettling? I was so creeped out I had to turn the book over before I could do what I was there to do. Since then I've noticed that The Mr consistently puts his book face down. I have to flip it every time I walk by his night stand.

This led me to wonder if I have a pattern in my setting down of books. I would guess that which side I place it on would depend on whether I was closer to the beginning or the end. I may have to start a book just so I can monitor my book placement. I doubt I'd get an honest result though, now that I'm thinking about it.

I'll bet you're glad you took the time to come by today. I'm sure this topic has been riveting. Next time we'll talk about which ear you prefer to hold the phone to, also which shoe do you put on first?

For Monroe

2011-11-11T20:14:00.000-08:00

Last week a baby I know was blessed and I got to make her dress.

I'm not going to lie: It wasn't my best work. I'm happy with the design but the execution was sub par. I like my baby dresses to be flawless. Unfortunately procrastination + a nasty cold left me without the time or patience to achieve it this time.

In the end I had to trust that the flawlessness of the baby would overshadow my less than tidy hand stitching and send the dress along in it's imperfect state.

I really love the black buttons and bow. Too bad I botched the finishing work.

So Good

2011-11-10T20:44:00.000-08:00

Lately the kids spotted giant apples at the grocery store and begged for them. I gave in and bought 2 for the sake of novelty.

It might have been my best novelty spurred purchase to date.

Those enormous apples were the best apples I have ever set my teeth to. Perfectly crisp and tender, juicy and sweet. The stickers on them name the variety as "Honey Crisp." Do yourself a favor and seek them out.

On our more recent trip to the store I loaded a bag full to bursting with those over-sized beauties. I need to go back for more. I never want to be stuck eating any other kind of apple ever again.

Seven

2011-11-09T08:15:00.000-08:00

Seven is a magic age. I remember when my sister was seven. She could do that thing on roller skates where you turn your feet out and roll round and round in a circle like you're standing on a record. Also, she had the "mean" teacher but she still went to school everyday.

I sat in my neighbor's driveway one glowing autumn afternoon, watched her skating(right next to the crumbly part of the sidewalk even, that's what we call bravery) and thought "Someday, I'll be seven."

I don't recall the specifics of being seven myself.

Newly seven year old Zizza does not have a mean teacher, on the contrary in fact, but she does go to school every single day without complaint. Does her homework too.

She can't do that spin thingy on her roller skates but the other day when she had them on she actually glided along on the pavement a bit rather than stomping through the rocks as she's habitually done in the past.

I watch her learning to glide through the fading autumn light and I think "I was seven once."

Seven is a magic age. It really is amazing.

Who's the boss

2011-11-08T09:08:00.000-08:00

Walking to pre-school today Enzo was full of indignation. In the beginning he grumbled about how tired it made him to walk. Then we picked up his friend and he changed it up. While his friend ran ahead in normal four year old fashion Enzo trudged beside me grumbling. His soliloquy went something like this;

"He thinks he's the boss but he's not the boss. YOUR MOTHER'S THE BOSS! He's not the boss, mothers are the boss...and dads. Right mom? YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME! kids have to stay on the side walk STAY ON THE SIDEWALK! because kid's are not the boss. YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS!"

Sharing is Caring

2011-11-07T20:42:00.000-08:00

Today I'd like to share with you one of my new go to recipes.

For years I've experimented with garlic bread sticks. Putting the garlic butter on before baking vs.after baking, using fresh garlic vs. powdered. Well, I finally found the secret and now I find myself looking for reasons to bake bread sticks.

Really they go with almost every thing. Having peanut butter sandwiches for dinner? Bread sticks go well with that.

Here's the recipe I've been using.

The dough is good, but if you have a roll recipe you like go ahead and use that. The real secret is the application of the garlic butter. Brush it on once and the middle of baking and then again at the end. That middle application never made it into my experiments and as such I never counted any of them a success.

One other note; I don't actually follow the recipe for the garlic butter. It calls for 1/2 cup unsalted butter, 2 teaspoons garlic powder and 2 teaspoons salt. Here are the problems I have with that.

First; Two teaspoons is way-hay-hay to much salt. The link above recommends cutting the amount in half. I did that on my first run and it was still too much salt for me. I use about 1/2 a teaspoon and I'm happy.

Second; If you're just going to dump a butt load of salt in anyway, why would you bother using unsalted butter? Why?

That is all. Now, go forth and bread stick.

Pick your battles

2011-11-06T19:51:00.000-08:00

Enzo received a copy of "How To Train Your Dragon" (the movie) for Christmas last year. He adored it. Whenever it came up as a topic of conversation or imaginary play he talked of Stoic the Vast or, as he put it "Hiccup's dad." Apparently Hiccup himself, despite being the hero of the story, wasn't "Viking like" enough to impress my Enzo.

As early as January I was planning the costume in my head. Fur cape, huge glorious yarn beard... This costume would be epic.

Eventually I broached the subject with Enz. "No," he said, "I wanna be Toofless."

Toothless? He'd barley ever mentioned that dang dragon. I dropped the subject and came back to it the next time he was in the thick of a game of "Hiccup's dad" Even then, in the heat of imaginative Vikingness, he insisted that he'd rather be the dragon.

I shared my frustration with The Mr and he suggested that he could be Stoic and Enzo could be Hiccup. I was mildly flabbergasted. I never thought I'd see the day when my husband would volunteer himself to be costumed but Enz was no more interested in this new outfit scenario.

So I was making a dang Toothless.

I've learned something over the last few years of Halloweens. As much as I love making intense costumes, they can really be a drag. If a costume is hard to wear or the least bit fragile, it will likely stop being fun.

The Elephant worked for my nephew despite it's being so unwieldy because it was his own idea and having it come to life made up for the trouble of walking in it. The following year he lent it to Zizza and that didn't go over quite so well.

Ziz felt like a real live scullery-step-child turned princess in her Cinderella Dress but I had her fully under-dressed and had to strip that gown off for every slide and bounce house we encountered. The memory of all the undressing and re-dressing is why I even bothered sewing for Moo this year when the preparation could have been as easy as showing her the frothy blue gown I have squirreled away upstairs.

If I were making a Toothless that actually looked like Toothless it would have been a major undertaking and I'm not talking about the time and brain power of making the thing, I'm talking about the strain of wearing something like that.

So I did this instead.

A mask, a tail, and a pair of wings all at home on a hoodie paired with a pair of slippery black pants declared to be "cozy enough for jammies." The whole thing took about 2 hours and he was happy as a clam.

I never did put a zipper in the hoodie, I didn't have a black separating one in my stash, he thought my suggestion of putting in the orange-ish red one was absurd and I still haven't made it to a fabric store.

Maybe If I'm lucky Duke will take an interest in Stoic and someday I'll get the pint-sized Viking Chieftain I dreamed of. He'd just have to strap off the beard for the bounce houses. I think we can handle that much fuss.

Hand me down Halloween

2011-11-05T20:12:00.000-07:00

Lucky for me, and for Duke I totally rocked on Enzo's first Halloween so Duke's first costume was as simple as a quick search through the Halloween bin.

I have to say, may favorite part of this costume is the hood. Is it the accentuated cheek chub? Is it the way it brings focus to the sweet little face? I don't know, but I love it.

Duke was not uber thrilled about posing for pictures today so Ziz was kind enough to help him pose thus sparing him the ordeal of being propped up on various surfaces to get the angles I wanted.

Fun fact: If you followed the link to Enzo in the turtle costume you surely noted that he was dead asleep propped against that pumpkin. Well, Duke did the same thing at the Halloween party this year. A friend of mine was snuggling him and he completely zonked out and stayed that way through a few rounds of pass the baby.

I love sleeping turtles.

Missing

2011-11-04T20:40:00.000-07:00

A few days ago as I set to prepare for the month of daily posting I lived a little mini nightmare.

In early October my computer was acting up. The Mr bade me back up my files so he could get to the bottom of it. I did that. He double checked my work just to make sure I hadn't missed anything and the computer repairs continued on from there.

Can you guess the cause of my recent distress?

All of my pictures from July 2010 through September 2011 are gone.

At first, though upset, I didn't realize the strength of the blow. After a few minutes the thought dawned on me that all of my pictures of little Duke were gone.

I stared at the file directory on my screen. Stunned. Horrified. Distraught. Fighting to quell the oncoming physical symptoms of freak out.

Then I remembered something.

A saving grace.

The pictures from his birth were originally uploaded to The Mr's computer while I lay blissfully bonding with my velvet prize. We're still missing the photos of his first days weeks and months, but those of his first hours are safe and sound.

It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

four and five

2011-11-03T20:51:00.000-07:00

I'm interrupting the Halloween costume reports to show you Duke's four and five month photos.

At four months+three days when this photo was taken, no teeth had yet been found in that wee mouth. He had however already insisted that I give him food to eat in spite of my plan to wait on the solids until the last possible moment, thus keeping him tiny.

Also at four months he was too big to lay comfortably in the truck bed, but still too floppy to be propped up to sitting. It was tricky getting him situated to say the least. Just look at his little face; even he was worried about it.

Five months came around(actually almost five and a half by the time I took the photos) and now the prop to sit is no problem.

He's up to two teeth now (as of Tuesday or so) and he tends to suck in his lips and explore the feeling of his mouth's new tenants against them.

Another notable change from the past month, his kewpie doll hair-do has nearly disappeared. (sad face)

My attempts to keep him tiny are failing at every turn. The Mr declared him too big for the bassinet and narrowly escaped a pummeling.

