Growing Older and Up

I was reading through some old blogs over the past few weeks and realized that last year was a pretty tough year for me. Us. Me and Fonz, that is. I mean, I lost him, he hurt his foot (again) and got an ear infection (again). I am so infinitely happy that this year is going much, much better. Even though I gave up Coke and it was a two week detox. Not kidding. Even a little bit. There was nausea and crabbiness and general misery. My pants fit better, and even though I am not doing well in the food category, I am trying to make better choices.

A couple of weeks ago I took Fonz down to see Dr. Nadene so she could do something about his foot. The hole in his toe never really healed from last summer, and now when he walked he would leave little red spots all over my hardwood floor. Super annoying. He had began to limp a little more recently, and I noticed that his back end had given out more than usual. Dr. Nadene decided to amputate the toe, a decision that did not surprise me in the least. But then, while prepping his foot for surgery, she realized that he was also missing a toenail on the same foot, and it was all gnarly looking. So she decided to focus on that instead. Since he has been home, the limping and falling has greatly decreased and had the most adorable bandage on his foot. I think that, for now, we have resolved one issue. Eventually though, that damn toe will have to come off. Have I ever mentioned how much I wish we had pet insurance on him??

Do you see the heart? And the K? And the flowers? I love Dr. Nadene and her peeps.

 

One night, we got a shit ton of rain. Over the past month, I had stared into my back yard at the dead yellow grass. There was barely a green blade to be found. It was so icky looking that I had absolutely no desire to go pick up the poop that litters the whole entire yard. But then the rain came. And I looked out one morning and THERE IS GREEN GRASS GROWING! It happened! Spring is here!! AND NOW?? The whole damn yard is green. And the grass cutting guys showed up right on time. It looks friggin' beautiful.

 

The appearance of spring has made me ruminate over our family. Fonz is getting older, but he is still strong and young at heart. Kale is also getting older, more mature, but still insanely food obsessed. I recently got the name of a local certified behavior specialist in hopes I can elevate his level of awesomeness before everyone sees us again for the summer. No promises, but if I have someone I have to be held accountable to, the more likely I'll actually follow through on his training. He has big shoes to fill, and it doesn't happen overnight. Sampson is, well, Sampson. He is in and out all throughout the day and comes home every night. He is a big boy at over 11 lbs, yet still expects treats whenever he comes in the house. Like, "Hey, I came home, right? Gimme candy." I was so fortunate as to open the door the other morning and found his first present of the warm weather season for us on the back porch, a lovely robin. Dead. Under our patio table. In my screened in porch.  

 

The biggest change, obviously, has been in the girls.

 

Sam is now a mature little four year old. Going on fourteen. She rolls her eyes and sighs and tells us that she hasn't been to school in nineteen years. She loves to say the word truth, but has little idea about how to use it correctly. She treats the dogs and the cat and Charlie exactly the way I do...which means she scolds them when they piss her off. It is so cute, but yet...you are not their mom!

 

The other day she was telling me "I swear that the toy was under the seat in our car. I swear it was!" She has the memory of an elephant. Of course she always has, but it drives me crazy when she overhears us say that someone died and a week later she asked how and why that person died. I also had no idea what to tell her when she asked me exactly HOW does the baby get in the mommy's tummy?  

Her favorite activity is to watch You Tube videos on the iPad or play games on Workaholics old phone that he just gave her. She has to take it everywhere. "Wait mom! I forgot my phone!" (Oh boy.) Don't worry, it isn't actually a phone anymore, more like an iTouch. Another one of her favorite activities is to play with her Barbies and Littlest Pet Shop toys. She watch videos on YouTube where a little girl acts out scenarios with her toys, and then Sam runs and plays with hers. I'm assuming she is mimicking, but since she doesn't want us to watch what she watches or listen while she plays, I'll just keep that as an assumption. She loves anything baby...her favorite Free Willy movie is number three. She calls it the "big Jessie" movie, because he is older. But she mainly likes it because at the end, Willy's girlfriend Nikki gives birth. Like, actually gives birth. Workaholic is grossed out by the scene, but Sam loves it. Alternately, in many movies, she says her favorite scene is the one in which someone dies. Like in Pocahontas? When Kokoum gets shot by Thomas and he dramatically falls into a stream, dead? Yep, her favorite. I'm not quite sure what that means, although I am guessing it is the one which has the most impact on her so she has no idea how to handle her feelings.