Judge me as you will for saying so, but I've never enjoyed a baby so much as I'm enjoying this one.

Rawr!

2011-11-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

At some point in my early teens I saw a picture in a magazine of a baby in a lion costume. The mane was made of yards upon yards of curled ribbon.

Then and there I swore I'd do that one day.

The only problem was, I didn't want to put my boy in yards and yards of curled ribbon but lionesses don't have manes so would the costume really suit a girl any better?

Two years ago I decided dressing a girl as an effeminate lion would be fine, and I bought 80 yards of grosgrain ribbon in shades of yellow, tan and orange.

Then I learned that Moo would indeed be leaving us and the thought of making the costume and having her go before wearing it was too much. She ended up staying with us until June, but that's another story. She and I wore the gypsy costumes I made the year Zizza was that size and all was well.

This year I finally used that ribbon.

Here is Moo's scary lion pose. Watch out for those claws.

She roared every time she saw herself in the mirror wearing that get-up. It was a treat to take her to the potty.

Now, see the scratch on her chin? Yeah, she fell down in the street. She does that kind of a lot. I've been insisting she ride in the stroller as much as possible.

The scabs on her knees from falling 2 days consecutively had just come off when she caught the chin. Poor girl.

On the night of our church Trunk or Treat she had whiskers like Zizza's that's the only time I bothered though. Once the mane entered the equation whiskers didn't make a big enough impact to me worth the trouble.

And in case you wondered, the lion did have a tail.

The End

Meow

2011-11-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

Zizza declared one day mid summer that for Halloween she wanted to be a black cat, and I could be her witch.

Time went on and eventually it was time for me to start working on the costume. "How," I asked myself, "can I give the classic black cat costume a little more character? A little twist to make it our own?" That's when I decided to make it blue. (also I had this Navy linen blend on hand)

The next step was to sell Ziz on the navy blue idea. I timed it just right, we were out just the two of us, shopping for nail polish. I reminded her of the navy polish we had at home and how it tends to read as black. Then I went for it. "What would you think of making your cat costume navy instead of black?" I asked her, and she agreed.

How do you think she would have reacted to the idea if I'd just said "listen kid, I think navy blue will be cuter plus, I've already got the navy fabric so that's that." My guess is, probably not so well.

The whiskers were on my mind from the beginning. I knew that if I could find the right whisker substance I could easily glue it to her face with eyelash adhesive. I just had to find that perfect substance. In the end we used bristles snipped from a paint brush.

Worked like a charm

Sadly, I didn't get my act together in time to come up with a Witch costume for myself. I went as a tired mother with no make up and probably a spit-up stain on my shoulder. It was very glam I assure you.

2011-10-23T22:17:00.000-07:00

It's Zizza's birthday (Seven!? how did this happen?) I haven't finished discussing Moo's with you all.

Duke is five months old, I haven't posted his four month picture.

The days are slipping by before I get the chance to mark them, to hold them up look them over and pin down the pieces I don't want to lose.

Looking forward to November's daily posts to clear my head. Spreading thoughts daily across my computer screen should free up a little head space.

wiggle

2011-10-03T21:49:00.000-07:00

For the past two days we've been insisting to Zizza that just one more good wiggle will free that tooth from the confines of her head. Then she allows the tooth to be wiggled and tugged and we (her parents) are proved wrong.

I have no idea how it is holding on.

Sometimes we also sneak our fingers into her mouth and give it a quick yank. Still it persists.

She is beginning to mistrust us. (her parents)

I think maybe lose teeth help young girls to prepare for the time when they'll wait for their babies to be born. You wait and you wait, wiggle the tooth, go for a walk, it will happen. But it doesn't so you wait and you wiggle and you walk some more.

I'm afraid she's going to swallow it in her sleep tonight.

Not really.

A few weeks ago, in the pile of crumbs I was sweeping off my floor I found a dog tooth.

True story.

The puppy, he is getting old.

I should really be working on Halloween costumes.

Guess who else is getting old?

Duke.

I found a tooth in his mouth on Saturday. This tooth is in no danger of falling out anytime soon.

Babies shouldn't be allowed to sprout teeth without the express written consent of their mothers.

Is four months early to be getting teeth? I don't remember when anybody else first grew teeth. I do remember that I've always been surprised by them. No fussing and swollen gums around here, teeth just appear in the mouths with little to no warning.

Ok, I'm going to see about getting the muslin of Zizza's kitty cat jump-suit cut before I retire to my bed.

Wish me luck.

Name

2011-09-21T14:33:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking," said Zizza, "about what I'm going to name my kids...I mean when I grow up."

This was about a month ago. The name she had in mind? Aurora

Today she told me she made a new friend. A friend named Georgia "Oh, I really love that name," I told her. "yeah," she said "I do too it's on the list of names for my kids."

The earliest I can remember thinking about baby names I was around eleven years old. I wanted twin girls called "Spring Rain" and "Summer Breeze." Zizza's taste in names is much better than mine was.

Ziz is named after the Mr's Grandma. She hates her name and forbade anyone use it. So, we asked her, "Grandma, if you had picked for yourself what would your name be?" and crossed our fingers that it would be something we liked.

"Well," she told us, laughing, "when I was a little girl I thought someday I'd name my baby Virginia." Oh dear, I wasn't keen on Virginia even as a middle name. Luckily, Grandma wasn't done talking yet. She said truly if she had her wish she'd bear her mother's name. So that's how Zizza wound up with her great great grandmother's name. Which. I'll have you know was neither Spring nor Summer.

lullaby

2011-09-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

Ah Friday, no homework for Zizza. Just a quick run through to see what we're up against with next week's spelling words and we were free to do as we wished with our time while the others napped. We settled in and I began to read to her.

Duke, who napped late in the morning was not quite ready for another. He lay wiggling contently on a blanket.

As I read he cooed and chortled and conversed with himself happily. He grew louder and louder as the chapter wore on and my volume increased with his to ensure that Ziz could hear me. I was reaching the upper limits of my speaking voice, getting close to a yell when in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic gurgle, the babe fell silent.

I looked up from my page and saw this.

He'd sung himself right off to sleep.

Dispelling dastardly deeds

2011-09-12T21:15:00.000-07:00

On more than one occasion I've found myself thinking about super heroes and villains. What would be my super power if I had one, and would that power be better suited to the hero or the villain?

My formula for a super power is this: Identify a talent or a quirk that you posses, now figure out a way to wield it as a weapon. This is your super power.

I tend to think that physical attributes better befit heroes where mental ones are more at home with villainy. That's not a hard and fast rule, of course both sides of the coin need to have bounty in both brains and brawn, but I see it as a trend.

Here are a few character's I've assembled using the method.

Case number one:

Years of playing the trombone have left The Mr with the ability pick out the bass line in any song he hears. Now, imagine that he's nurtured that ability to the point where he's constantly picking up a bass hook in the everyday sounds of life. Take it one step further and each thump of the bass becomes a blow. Now you've got your self a villain. I call him Bass Clef.

Oh, sure he could be a hero. You could get all Dumbledore on me with talk of choice vs. ability but I'm going to skip the debate and name this one a villain just because I think it makes a cooler villain power.

When dealing in the day to day of petty crimes, Bass Clef pulls from that underlying rhythm of life we talked about to supply the muscle behind his will. For big heists though, he's been known to hire a few shady musicians (not your regular henchmen) to come along and lay down a beat his villainy can jive to.

Case number two:

Recently I've been enduring the joy of postpartum hair loss. There's a patch above my left temple, about one inch in diameter, that looks like I shaved it. (I didn't)
Last week as I cleaned the mesh drain guard in my shower (what could pass for a month's build-up of hair was collected in the space of a single shampoo) I thought about what kind of super power this could shape up to be.

Postpartum Woman has taken her ability to waken instantly from deepest slumber at her infant's first coo of discontent and broadened it to apply to any cry of distress. When she picks up such a signal, she speeds in her tricked out station wagon* to the crime scene.

Once she arrives and takes stock of the situation, she nonchalantly runs a hand through her hair. With that one swipe she'll have armed herself with all the fiber she needs to deftly fashion the rope she'll use to lasso and bind the bad guy, saving the day.

Her tag line is: "Postpartum woman-Single headedly clogging the drain of villainy,"

What would your super power be? Are you a hero or a villain? Maybe we can all get together and wite ourselves a comic book.

*Earlier today I saw an amazing Chevy Malibu wagon. Probably mid-sixties, all gleaming turquoise paint job and shiny chrome. I've never been more impressed at the sight of a stay-wag.

Three years ago today, I got a phone call

2011-09-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

It was Friday. I was leaning against the counter in my kitchen chatting with my sister-in-law who had brought over dinner. (I don't remember the occasion but I do remember it was delicious sweet pork tacos,and on her way to my house it spilled in her(new) car)

We'd been licensed foster care providers for 9 months but had only had one placement and that only lasted three weeks. Based on this we had decided to let our license lapse when the year was up.

On the phone was our licensing worker. Earlier that day a baby girl had been born and she needed a place to go when she was released from the hospital. I said "We'll take her," The worker asked me if I needed to talk it over with my husband. I said there was no need.

When I hung up, I called him and told him we were having a baby.

On Sunday.

And we did.

Happy birthday baby.

(I've been ruminating over something and I'd appreciate your thoughts. Do I take her birthday picture the minute she was born as I do with the bio kids, or do I take it at the time we first clapped eyes on her? This year at least, I'll be going with the second option and taking it at about 3 pm on the 14th because I forgot to look up her birth time before the day came and missed it. Funny how you don't remember that sort of thing (meaning the birth time) as well when you weren't the one reveling in the mixture of love and the relief of a baby birthed during the moment in question)

Cheesecake

2011-09-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

I made a cheesecake for dessert this evening...sort of.
A more apt description of what I made would be cheese soup. The recipe calls for a two hour chill before serving, you see and I only gave it about forty five minutes. The results were not much to look at but very tasty.

The last time I made cheesecake it was lovely. See for yourself

The polk-a-dot cheesecake was a vision. Sadly, it tasted awful.

The chocolate graham cracker crust used regular grahams and cocoa powder with not quite enough sugar to take the cocoa edge off ( in my opinion) but that wasn't the real problem.

My crust tasted stale for some reason I couldn't figure out. I wrote off the possibility that my graham crackers were stale because I started with a brand new package. Not even a package from storage that had been freshly opened, but brand new fresh from the grocery store, freshly opened box.

A few days later I noticed that the kids weren't eating their crackers when I distributed them.

The brand new crackers were indeed stale and ruined my pretty pretty cheesecake.

Jerks.

I feel bad for myself but I feel worse for the guests to whom I served that lovely, stale confection.

The moral of this cheesecake story is this: looks aren't everything especially when it comes to dessert.

P.S. Remind me to discuss the meaning of the phrase "singed cat cake" at some future interval.

That's...not a dress

2011-09-03T20:03:00.000-07:00

It was bath time and Enzo was last in line. He had just gone potty and Moo was finishing her final rinse off, then it would be his turn. "I can just wear this cuz it covers all my things down here," he said, smoothing the hem of his t-shirt to achieve maximum length. Then, patting his round little bum he added "This too."

...

Today as I was leaving Joann (no, I didn't find what I needed but thanks for asking) a girl walked in. When I saw her I thought I was witnessing an instance of the "denim underwear" phenomenon that was so prevalent within the walls of my high school. You know, denim shorts so short and snug that they have more in common with underpants than outer pants? Denim underwear were all over the place in the late 90's. Thankfully, styles shifted (also I spend a lot less time with teenagers now that I'm not one) and I haven't seen any in awhile.

Wish I'd seen them today.

What I actually saw was worse.

Much worse.

The girl was wearing a long t-shirt. Not over-sized, just long. It was one of those light weight numbers, not totally transparent but still a bit shy of opaque. The sight of her triggered the denim underwear thought but before said thought could completely register I realized my error.

There was no denim involved. Nor were there any pants.

It was the long not opaque t shirt and...a thong. Black. The thong was black. The shirt was white. This is how I know I was not mistaken about the presence of pants as part of the ensemble.

Now, it is HOT here yo. There is something to be said for keeping cool. I have to give her that. But it seems to me any thermal benefit of doing your shopping sans pants would be counteracted by the direct contact between the seat of the car and the bum cheeks. I'm just sayin'... I hope, for her sake, that she didn't spring for leather upholstery.

...

When I heard Enz defending his choice to wait pants-less for his bath I chalked it up to coincidence. As I wrote this though, I began to wonder...maybe I wasn't the only one in my family to notice what the girl forgot.

Wa hoo!

2011-09-01T20:07:00.001-07:00

Zara will be entering the wonderful world of online shopping as of September seventh. That's only a week away folks!

All summer long I've had a storm cloud of frustration over the inaccessibility of Zara. So many of my wardrobe needs could have been filled if only there was a way for me to shop there.

And now

I can

I am beside myself.

One Two Three

2011-08-31T20:37:00.000-07:00

Three months old, it's true. Thirteen or so pounds and twenty-six-ish inches long.

Here's what he looked like last month;

Here are the two photos side by side;

I think I'm going to figure a way to prop him in a sitting position for the next one. He's getting too tall to lounge in the truck bed.

He's also getting too tall for his (my) puj tub in so much that I introduced him to the big people bath tub this past week.

First I dipped his feet, as I always do, to let him know what's coming. He always gets happy when he feels the slippery wetness on his toes. But this time, this time when that brief introduction was over, rather than slipping into the semi reclined position of the puj with only his lower torso submerged, he found his whole self lying in the water. He stretched and wiggled tentatively in the beginning and then began to beat the water with (almost) chubby legs. Enjoyment and confidence growing with every stroke.

I've returned him to the big boy tub one time since, he enjoyed that second experience in a much more serene sort of a way. In between times, we've continued to use the good 'ol puj because babies easily bathed in the bathroom sink can't possibly be in danger of growing up.

Hit it

2011-08-25T20:43:00.000-07:00

We hit the library mother lode on our last trip. Checked out seventeen books, and all of them gold. In so much that we were through them in just over a week. Zizza read all of hers within a matter of days and I was forced to offer up the books I'd selected for the two of us to read together in order to keep her in reading material.

Here's what we've been reading

Eva-

Faerie Rebels-Spell Hunter- I spotted this on the self on the JUV section while browsing for Ziz. I mistook it for this book which I remembered my sister Becca reading way back when. I always wanted to read it too, don't know why I didn't. I seem to remember that she (Becca) was a little disturbed by the book (not having read it I remain unaware of the reason) You might think this makes a good explanation for why I never read it. At least you might if you weren't acquainted with the two of us as children/adolescents. Generally speaking Becca's discomfort with an item (such as a book) would fuel my desire to seek out that item and triumph over it.

Anyway, The book I wound up with, albeit accidentally, was a joy to read. Compelling, entertaining, well paced, and I didn't even guess the ending.

Star Girl- Long ago, my mama told me I ought to read Star Girl. I planned to read her copy when I came to visit but when I arrived I found out she'd read a library copy. Then I largely forgot about it. A few months ago I remembered and looked it up at my local library but all copies were checked out so I submitted my name to the waiting list and this week it was (finally) my turn.

Gosh, I really loved Star Girl.

I also realized that Jerry Spinelli, Star Girls author, wrote Maniac Magee one of my long time favorites. Funny how that works, isn't it?

39 clues- The Mr gave me the first book for Mothers day and I was a little perplexed as to why. The covers of these cooks are not at all attractive. In fact, they look like a marketing ploy aimed at the elementary school aged boy set, dressed up as literature so as to sell the parents on the scheme. But I was pleasantly surprised. The story is entertaining, the writing is good. The books make for a nice afternoon's diversion. I've read books two and three courtesy of the library and have four and five checked out and at the ready.

Zizza-

Clementie, friend of the week- We've got Clementine and The Talented Clementine in our own library and were happy to stumble upon this fresh story. We like her she fits well among the precocious and quirky little girls about whom series of books are written. I haven't read this particular adventure. Zizza read it to her self first thing, and I forgot to have my turn before we turned it in.

Maybe my favorite thing about Clementine is how I'm pretty sure she's got a crush on her best friend's brother but it's real subtle. Ziz won't notice the crush references for a while yet.

Magic Tree House - Girlfriend eats these up. Checks out four at a time. Enzo likes them too...when he can sit still long enough.

Eva and Zizza together-

Frindle- This was a lucky grab. I was plucking books off the shelf sort of willy nilly looking for things to read to Zizza at bed time. The title/cover art caught my attention and into the "check out" stack it went.

I think I liked this book better that Ziz did. It's about a fifth grader, so the social dynamic of the book was a little advanced for her.

I loved Mrs. Granger. I wish she was my fifth grade language arts teacher.

The Princess Tales- I heart Gail Carson Levine big time. She is a fairy tale superstar. We've read 3 of her princess tales in the past few weeks. Zizza likes figuring out how the characters are related to each other through out the history of Biddle.

I start out reading just a chapter or two per sitting, as is our routine, but a day or two into these I end up just finishing them off. For one thing, they're not long at all and for another, I can't make myself stop.

Enzo-

Down Girl and Sit - These are stories told from the perspective of a dog. They're funny stuff. The chapters are only three or so pages long which is perfect for Enz. He likes the idea of listening to chapter books but he lacks the attention span.

He got a magic tree house book in his Easter basket last spring. The three kids sneaked down stairs and snooped the baskets before the Mr and I got up.
From my cocoon of blankets in my as-comfortable-as-is-possible-while-eight-months-pregnant state, I heard him exclaim when he spotted it "A chapter! a chapter! I got a chapter!" Then we told them they had to wait to touch anything until they were dressed.

He we still thrilled about his new "chapter" later on when, all spiffed up in his too small Easter finery he was granted access to it.

He wouldn't let me read it to him though. He finally heard it when my parent's came to visit and each took a turn reading it aloud to Zizza.

Moo-

Girlfriend loves anything with The Cat in the Hat on it. I just stroll over to the easy reader section, pluck any random publication with the "I can read it myself" seal on the top right corner and she's enchanted. Most recently we're been reading "Green Eggs and Ham"

Creature ABC- Enzo and Moo both ate this one up like cake. We talked about the creatures, we talked about the letters, it was a jolly good time. I'm thinking of buying a copy!

Now then, I thought this was going to be a really fast as lightening post. A few words, a few links, I'll have some time to start the new books I picked out at the library this evening. Oh well, I guess I got carried away. Now it's time for bed.

Know what we're gonna do today?

2011-08-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

Dude.
Du-ude.
I need to get my post on.
I have all these BIG THINGS I feel like I need to post about but BIG THINGS get to be kind of time consuming to write and that makes them sort of intimidating. Plus, champion night sleeper that he is, Duke is a less-than award winning napper so day time writing isn't really happening. (If you need to hear more excuses just lemmie know. I can come up with some more)

Anyway, I decided to ignore the big things for today.