 

She also has developed modesty and she notices what people think of her. Both of which make me infinitely sad. The modesty is expected, but I am just afraid it is because she doesn't want to be laughed at. Which I know because she has told me so. She goes to pre-school two days a week, and now that it is April, I think she is quite ready for summer break. She just doesn't want to go anymore. She also LOVES to help. As long as it is her idea. Since her fourth birthday she has taken to saying no when I ask her to do a task, like let the dogs in. It depends on my mood as to how much I push that issue, also how fast she turns around and walks away. I don't like chasing kids, too tiring. I am trying VERY HARD to have patience and try to impress upon her how it feels when she is rude to me or others. Sometimes I feel like she is just trying to be "cool." At four years old. But maybe this is the girl drama that everyone always talks about. Starting at four. years. old. (Actually, it really started at three, but has kicked into high gear lately.) 

 

The things that have come out of her mouth over the past few months have been priceless. I wish I have written more of them down.

 

"Daddy, put that knife down before you hurt yourself."

 

Sam was talking to Sook after having lunch with Sook's sisters and dad. She asked her, "Why did your dad give you up? Does he not want you anymore?"

 

I have to preface the next story by saying that we do NOT talk about salons and manicures and pedicures a lot in our house. If ever really. And it is in the context of "I really want to get a pedicure." We also don't talk about people of different races and stereotypes, as I am very conscious of how impressionable our kids are. That said, Sam got taken to get her finger and toe nails painted once. It was months ago. Yesterday, she and Sook were sitting down to play nail salon, and Sook lined up all the colors and told Sam that she was going to paint her nails, she just needed to pick the color. Sam responds with, "OK, but can you pretend to speak another language and not English?"   O.M.G.

Sam also is teased mercilessly by Workaholic. Actually, both kids are. Sam just has a more direct way of dealing with it..."Daddy, I've had enough."

I love how little kids have no concept of time. Sam will often say that she hasn't been to see grandma in 13 weeks, even if it has only been two. She is slowly learning that when we go away for the weekend, it is for 2 nights and 3 days, and it does seem like she really understands that. When we recently told her that we may be moving to a new house, she was extremely concerned about leaving her doll house and her fairies and Sook. Once I promised her that everything was coming with us (God help me pack), she became very excited and wants to know the color of the new house and her new room. So I guess that means she might be able to handle change well? Hopefully better than me.

She is forever telling stories that she makes up as she is telling them. Usually they involve her panda bear and his mom and dad and brothers. She makes up pretend friends who have names that change all the time, and are half of one name that she likes and half of another name that she likes. Although that is only for girls, the boys names she chooses are strictly the names of the little boys that she plays with, the sons of my friends.  

In general, she is a beautiful, incredibly smart 4 year old who never. forgets. anything. Yesterday she brought up when Oma fell down the stairs when she was carrying Charlie. And how Oma cried. She was two. I have a feeling she'll be spending a lot of time in therapy when she is older.

Charlie. Oh Charlie. Our fearless little girl. Here is her climbing up on the counter.

Normally she can do it in 2 seconds flat. I need to get her in some sort of tumbling or gymnastics class, she is forever jumping from a table to the couch. Or from the couch to the floor. Or from the bed to the floor. When we went and visited Uncle T at his boat store, she climbed up onto one of the Mastercrafts and hopped from the open bow to the open bow of the boat next to it. While it really was only about 6 inches of open air, it was a good 7-8 feet in the air over a concrete floor. Talk about a heart attack.

Her talking is getting much better every day. If you ask her to do something, she'll say "Of course mommy." While she often speaks in whine, she gives the best hugs and she is really hard to resist. She has this terrible habit of whipping things over her shoulder. Done with a toy? Throw it back. Digging through the toybox to look for something? Toss all the toys in the way over your shoulder. The higher and farther they go, the better. It isn't unusual for her to whip something across an entire room. While is actually is pretty good at picking up, she is definitely her father's (and grandfather's) daughter in that it has to be her idea. Otherwise crying ensues. And she is a master at producing crocodile tears.