We're big Phineas and Ferb fans up in here (I know, I know I just can't drop the street talk (street talk? I'm so lame) you're just going to have to bear with me) We watch an average of 1.5 episodes per day. Actually more than that. I've let my television viewing regulations slip quite considerably this summer what with it being too crazy hot to send folks outside to play for long and me being busy with a new born and all. I don't really want to think about an honest average number of episodes per day because that would mean facing the excessive TV dependency going on in the household and I'd rather continue sweeping it under the rug for now if it's all the same to you. Okay?

So, on Tuesday while Enz was at pre-school, Moo and I found ourselves one on one. First we talked about some shapes and colors because having the older two off at school influenced me to attend to her pre-pre-school education. Then she started up a game for the two of us. "I Phineas," she said pointing to herself, and then pointing to me, "you Ferb baby Duke-Perry a pla-pus." It may interest you to know, that Zizza was assigned the role of Isabella. No further assignments were made at the time.

That was Tuesday morning. It is now Sunday Evening. She has been calling me Ferb all week. "Ferb," she'll say and wait for my response "yeah Phineas?" then she proceeds with whatever she intended to say to me. For example; "be-bug a my arm." At some point thereafter she'll point to her baby brother, mention the word "platypus" and be on her way.

Wednesday afternoon I had to wake her from her nap. She sat up in bed, looked blearily at me and said "Hi, Ferb."

The other kids have followed her lead and made up their own family castings of the show. Neither of theirs are quite as consistent as Moo's however. They both name themselves Phineas and revolve through family members to fill other roles...mostly. The other constant is Enzo's refusal to assign Moo a role in his game.

Guess what else? Ziz made a play-doh penguin.

She brings books home from School and is expected to read them, choose from a list of activities to apply to them, carry out said activity, and then return them to school. She had a book about a penguin last week and thus was born the play-doh penguin.

She wants to make a puppet show based on a book she has now. If I had my way she'd chose "read the book to a sibling" every time as that option involves significantly less effort on my part. Unfortunately, I don't get to pick.

Is this post getting tedious for anybody else? Mmm-kay. I'll go ahead and stop then.

You wouldn't guess it from the photo but...

2011-08-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

Enz spent over an hour this morning back packed up and ready for his first day of preschool.

Then I sat down to feed the baby and before I knew it we were late. The slightly baffled look he's sporting above comes from the shock he was working through at the sudden change in my disposition when I realized what time it was and began frantically shooing him toward the door. (with a detour while I snapped the quick photo)

Enzo will be heading to kindergarten next year with just one measly year of pre-school under his belt. I really wanted to organize a Joy School group for him last year but that was about the time that even the essentials became hard to manage and it didn't happen.

We're in a Pre-school co-op with friends in the neighborhood. I would have loved to do Joy School again but I was out-voted. I'm excited for what we are doing though, and I'll probably be using some of the songs and games and things I've learned in my four years (2 as a student-2 as a parent) of Joy School experience when it's my turn to teach so it's all good.

The weekend

2011-08-09T20:26:00.000-07:00

We had an unprecedented number of visitors this weekend. 4 sisters, 1 brother, 2 mothers, 1 father, 1 aunt, 1 cousin 1 brother-in-law, 4 nephews. Not everyone stayed at our house, but it was still very full.

Do you know what happens when you take that many aunties (and uncle) away from their own children and only supply 2 nieces and 2 nephews as substitution? The results are really quite extensive but maybe the most notable as far as the mother of the substitutes is concerned was that none of the four really got much chance to whine for three whole days.

Of course other things happened too. Things besides a lack of whining among my off spring. I don't have any pictures of those things. My sisters have pictures. Hopefully they'll send them to me so I can include them in upcoming posts.

The best thing to make it onto my camera during the weekend was this.

Isn't it great that I talked all about the lack of whining and then post a picture of a sad baby to go along with it?

Yeah, I thought so too.

Since all the company left the whining has picked right back up. Intermittently for the past two days Enzo has been telling me how "azausted" he is. I believe him. I was azausted too. In so much that I took 2 naps yesterday.

Currently Duke is azausted and proving the point most emphatically by crying rather than sleeping. And so, I am off to see what can be done on that front.

Baby Cookies

2011-07-31T21:26:00.000-07:00

One of the things I remember about what it's like to get a new baby brother are the baby cookies.

I have a foggy memory of visiting a hospital room at the age of four when my first little brother came on the scene. Then there were the daily hospital visits, the NICU, the heart monitors and oxygen tanks when the twins came. But there was another brother between those two events and what I remember about him as a new born is baby cookies.

Baby cookies are the way we kids announced to our friends that we had a baby at our house.

I thought about the baby cookies after I'd had a baby myself and wondered how they came to be? That is to say, how did my mother go about baking hundreds of tiny cut-out cookies with a brand new infant? Further thought gave me the answer. She did it during those last days of waiting. Probably starting the batch with the hope of being soundly interrupted and winding up with one big warm and cuddly baby rather than hundreds of the tiny warm and crispy type.

I didn't make baby cookies when my first three came along. I thought about it, but I don't happen to have a 2 inch baby-shaped cookie cutter so what was I to do? This time though, my mama was coming before the baby.

Seeing as how Ziz and Enz both came like clockwork one day after their respective due dates, we decided it was worth the risk and scheduled her visit to commence the day before Duke was due. Ten days later when he was (finally) born his grandma had reluctantly returned home. While she was here though, she and her two inch baby shaped cookie cutter did some good work.

The cookies were made with this recipe via Brown Eyed Baker. The diapers were piped on with white chocolate candy coating.

The resulting babies were delicious.

Even after spending a few days waiting in the freezer for the event they were intended to announce.

Popsicle day week 7

2011-07-29T20:59:00.000-07:00

This might be our last popsicle day what with school having started and all. I still have one more idea up my sleeve though, so we'll see.

I happened to have about four lemons languishing on the counter since last time I made lemonade. Fresh squeezed lemonade is one of life's great pleasures. I sometimes wonder at the fact that I'd never made any until last summer. What a pity...

Well, four lemons don't amount to much juice wise, and in re-figuring the recipe to suit that bitsy bit of juice I wound up over sugaring it. It was a disappointment for me when I drank the glassful that didn't make the freezer, but I think the popsicles were better for it. That is to say, the kids liked them better than they would otherwise have done. Ziz said enthusiastically "Hey, these aren't as spicy as I thought!"

There's a discussion in it's self. What counts as "spicy"? The young ones on the premises hereabouts tend to use it to describe any punchy flavor that crosses their tongues. Sour, tangy, vibrant, strong. These words are all lost under the umbrella of "spicy."

First

2011-07-28T22:10:00.000-07:00

First day, first grade. The day was fat with firsts.

Also it was the first time I toted children along with me to the nearest grocery store. The five of us have been to Target a time or two but plain old grocery shopping is, for some reason, harder than Target so that task has been relegated to weekends when the Mr is handy since the Duke made his entrance.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Ziz didn't stand still for the traditional in front of the house first day of school photo. As soon as she stepped outside she was off like a shot running to meet her carpool.

Want to know the best thing about carpool this year? I don't have to drive! I'm just giving gas money! Squeee! Yes, that is how glad I am not to be driving to school every day. Glad enough to yell "Squeee!" in the middle of a blog post. Not to mention the three separate instances of exclamation point usage. (excluding the quote) That's a big deal.

Zizza was not nearly as pooped when she got home from this first day as she was after her previous first day. I attribute this to the combination of previous experience and the fact that we're in the morning program this year so she gets home at about 1:00 as compared to last years 4:00

Once again, we at home endeavored to fix up something yummy for her to return to. Mini Bagel pizzas and chocolate Rolo cookies. She appreciated the cookies (and why wouldn't she?) but she told me she thought the pizzas had "not enough sauce and too much cheese," I am now living in fear of the day when she"ll catch sight of the computer screen as I'm ordering pizza and learn of the option to request either light or heavy sauce and that I always select light. If that happens I'll never be able to order a pizza without an argument.

Make that two.

2011-07-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

Another month has come and gone leaving my Duke that much older and wiser, and plumper and stronger.

This is the month that brought smiles and laughter, both of which were first bestowed upon the poppa who was more than glad to receive them. He wasn't lucky enough witness those firsts with any of the other 3 babes and he worked hard to get them this time.(Ziz laughed her first laugh on January 21, 2005 for the grandfather of my good friend whose wedding we were attending)

Another thing he's gained in the past month? Enough girth to cause some spillage from the truck bed.

"Leg over board!"

Popsicle day week 6

2011-07-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

Today's popsicles brought to you by the Bluth family. (Also my memory of loving these the one time my mama made them when I was little)

Chocolate covered frozen bananas. Seriously, so delicious. These are my favorite popsicle without question.

Another great thing? Bananas don't melt.

Did you know that?

It's true.

Without dribbly melting messes to consider, we were all able to eat our frozen deliciousness in the comfort of the house.

That meant no repetitive opening and closing (read not closing) of the back door.

Awesome.

Our day in court

2011-07-19T20:47:00.000-07:00

We made it to the courthouse just ahead of an ugly looking dust storm. Milled about in the hallway for quite a while talking with our attorney and CPS worker. The kids all played various games on any phone or other device they could lay hands on. Well, three of them did. Duke, after observing what there was to be observed in the hallway fussed a bit and then went to sleep.