Charlie revels in playing the little sister role. One of her favorite activities is to take something that she knows is near and dear to Sam at that exact moment and run. Sam plays along with her game like a puppet, screeching and chasing her through the house while Charlie laughs manically. She can be kind to Sam though, and it is in those little moments that I know that we're doing something right and they really do loves each other. I love to hear, "Here you go Sam" because it means that my little Tyrant is actually being thoughtful and mindful of her big sister's feelings.

Neither girl seems to be enamored with the animals, although they each love to feed the dogs. In Charlie's case, that means both putting Kale's dog food out for him and also feeding him her food from her chair. She is not so fond of sharing her food when he takes it right from her without her consent though. I guess I get that, but I always tell both girls that if they don't want the dogs to bother them while they are eating, then they should SIT IN A CHAIR AT THE TABLE INSTEAD OF WALKING AROUND. Just my little attempt at instilling common sense.

Long story short, my girls are growing up. I hate that when parents of grown children tell you to enjoy it because before you know it, your babies are adults are right. I'm trying to savor moments and remember the little things...hence the reason for this post. Enjoy some pictures of my little (growing-up-fast) little girls. And yes, Charlie did get herself up on the banister.

   

 

 

  



 

She Makes Me Proud...Sometimes

Ask any parent, and I bet they can tell you a moment in their child's life where that kid shone brighter than any star in the sky. The parents beamed from pride and there was a choir of angels singing "hallelujah". An aura formed around the child, and s/he was slowly lifted up in the air, set atop their pedestal, from which they would reign until the next big screw up on their part.

Those moments are few and far in between. Even the things that your kids do every day that are actually kind of incredible get boring day, after day, after day, after day. And then there are things that your child doesn't do so well, but you know that they'll come around and catch up, so you don't push it.

I've always thought that Charlie was smart. The light in her eyes tells me that there is a spinning brain in her head, full of thoughts of how to make my life hell exhausting. Unfortunately she really never gets to tell us how smart she is because Sam never. stops. talking. Lots of people say that the older child "talks for the younger child." I wouldn't say that is our case. In our case, Sam just talks, and Charlie never gets a chance to input her two cents.

This is especially evident in the car, where Sam will chatter on about the dead squirrel she just saw, and why did it die? When did it die? How did it die? And then she'll tell me how much she misses that squirrel, and she wishes it wasn't dead. For 10 minutes straight. Meanwhile Charlie is sitting quietly in her seat, probably wondering why the hell her mom hasn't changed the conversation to something more enlightening than roadkill.

Our house has had a touch of the flu lately, with fevers and aches and pains and coughs passing between the two kids but thankfully (knock on wood) staying away from me. I just get the midnight, 1am, 4am, 5am wake-up calls and then the 6am vomit. In my bed. On my side. It's been awesome.

When Workaholic got home from work today, he was in dire need of sleep and so was Sam. So they trekked up the stairs and cuddled on the still-sheetless bed for a few hours. Charlie and I were finishing up some holiday baking and then she started pulling things out of cabinets and drawers and bins. I started to see chaos and I could feel the breath being sucked out of my body as I envisioned the mess I'd have to clean up once she was finished. I couldn't take it. I also knew that I needed powdered sugar. And I knew that taking one kid to the store is cake compared to two. So we bundled ourselves up (which took 20 minutes) and drove to Walgreens (which took 3 minutes).

After finding out that Walgreens does indeed NOT carry powdered sugar, I thought we'd spend more quality time together, just the two of us, outside of the house. We headed to the next town to see some Christmas lights. There, I could go to another store to get what I needed and kill enough time so that she would be ready to go to bed when we got home. You know, since she had been up since 4am. 

We arrived at the local butcher shop and she beelined for the suspiciously low table chock full of candy. And I'm not talking M&Ms here. No sirree. I'm talking fresh, locally made gummy worms and chocolate covered anything and even just cubes of pure sugar. All packaged in these convenient clear tubs, spread out on the toddler-eye-level table. She snatched up a container of sour gummy worms and bolted for the nearest aisle. By the time I caught up with her, she had the lid off and was saying, "Look mommy!" as she dangled the worm over her mouth. And then it was gone. Since she had been so good in Walgreens and generally had a pretty good day, I decided that it would be OK for her to have them. They are seriously her favorite candy. She once ate two bags before anyone noticed she even had them.