At length, we filled into the courtroom and took our seats. I was put under oath while holding a sleeping infant and probably swaying a little bit.

Soon enough all was said and done and we were the legal parents and guardians of all four of our children.

I guess it was kind of a big deal.

For me though, it didn't feel all that momentous. (The evidence of the non-momentusness I was feeling can be observed in the everyday hairdos the girls were sporting) There have been a lot of other days, hours and even minutes during this nearly three year process that have held more poignance as far as I'm concerned. Likely most of those moments will never be noted by many outside of myself.

This was a big day, a noteworthy day, but also it wasn't. She's been mine for a long time already.

We didn't make popsicles today...

2011-07-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Before I knew it the day was closing and I'd hardly set foot in the kitchen. The dishwasher was still full of yesterday's dishes (they were clean) there was not a speck of dinner to be seen and the freezer was void of all things popsicle.

I suppose this week popsicle Friday will mean making the popsicles rather than eating them.

Here are a few things I've been meaning to post but haven't yet because I am a bad blogger.

The other day Duke was lifting his little head with such strength and control, he even managed to pull his wee body away from mine, supporting his baby torso like a champ. After that I had to sit him in the little chair and see how he fared. Look how big...

I haven't put him back in for fear he'll stop being tiny all together.

A few days after The Mr went grocery shopping look what I found in the pantry...

He's such a nice man.

For the first time ever we have a tomato crop...

yum nothing compares to a home grown tomato.

The other night I let the dog out to potty and this was right outside the back door...

The dog was very brave and bounded right over the big ugly thing. He did however hang back and wait for me to open the door rather than share space with the monster at the threshold until the door opened. I don't really blame him. that thing was nearly half his size.

I also have 2-3 tabs open in my browser waiting to be shared here. In the past all of these things would have come to fruition in posts of their own. Right now I think I'll be lucky if I get those links posted in a hodge-podge such as this.

A history

2011-07-14T14:27:00.000-07:00

Today I plan to show you how my perm turned out. But first, I will take you on a walking tour of every perm my hair has seen.

That makes it sound like a lot huh? Really the current perm is only the third in my life which is a respectably low number when you consider the time period in which I grew up. Anyway, such things aside onward and upward we go- To the Perms!

I wished and wished and waited and waited to get my first perm. My sister, went to cosmetology school during my latter elementary school years and she laid down the law that perms were not to be administered until 12 years of age lest the chemicals inflict permanent damage on the young follicles of the head in question.

Finally I reached the appointed age and a few weeks before starting my junior high school career my hair met it's first chemical treatment. Here is photographic evidence of it all in the form of my seventh grade student ID card.

This was a "railroad wrap" on purple and blue perm rods. Oh, oops I lied a little bit. I guess I've technically had four perms. Eventually after five or so inches of re-growth my sister straightened the remaining curls applying solution to my free flowing locks and combing it all straight as the perm processed.

Good times.

Perm number two!

I was a junior in high school and my hair had been colored exhaustively when once more I heard the siren song of wash and wear curls. Thanks to the color gamut my hair and I had run that perm was a flop. I didn't even attempt to wear it in it's pure form until months later when I discovered, partly on accident, that the weak perm in the ends of my hair+the natural curl in the regrowth+ strategically placed curling iron curls would equal the following.

That photo was taken on my seventeenth birthday.

This brings us round to the present day. Perm number three (or four depending on how you look at it) Here is a phone photo of the very same featuring my sweet lump of a baby.

There you have it, a start to finish full disclosure account of every perm I've ever worn.

Riveting, no?

Popsicle day week 4

2011-07-07T16:20:00.000-07:00

This week we made green apple pops with this recipe. My opinion? They taste more like lime than apple but I'm a big fan of lime so that works for me.

Want to hear something amazing? Not only did I use a recipe, I followed the whole thing. Well, almost. After you blend it all up the recipe directs to strain out the apple pulp and freeze only the juice. I was going to skip that step because I tent to like pulpy popsicles but instead I decided to do a comparison. I made one pop without straining and then strained the rest and served the resulting pulp to the kids as applesauce. Really smooth sugary applesauce. They liked it. I ate the pulpy-pop but I haven't tried a strained one to compare.

Style

2011-07-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

One of the things that was hard about the pregnancy I've just completed (And it was hands down the hardest of the three) was that it seemed to rob me of my sartorial identity.

If you recall, I had trouble finding maternity clothes to suit me. I never did end up buying any more than the two tops I mentioned in that other post. I did however receive a big bag of pass around clothes and I patched together something of a wardrobe with the few things from the bag that fit me. Then eventually I outgrew all of that, found a tent of a dress at Old Navy and wore it every time I left the house for the last four weeks. (oh right nine extra days made it more like five and a half weeks) When I was at home I wore the Mr's old T-shirts and gym shorts. It was a very glamorous time for me.

In addition to the awesome wardrobe, my hair has been in that frustrating stage of growing out from over the ears short to jaw-length short. Also, my makeup supply got dangerously low and instead of getting more, I rationed it to the point where I only wore any at all on Sundays and even then it was sparse.

I didn't recognize myself when it happened that I accidentally looked in the mirror. Who was that drab girl in the grossly over-sized t-shirt with the bare face and bed head? (Because taming the bed head was (is) practically impossible)

So for the past weeks I've been taking steps to reassert my personal style.

I replenished my make-up supply on Saturday. I've still got to get into the habit of wearing it though.

I sort of thought all I'd need to do would be to go out and buy clothes that fit. I did a little of that and it sort of helped but finding clothes that answer to all I require of them still proves difficult. I'll probably start fitting into my existing wardrobe (currently packed up in a giant suitcase) before I manage to suitably outfit myself with what I can find in stores, or take the time to sew for myself.

This brings me to hair. For the past 3-4 hair cuts I've thought "This is it. This is the hair cut that will end the growing out phase and establish me firmly in the realm of the 'bob." And then after a week it's grown enough to prove that the oddity at the nape of my neck, (the result of an over grown short cut) has returned and I'm counting the days until I can get back into that chair and have things re-trimmed to await more growth, and hopefully, liberation from this awkward stage.

Well, today's the day. I'm sure this time. This is the haircut that will end the cycle! And as if that weren't enough I'm also doing something drastic.

Drastic things tend to happen with hair after Babies. After Ziz it was bangs (Ok, bangs are not all that drastic) After Enzo I chopped it from to the waist- length to spiky girl. Apparently the need for hair change is hormonal because it didn't happen with Moo. This time, today, I'm getting a perm.

You heard me.

For the past few years I've been reading about the re-birth of the perm. How current chemical technology has enabled perms to produce softer, prettier curls. Curls that need not vacillate between tight and crisp with product and sister to the crisp look: huge with frizz. So I decided to give it a go and I made the appointment.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Happy fourth

2011-07-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

We had a festive breakfast. The Mr made it. He's always counted Independence Day as his favorite holiday. That might be why he chose it for the date on which to solicit my hand in marriage. Yes, today is the tenth anniversary of our engagement to be wed.

Today was also the date of The Duke's first full fledged responsive smile. I didn't happen to have the camera out at the time but you can look at this photo and then imagine a smile on that bitty-boy face to get an idea of what it was like.

Earlier in the day, he showed his patriotism through diaper choice. I guess it was actually me who chose the diaper (with much encouragement from Zizza) but he's the one who wore it so I think that means he gets the points. Not that you can really see the diap in this photo, but it's the cutest from the batch so it's the one I'm going with.

Today was our third day in cloth, so far so good. More on that later.
Over and out

Popsicle day week 3

2011-07-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

Today was both a triumph and a disappointment. A triumph because look how cool:

Ring Popsicles! (Thanks Grandma!)

Also triumphant because this weeks flavor is raspberry cheesecake and I've got to tell you. It is delicious.

The disappointment came in because I couldn't get anyone to pose for a picture, and also because those kids of mine weren't nearly as impressed with the raspberry cheesecake flavor as I was. In fact, 2 of them almost didn't finish theirs and I'l tell ya, those ring pops are not large.

I stumbled across this recipe a few weeks ago on pinterest and converted it to meet my needs. Here's what I did

4oz cream cheese
1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup raspberries

Blend that all up, pour it into molds and freeze.
It made 6 ity bity pops and 2 average size.

The original recipe had pig pieces of berry floating in the creamy goodness. That was lovely and all, but I thought blending it would make things easier on the eating side. Also, I find that even textures tend to be more palatable to the 6 and under set.

Now seriously, go make some of these. They are all kinds of good. If you're not into popsicles, double the recipe and pour it into a graham cracker crust. That would be seriously yummy. Actually, A good idea might be to make the pie, slice it, and then skewer each slice on a stick and serve it popsicle style. That way you get the best of both worlds. Yes, do that.

One Month

2011-06-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

Ten days ago was little Duke's first luniversary.

I take issue with using the word anniversary for frames of time other than the year since the word is born of Latin's "annum" (year) and "versarius" (returning)

Could it be (more than) a month ago that I was noting the hour that marked his first full day? (horaversary?) And say, shouldn't I make a record of those first hours and weeks before they slip into the obscurity of memory?

That I should.

Meanwhile, here he is on that day, the one month day. I'll be using this truck as a size comparison prop for monthly photos and he increases in mass (He's so much fatter already. My fingers are crossed for a nice tub of a babe to snuggle into boyhood)

The other kids were off doing what it is they do but Moo was by my side, wanting her picture taken as always happens when I lay hand on the camera.

She is a fan of this little boyo we've got.

In the future I think I'll rig up some kind of back drop to disguise that clutter of table and chair legs.

Popsicle day week 2

2011-06-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

This week we made instant pudding and went for a fancy layered effect as we spooned it into our molds.

We also used the square popsicle molds which make for a more attractively shaped, yet harder to consume pop.

The pudding pops turned out to be delightful (why wouldn't they?) but we did find a hole in my back yard+bib=minimal mess equation.

If you fling your bib over one shoulder and then lounge in a reclining chair while you lick and slurp, you can run into messy trouble even in spite of precautions taken by your mother.

To add to the fun, maybe your sister could comb your hair that day, wrangling it into the semblance of a ponytail without coming through the curly tangles first. Then, as the melty pudding slips down the side of your face and into the crease of your neck on it's way to pool in your armpit, it can have the pleasure of saturating your failling, matted ponytail along the way.

Good times.

Toity-pape

2011-06-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

Tonight while I was fixing dinner Moo needed to go potty. I went in, lifted her on and then went back to my kitchen business while she attended to hers. When I went back to check on her I found her distressed over the toilets failure to flush. The culprit? Copious amounts of toilet paper.

A memory I had while plunging kept me from excessive frustration over the matter.

I was somewhere in the neighborhood of four years old when I reached for the paper and found the perfect number of squares for my needs were all that remained on the roll. I was enchanted with this serendipity. I decided it was an experience I wished to repeat so I committed to memory the look of a toilet paper roll holding the perfect amount of paper and no more.

I contemplated the paper supply at each subsequent trip to the loo until finally, one day the conditions were right. Well, at least I decided they were close enough to right and I vowed as I sat that I'd dispose of every tissued speck before I left the room.

The toilet paper dispenser in that bathroom was positioned rather unconventionally, set high on the wall behind the toilet. This meant that I had to hop my tiny self off the pot, walk a few steps and then reach a-way up to access it. (My pre-school wiping routine started at my ankle, to account for drippage on the journey to the paper.) (TMI?)

On the happy day when I was to recreate the awesomeness, I went through my normal ritual: hop down, scurry over, reach the paper, wipe the drips off my leg, and onward. When it was all done I realized the disappointing truth. I had misjudged. There was still paper left. It didn't look like all that much paper though, and there was the matter of the vow I had made not to leave the room until it was gone so I soldiered on, carrying wads of paper from the wall to the toilet. It all got rather tiring. I wished I could give it up but I had vowed so really, how could I?

Eventually the toilet was full, and I do mean full. I started to worry about flushing. Why hadn't I noticed the problem sooner? I closed the lid, mashing down the top of the heap and with that mess taken care of (out of sight being as it is: out of mind) I turned my attention to that naughty toilet paper roll. The one who had misrepresented it's self as being so near empty. There was paper there still, and now the toilet had ceased to be an option for it's disposal.

I considered giving up at that point, but if I couldn't even keep a vow I'd made with myself what kind of person would I be? The waste basket came to mind and I set to work filling it. When that was full I reflected on my vow again and, deciding that I really had done all that I could do, released myself from the bond and scampered off to play with my integrity intact.

In light of that tale, Moo's experiment looses it's sting. Wouldn't you say?

My mother was surprised to hear the story a few years ago. Why? Because she had no knowledge of such a thing ever taking place. My father must have been the lucky one to come upon the scene.

It's a few days late, but thanks Dad and happy Father's Day.

Maybe I should write a screenplay?

2011-06-17T20:20:00.000-07:00

I had a dream this morning. It was one of those times when I'm watching the dream like a movie rather than actively taking part. This dream starred Tina Fey.

It was a classic Tina set up. She is a career woman looking for love/deeper human meaning in her life with ill success. Finally she gives up hope and delves deeper into her corporate sphere.

Then, in a surprise turn of events she finds herself in a burgeoning relationship with a man as close to perfect as legally possible. The only problem is; the deeper delve into the corporate sphere I mentioned earlier is kind of a big deal. We're talking moving to space to take a job as a space food critic, BIG DEAL.

Now, you'd think that with such a job taking this critical role in the plot that the movie would be set in some future time when a healthy percentage of the human population has moved off planet thus creating a demand for food critics in space. You'd be wrong. The film was set in the now.

I tried to remember after I woke up, exactly where in space she was moving but it was one of those details that the conscious brain is just not capable of holding on to. She was headed either on the Moon, or a nearby space station. Sadly, in one of those dreamland twists of logic, the trip required faster than light travel such that the decision to take the job would mean an end to all her relationships on earth. I know I know, that doesn't sync with the time period I stated, but this was a dream remember? and dreams aren't supposed to make sense.

Like any Tina Fey character, this woman had a great relationship with food. Apparently this space food she was going to review was mind blowing, life altering, ground shakingly delicious and not available anywhere on Earth. As I woke up she was telling her handsome verging on perfect prospective boyfriend that he was the personification of her dreams. Had she not met him, she never would have believed such a man could exist in the real world and she could see them making it through the long haul. However, this food waiting for her in space was purported to be really really good. Better even than a full and happy life, so she had decided to go to space, eat the food and live out her days in a pale grey room wearing a pale grey jumpsuit.

If this were a real movie I have to assume that at the last minute she would change her mind and tear out of the launch area even as the count down sounded and (clad in a space suit) rush into the waiting arms of the male lead. But this wasn't a movie. It was a wacko dream. So she went to space.

The End

Popsicle day

2011-06-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

It all started with this post from Simple Analogy. "A different Popsicle for every week of summer?" I thought, "how delightful!" So I adopted the practice.

We make the pops on Thursdays and eat the sicles Fridays. Today is our second Popsicle day of the season.

Last week we filled the the molds half way with orange cream flavored yogurt. Once that froze, we topped them off with orange juice.

From what I hear, they were good. The Yogurt cup only half filled four molds which equals four popsicles (see, I can do math) so I forwent the pleasure of having a popsicle myself that time.

This week Strawberries were on sale so naturally, we made peach-pops.

Ok fine, you got me. We had strawberry-lime today.

Ziz and Enz both helped lob the tops off the berries. Moo wasn't much interested in that, she busied herself with the bowl of grapes she discovered on the kitchen table.

I don't have photos of the rest of the process because the lighting in my kitchen is equivalent to that of a cave, but here's how it went down.

After the kids cut the leaves off a pound of strawberries we piled them in the blender with 2 tablespoons of sugar and the zest and juice of one lime then we blended it all to smithereens, poured it in the molds and froze it. Then today...

Now, I have to mention that I have some house rules about Popsicle consumption. Namely, all who wish to partake must do so outside while wearing a bib.

NO exceptions!

Details

2011-06-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

Did you know I birthed the Duke at home?

I did.

In my dining room.

Hippie, remember?

I'd been planning on a home birth since my last hospital experience. Actually since before my last hospital experience. I looked into it while I was brewing Enzo but I started too late. I was already 6-7 months along and finding a midwife and etc was too much to think about at that point. I promised myself then that I'd stay home for the next one. And I did.

I had a lot of good, solid, reasons for birthing at home. Most of them came as natural extensions of the birthing philosophies and practices I already believed and abided by. I'm not going to discuss any of them today.

Some of the things I most looked forward to in my birth experience turned out to be superficial things I had never thought of until I was in the middle of preparing for the event.

My midwife gave me a list of things to prepare, extra sheets, (plastic) towels, and a lot of other predictable type stuff. Then there were the two things I became happily fixated on. One-Something for the baby to wear and two- something good to eat once the baby comes. Food and clothes, some of my favorite things. Is it any wonder I became fixated?

The first time I read the list I was amazed. "I get to chose the first thing my baby ever wears?" How had I never thought of this before? Why had it never bothered me that I hadn't had say in the matter with my previous children? Thus I set to work planning.

I decided the hospital folks were on the right track with the kimono style shirts they provide for new babies. No pulling over the head+ free floating over the cord stump =good stuff.

After sifting through baby kimono patterns online for way too long, I found the shirt that was Enzo's first worn article. I based my pattern on that, then I moved along to pants. Again I referenced a pair I had on hand. The newborn pants I had were a bit squat in the leg and generous in the rise so I lengthened and shortened accordingly, scooping the front waist band to accommodate the needs of a brand new belly. Then I added a Tie Top Beanie and the ensemble was complete.

So, here you see it. On the baby:

and off the baby:

But what of my other fixation? After a bit of thought the food was easy. Something equal parts hearty and deliciously tempting? Well how about Tasty Kitchen's Breakfast Pizza? Yes, that'll do it.

Lucky for me The Mr is handy in the kitchen. His knowing how to cook together with my preparation (crust par-cooked and frozen, toppings prepped and waiting in the fridge) meant that my meal request was completely do-able and so-so-so much better than blucky hospital food.

Those my friends are the details of the superficial side of my latest childbirth experience.

I feel inclined to add that the list also mentioned having something ready for mama to wear after the baby arrived. I was able to skim over that part this time as I designed and made my ideal of a postpartum gown in preparation for Enzo's arrival. No way was I going to wear an awful hospital gown again, not my idea of comfy.

After Today

2011-06-02T13:13:00.000-07:00

After Today I'll have 2 months free of sweeping the daily sand box off the floor when Ziz comes home and kicks off her shoes. Hurrah!