This particular town has a very old and large congregation of Catholics who just built themselves a brand spanking new, beautiful (so I've heard) church, complete with gift shop. (I kid you not.) Seeing as how the Catholics own a majority of the main strip through town, they are free to put up as many Nativity scenes as they want. So they do, and I think there are five. In about a 3 block stretch. It actually is very nice, a constant reminder of the reason for the season, and they are beautiful sets. Not the plastic light-up ones you see on people's front lawns. Oh no, these are custom built wood mangers, just like where Jesus was born, with life sized figurines and straw and spotlights that illuminate them at night. There is also a star above, in case there are any additional shepherds that need to find their way.

The whole time Charlie and I had been in the car, I had pointed out every house that had good Christmas lights, and asked her, "Charlie, do you see those pretty lights?" And she would respond, "Yeah," in that tone that says she is just humoring her silly old mom. I am sure by the 20th time I asked she was wishing Sam was in the car to ponder about roadkill.

We finally pulled up to a stop sign next to a manger and I was admiring the handiwork of whoever made it. All of the sudden I heard Charlie say, "Look mommy!", in the same excited tone I had tried to use with her when we were looking at Christmas lights. I turned on the interior light and looked back at her. I was so proud that she had finally noticed something, the beautiful lit-up manger on the corner next to our car. I even thought, briefly, that perhaps she would point out the baby Jesus, or the star over display. "How sweet", I thought to myself. The choir was starting to sing and I was preparing her pedestal.

When I turned to see what she was pointing at, I saw a truly wondrous site. Instead of pointing at the manger, she was holding up one of the sour gummy worms as high as her little arm could stretch. Looking in the exact opposite direction of the manger. I can only assume she was amazed that the light from a nearby streetlamp was illuminating each bump on the worm and highlighting the color change from head to tail. The worm actually shimmered in the glow of the nightlights. And while it was pretty, it was at that moment that I knew that we needed to talk about baby Jesus more often. And perhaps put the angels on standby. And keep the pedestal in storage. While kids are fantastic at making you proud, they are even better at giving you a reality check. Mine for the day is to not expect a two year old to notice anything but the candy in her hand. I'm sure I can call on the choir of angels tomorrow. 

Vacation is Great

You know how I told you we went to Florida in November? Oh, I didn't?? Well, we did.

The thing about going on vacation when you have a blog is that there is so much fantastic shit that happens that you want to blog about, and then you forget it by the end of that day, much less remember it a month. However, when you do stupid shit, you usually don't forget.

When we go to Florida, as we do every couple of years, there usually isn't much of a game plan. Yes, we are going to the beach. Yes, we'll go to Disney or Sea World or the zoo or Busch Gardens. Once we get there, we decide what day we are going to go where for the big stuff, and for the rest we just wing it. Winging it isn't very smart sometimes.

On Tuesday, we got up and decided just to get in the car and drive. Workaholic asked me if we would wind up at the beach, and I said, "Yeah, maybe, but we won't swim or anything. We'll just walk and shop." Am I NOT the parents to two young children??

We wound up driving straight to the beach. Passing, sadly without stopping, the NEW original Hooters. (Yep, they tore down the first Hooters ever and re-built it on the exact same spot and call it the New Original Hooters. I think that is cheating.) Once we got to the beach, I suggested we go straight to the awesome playground they have there and let the kids run off their energy. Which worked out great. Until us adults got bored. So we convinced the children to "take a walk" along the beach. And to "go see" the ocean up close. How could I forget I have Charlie for a daughter?

This is what happened approximately 5 minutes of getting close to the water.

Here is the thing. Since we weren't exactly planning on going to the beach, much less swimming in the ocean, we didn't exactly have the appopriate swimwear.

Shortly after, this happened.

 

It was decided after a couple more minutes of this that Workaholic would take the girls back to the car to get out of their wet clothes and I would go buy us all bathing suits. So I did, which was stupid, because it took just as long to go buy bathing suits as it would have to drive to the condo and back and get our already paid for bathing suits. For the rest of the week we kept a bag in the car with suits and towels that we didn't have to use once. Lesson learned.

 

The rest of the week was filled with smiles like this...

 

A few  precious, peaceful moments where this happened...

And lots and lots of sisterly love.