On the other hand, there will be a wealth of wet towels to deal with but I think I'm prepared for the switch

velvet

2011-06-01T15:33:00.000-07:00

I passed the last hour in my rocking chair doing my best impression of a bassinet. It's always surprising how quickly things change.

This morning as we woke up I noticed that in spite of my not having taken the time yet to write my ode to the fuzz on the undersides of baby cheeks, newborn velvet has already given way to the satin of general infant-hood.

This all got me to thinking that it really was high time I took up my computer and wrote a little something. So this is it. It's a very little something, but it is something.

I really was pregnant after all.

2011-05-21T11:28:00.000-07:00

This became apparent when and 8 pound 10 ounce ball of heaven exited my body at 4:59 am yesterday morning.

I imagine selecting a box from a grocery shelf labeled "Pregnancy, 40 weeks of woe with a prize inside," and the particular box I selected had a flashy banner across the top reading "BONUS! This box includes nine additional days!" Let that serve as a warning to you; always read labels.

Here is my prize

As it turns out...

2011-05-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

I am not actually pregnant. I am just a gimpy woman with an unconventional figure.

The part about being 6cm dilated and 95% effaced I can't quite explain but at this point I'm quite sure it's hokum.

2011-05-17T13:22:00.000-07:00

I am forty-one weeks pregnant.

At lunch time today it took an hour to boil macaroni.

An hour.

On a brand new stove.

Cranked up to "high"

I have something to say about this.

Here it is

WHAT THE HELL?

Waiting

2011-05-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

Tuesday we were in the waiting area at the bank. "Highlights" magazine, it turns out is less than entertaining for the 2-4 year old set. One of the bank associates, a tall stately woman with a perfect pedicure and black patent stilletos, came over to chat. She reported that she loves children and having none of her own, spends her motherly energy in doting on a pair of nieces.

She asked my due date and when I answered "tomorrow" a look of sheer terror came over her lovely face. "Are you feeling anything?" she questioned. The channel cocktail ring on her hand stood out from her finger as she tensed with worry. "No, not at the moment," I told her. If that relaxed her at all the reprieve of her stress was not long lived. Only a breath passed before the follow up question, "But you have?" "Oh, sure" I told her, "things have been going on for weeks now." I didn't dare say the word out loud "contractions" I thought it might push her over the edge.

"Don't worry," I said "I'm not going to up and have the baby here in the bank." "Oh, please don't" she responded, her tension finally giving way.

We chatted for a few more minutes until it was time for us to leave. As we were going she asked, "What will you do if the baby doesn't come tomorrow? Go the the hospital and they'll get the baby out?" "No, no," I said. "He'll come"

Friday's here now and the full moon of my belly still, somehow waxing. As I, (we) wait for the shift that will see it through from full to waining gibbous, I continue to reassure, "He'll come."

On Mother's Day

2011-05-10T15:48:00.000-07:00

I got to help with flowers for the festivities at church. It was quite enjoyable.

And here are my own flowers, also my boy who can't help but jump in the frame when a photo is taken.

Sometimes he ends up taking over the whole thing,

and sometimes I crop him out. Real sneaky like.

As long as there are kids in this post I might as well include them all.

Happy Mothers Day

April the 24th 2011

2011-04-26T20:14:00.000-07:00

Sunday was Easter here just like it was every place else. We played it super low key this year. It was nice.
The fact that Enz is long torso-ed and long armed was realized/reinforced in my brain when he donned his new shirt and it's poor fit was discovered. It's just fine through the neck and shoulders but in over all and sleeve length, it falls short. I guess I should have had him try it on before that morning.

Somebody had a lady bug on her arm. Then she ate it.

I always thought using food coloring for eggs must be really difficult, or ineffective or something. Otherwise why does everybody use the color tablets? Turns out food coloring is just as easy and more effective than the tablets. Who knew? (she did)

One egg stood out above the rest. This look was achieved when a small boy came to the end of his egg allotment and found that he could prolong his egg dying experience by dipping and re-dipping his remaining egg repeatedly in each of the six dye baths and then dropping the fruit of his labors as he deposited it in the drying area.
The spiderweb effect wasn't visible until the next morning. He was so proud to realize the webbed egg was his.

"A sailor's not a sailor till a sailors been tattooed" (name that movie)

2011-04-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

A week(ish) ago our back yard was found to be teeming with lady bugs. The 2-6 year old set went out to pass the time while I cooked diner and discovered bug after bug. At one point they found a little bitty one riding on a bigger bug's back. Oh, what joyful reports we heard of the mama and baby lady bugs. Does anybody know, do lady bugs actually care for their young?

Moo-face has been talking about lady bugs ever since. At least once a day she brings it up, "be-bug a arm, be-bug a arm, Mom," she says and will continue to say until I take notice and respond affirming that she did indeed have a lady bug on her arm.

The incident of the bold and adventurous bug who ventured to explore the interior of Enzo's pant leg is all but forgotten, while the memory of Moo's arm encounter lives on. I never would have guessed.

She's still so enraptured with the memory of six tiny tickling feet crawling up her forearm I've come to expect that when she's grown, if she takes any interest in ink, she'll come home one day with a lady bug tattooed mid-way between elbow and wrist.

What's that book with the kid who dreams of getting a potato on his ankle when he grows up? Anybody know what I'm talking about?

I once recommended to my brother that he should get a sofa on his forehead...he did not take my advice.

I love to think of random and ridiculous subject matter for tats, I don't really think the lady bug fits into the random and ridiculous category. In fact if the memory of the bug stuck with her long enough and had that kind of influence, I think it would be a more solid reason to go under the needle than some I've heard.

Puffy

2011-04-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

The top of the stairs is a common landing place for me. I start down, and after a few steps if I find myself lacking energy there's a hand rail right there to steady me as I let my legs go slack and ease down to sit. After I've recouped, the handrail is still there to help me regain my feet.

The stairs are also a great location for snuggling small boys, and for helping various children to put their shoes on.

Yesterday I took advantage of the location to fasten Enzo's church shoes. When I was finished, he lay down and slid on his back to the landing, then he invited me to join him. "Come on mom," He said "You can do this too because you don't have a puff on your back. Right?"

A puff.

It's true I do not have a puff on my back. My puff, containing a baby estimated last Thursday (at 36 weeks gestation) to weigh in the neighborhood of six pounds, is most definitely on my front. Still I don't plan to join him in sliding down the stairs anytime in the immediate future.

The hippie in me

2011-04-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

Somewhere inside me lives a hippie. Her name is Star Song, or Rainbow...Dash...ok I'm actually thinking of My little ponies right now but it's not a My little pony that dwells in my psyche, that is a hippie. For the record though, Scootaloo is my pony of choice. I like her because she's Orange with a pink mane and tail and I'm a sucker for the combination of ornage and pink. Anyway, the hippie.

She whispers things to me. Some of her hippie ideas I embrace, some I do not. I think she tried whispering something about not shaving my legs once. That one didn't go over. In fact it sort of back fired on her. I'm so committed to smooth legs that I go ahead and take care of my arm hair as well. Also, any influence she's tried to have over make-up wearing has not taken effect. Sephora is my happy place. She has gained some footing in the realm of hair product. The longer my hair gets, the less likely I am to use any product. Why? It's the hippie.

Probably the most evidence of the hippie influence in my persona is found my birthing philosophies. Epidural? No thanks, never had one, don't want one. Not only do I embrace natural childbirth I use hypnosis. I am a hypnobirther. Now, I think the Bradley Method is actually a bit more typically hippie than Hypnobirthing but they're pretty closely related. Both are based on the work of Dr. Grantley Dick Read, actually I think Lamaze was as well but let's get back to the matter at hand.

At one of my prenatal appointments with Zizza I brought along my copy of Childbirth Without Fear to read. When the Dr came in he was amazed "You are not the patient I'd expect to be reading that book," he exclaimed. He then went on to say "Usually the ones who read that are closer to forty, and hippies" Ok, that's not a direct quote. I don't remember what he actually said besides the forty part, but he meant hippie. (By the way, that's a great book I recommended it to anyone preparing for childbirth. Hippie or otherwise)

I've been thinking a lot about my inner hippie lately. Probably because she and I talk every day when I'm practicing my hypnosis in preparation for baby Duke. That, combined with my ever strengthening desire to cloth diaper led me to a realization earlier this week. The realization was "Hey, I am an environmentalist" but that's another story for another time.

Impulse buy

2011-04-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

I was shopping online for baby items, observing how soft and snuggly all the various organic Egyptian cotton layette offerings look and thinking I'd might be a lot more inclined to pay twentyish bucks for a onesie if I was actually feeling how soft they looked.

Eventually, I found the things I actually needed (unfortunately none of them were organic Egyptian cotton) and did one more sweep of the web site, because if that site held anything else on my list it would likely be in my best interest to add it to my shopping cart and avoid extra shipping costs. That's when I saw it the Puj tub for $39.99.

WHAT?? I said to myself. I learned of the puj tub years ago when it was a brand new product only available through the manufacturer. I was smitten with it, but really, it was like $100 so I moved on.

A quick Google search showed me that puj tubs have caught on and are now available through many a retailer. Also, $39.99 is the current going rate. Fantastic! It's a supa-cool product I am glad it's doing well.

Then I bought one.

It wasn't until an hour later that I stopped to think "I just spent $40 on a baby bath tub."

I already have a baby bath tub it was gifted to me filled with useful this and thats from some of my aunts and cousins when I had my first baby. Granted it takes up a lot of room on the bathroom counter and on more than one occasion a helpful somebody or other has come along while I was dressing the fresh clean baby and unplugged the stopper without sliding it over the sink first, but it gets the job done.

Still, for all that, I haven't regretted the purchase. I've realized it's imprudence but mostly when I think about it I'm just really excited. I hope it lives up to my expectations.

If anybody needs a conventional counter top baby tub let me know. I've got one that needs a home.

The first weekend in April

2011-04-03T20:58:00.000-07:00

It's conference weekend. What does that mean?
It means that this morning I didn't find myself standing dismally in the middle of my closet wishing for something creative to wear before begrudgingly donning yet another black skirt and nondescript maternity top ensemble the way I've been doing every Sunday for weeks and weeks now.
It means that instead of fighting the good fight for reverence in the pew by myself while the Mr looks on sympathetically from the stand (He's a part of the leadership of our ward, (local congregation) which requires him to sit at the front) I got to co-parent from the comfort of my family room.
It also means that yesterday I made some excellent progress on operation "transform my bedroom into a cocoon of relaxation for postpartum recovery purposes" while I listened to the afternoon session. There's nothing like mindless work to keep me focused on what I'm listening to during Saturday afternoon session.
It also means that I have some things to think about, some things to work on, and some things to be thankful for.

How was your weekend?

Blathering on

2011-03-31T22:54:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I wanted to bake cookies but I couldn't muster the energy.

That might not seem out of the ordinary for most folks, but this is me we're talking about.

I've been listing "making cookies" or some variation of the same in the "hobbies" section of getting to know you forms for well over twenty years now and I'm not even thirty yet, so think about that.

Instead of baking, I swept my floor, gathered old school papers and hid them out side in the recycle bin, swapped a load of dishes and put some books back on the shelf.

I couldn't really tell the difference when I was done.

That was a bummer.

Then I read to Enzo. It was a story about a sea lion in the Galapagos islands who is an aspiring geologist. He's been waiting for days to hear this particular story.

He fell asleep at some point. I'm not sure when. I read the whole thing and when I finished I looked over to find him slumbering there against my arm.

I managed to hoist him into my arms, and then to hoist us both off the sofa. I walked him into my room and of course, he woke up as soon as I laid him on the bed.

I can no longer reach the sink to wash a dish unless I bend over and lean my elbows on the counter.

I have to use a modified version of the same stance to attend to pots of simmering things on the stove top.

I made a super rad plan for easter dresses. I'm absolutely enchanted with it. The plan does not include buying pre made dresses at Target, Old Navy or even the Gap. The plan is, I think, doomed.

This post is kind of a downer but rest assured, there are positive things going on as well. The positives just take more words to relate.

I guess while I'm as it I might as well add on a few more.

Yesterday I heard a clattering sound coming from the kitchen. Then I heard it again, and again.

Moo, who has assigned herself the chore of feeding the dog, was throwing scoop after scoop of dog food onto the kitchen floor while Mouch dog gleefully munched his way around the room.

Moo takes time-outs as a personal offense.

She screamed with out-rage during that portion of what followed.

It made for an interesting few minutes as I was trying to help Zizza practice her tricky new Cello piece. "Song of the Wind" involves plopping the first finger on the A string while the other three move next door to plop on D. Plus a bow circle to finish off the first line. It sounds great with enraged screaming as back up.

Since it was post-nap-time Moo was sporting a fair number of fly-aways. These, she habitually pushes back from her forehead.

By the time she'd completed phase two of "We don't coat the kitchen in dog food" other wise known as "I could sweep this all up in under a minute but instead, you're going to pick up each piece by hand and put them in the dog dish," her hair was packed with greasy dog food crumbs.

I refrained from snuggling that child until after bath-time.

A sales representative came to my door yesterday offering free carpet cleaning.

I declined.

"Aw, how come?" she asked.

"I just don't have the energy to have anyone in my house," I told her. She was very obliging in her acceptance of my answer and left right away. She was so nice I thought I might like to do business with her after all.

Some things

2011-03-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

Zizza mentioned to me that her unders were feeling a bit squeezy. She has been growing a good bit so I suggested we evaluate each pair and see how many fit and how many bigger pair she needed.

She had four that were the right size.

Oddly enough, two of those that fit were from the first pack I bought for her back when she was two.

So, we went to the store. Enzo was playing with a friend so it was just me and the girls. I felt so very free.

There was no one trailing ten feet behind me unable to catch up regardless of how slow I walked. No one drug their hand along every piece of merchandise we passed by. No one ran and climbed upon the riding mowers in spite of warnings that he'd better not dare. (I guess part of that had to do with how we didn't go to the Home Depot in search of panties.) Some one did insist on visiting the rest room. They, none of them think an outing is complete without a tour of some germy toilet or another. I said the other day "You know dears, people generally do their best not to use the bathrooms at the store," to which Zizza replied "Why? This bathroom smells alright."

We ventured into the baby isle and found a sale on diapers. It was the first time I'd been down that isle in 9 months. I selected some newborn size diapers in the name of nesting and went about my business.

Moo loved them. She held the package to her cheek all the way home. Once we got here she toted it around the house. "My diapers" she cooed onto the plastic wrappings of her beloved.

"No," I said "The diapers are for the new baby. The baby in my tummy."

I've tried to communicate to her just what's coming, but it's a hard sell. She is very aware of the oddity of my current form. She asks regularly about my swollen belly. The Duke, being a strong and active fellow, kicks punches and nudges her quite frequently as she sits upon my lap. She notices this and reacts to it but for all that I really don't think she has any idea.

Pinch me

2011-03-17T22:17:00.000-07:00

My morning started out with a little one running about in nothing but panties while her older sister chased her brandishing outfit after green tinted outfit.
Zizza's attentions were enough to get her brother appropriately and verdantly robed, however the rest of us were rather late in our dressing.

By the time I'd moderated the screams that inevitably come with a six year old's unsolicited attempts to aid in dressing her two year old sister, it came to my attention that Zizza had been unable to find any green clothing for herself, and was sincerely hoping that I would unpack her spring clothes in the hopes of finding something suitable. Meanwhile, Enzo for whatever reason full expected to breakfast at McDonald's.
Eventually though, I did manage to closet myself in the bathroom long enough to remove, clean and put away my retainers. That was such a relief I went ahead and made muffins for breakfast.
Something was different about them today...

Also, some naughty leprechaun had the nerve to sneak into my fridge and turn the milk green.

Can you believe the nerve of that little chap?

Enzo's birthday. This time with pictures

2011-03-09T13:02:00.000-08:00

Here he is, four years old to the minute. His sleeping is much more grown up this year.

A few weeks before his birthday he saw a photo of rainbow pancakes and was completely taken with them. I promised to make him some for breakfast on his birthday. I went ahead and made the decision to make them silver dollar pancakes. It seemed safer than presenting a four year old with a stack of six full size flap jacks.

It would have been a complete disappointment to see all the colors of batter being cooked up and then settle for one or two rather than a full multi-hued stack.

If you're like me, you enjoy your pancakes topped with nothing but plenty of melted butter. I thought the color wheel presentation was better in this case.

The rainbow pancake plan didn't take long to morph into a theme for the entire birthday celebration. Enz let me know the day before that he was expecting his gifts to be adorned in rainbow paper. Lucky for him, they had some at Target. Ziz spent a exhaustively long time decorating her gift to him. Give that girl a package and a sharpie and she will go to town.

We did't have birthday cake for over a week after the actual date had passed. I think he actually liked it better that way. One day of reveling wouldn't have been enough to satisfy him.

That's a toy garbage truck on top of the cake. Drawing from last years' experience he and Zizza (she just can't keep her nose out of his birthday business) established that his cakes should always be vehicularly adorned and a garbage truck is what they settled on for this year's festivities. Also there was a 4 made of jellie bellies. I kept it super simple on the outside because on the inside...

It was a rainbow of course.

I took this slice photo the next day when the sun was out allowing for some decent light. You would think I'd have chosen a more photogenic plate for the photo, but to be honest, I'd just cut the slice with no intention other than to eat it. The photo came as an after thought and switching from the Disney princess plate just seemed like too much work at the time. I was hungry ok? I just had to snap that photo so I could put the cake in my belly where it belonged.

By the by, I used this cake recipe with a little extra milk as the reviews suggested. (I made two batches divided into 3 layers apiece) I was looking around for a good but basic (I didn't want to have to divide all the eggs and then figure out what to do with the yolks) white cake to start with. One of the reviews said this cake basically tasted like a really good moist sugar cookie. I hit "print" right then and there. My search was over, and I wasn't disappointed.

This is the frosting I used, super yummy. The recipe is ample for icing your average 2 layer cake, but it was down to the wire to get a thin coating over the whole thing once I'd stacked all six layers.

I used this tutorial as a guideline for my rainbow construction. It saved me a lot of frustration, and saved me from over cooking the super thin layers.

In closing I'd like to say: Happy Birthday my dear sweet boy and long live rainbow cake.

The Star Belly Sneetches...

2011-03-09T13:00:00.000-08:00

had bellies with stars.

The plain bellied Sneetches had none upon thars.

Looks like the Fix-It-Up-Chappie came for a visit, and I apparently took a few too many rides through the star-on machine.

You know what I never understood about that book? Why did the Sneetches without just stand around moping in the dark? Why didn't they plan their own dang Frankfurter roasts, or picnics or parties or marshmallow toasts?

I've always felt that if I were a Sneetch I would be plain the bellied sort, and spend my time planing fantastic parties.