Vacation is great.



Ugghh-GIRLS!

I'm going to start this by saying, I love my children more than anything, and I would do anything for them. They come first, no matter what.

That being said, they are about to drive me insane. They have already driven me to drink, which, let's admit, wasn't much of a stretch. But my little angels are full blown GIRLS.

I asked facebook last night if girls truly are more emotional than boys, even as toddlers, or if it was something I did to cause this. This...daily battle of meltdown after meltdown because YES YOU HAVE TO GO TO PRE-SCHOOL TODAY. The tantrums that are thrown when you tell a child that they cannot stand on a chair on top of the fireplace hearth to reach up and grab the ornament on the top of the tree that just happens to be made of glass. (Why oh WHY did I not put up only plastic or cloth ornaments this year?) (Like it would have really made that much of a difference, Charlie breaks everything.)

The general consensus was summed up best by my sister, the saint who is a mother of three darling little humans of the female variety, two of whom are twins. Her response was, and I quote, "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."  I presume one Yes for each of our girls.

One of my facebook friends said that it greatly depended on the child and parental reaction. Which, apparently I have two more emotional than less emotional girls. And as far as parental reaction? I have tried everything. From ignoring to calmly responding to screaming, to mimicking the tantrum at a lesser level, to putting them in their room or timeout. I've tried to sympathize with them, let them know that I DO feel their pain (which sometimes calms them down), there is just nothing I am going to do about it.(which gets them fired back up again) The only thing that consistently works is to give in and let them have their way. Which...no. Does not work for me. At least all the time. Life isn't fair, and I guess my kids are learning that young.

As the parents of four girls, I sincerely do not know how mine survived. One definite side effect is that my dad no longer attempts to talk if there are female relatives in the room. Sometimes he will raise his hand at dinner, but no one ever calls on him, so he doesn't get his turn to speak. Poor, poor man. My mom made us dinner every.single.night of our childhood. And she always kicked us out of the kitchen, saying it was too small for more than one person. Which, OK, maybe it was. But I see now that making dinner was the only alone time she really ever got. If there had been a door, I am quite sure she would have shut it. And put in ear buds if those existed back then. Poor, poor woman.

Another thing I remember from my childhood involved our parents getting mad at us for fighting. And the thing is, I am not even really there yet with my girls. What gets me is the attitude I get my teenager preschooler. She takes longer than anyone in the house to get ready. And when you tell her it is time to go, she responds with, "Ugh! I'm coming!" When I am trying to help her clean her room and all she is doing is talking about Baby Panda Bear and I am doing all the cleaning and so I start scolding her, I get, "Ugh! Mom! Why are you so mean? Just calm down!" She'll make a clicking sound with her tongue, "Well mom, (click) I know that we are going to get ready for bed now, but how 'bout I just watch the iPad for a little while until I get tired?" It is more of a statement than a question. And when I respond with a, "Yeah, that's not going to happen," the meltdown begins.

When the girls make a mess, they know that they must clean it up. And then we tell them to clean it up. Five times. Eventually, Workaholic gets mad and tells them he is going throw out everything that is on the floor. Which creates an instant and very loud negative reaction from Sam, and Charlie usually just wanders away. I supposed she figures she'll let Sam get the attention for this, and Sam is more than happy to be dramatic enough for both of them. Last night, I came home to two screaming, sobbing, clearly traumatized children. Daddy had "thrown out" all their toys. Workaholic said that when he got out one trash bag, Sam immediately ran over to the cabinet where they are kept and tied the handles together with a string, and then ran back to him to try to rip the bottom out of the bag. He was pretty impressed with her problem solving skills. I was less impressed with that than the endurance of my kids.  

I know that kids thrive on routine and positive reinforcement and all that jazz, but sometimes that shit just does.not.work. And what do you do then? Besides tear your heart out and chug a bottle of wine. I actually totally get why Brittany shaved her head, being the parents of two kids, especially that close in age, will make anyone want to do something drastic.

I know that in 20 years me and my girls will have an awesome
mother/daughter relationship. At least I hope.

Giraffes and Tigers and Goats, OH MY!

So, hi! Whatcha guys been up to?

I went to Florida. With my husband. And my kids. And we drove. WE DROVE. Have you ever been in your car for 20+ hours with your kids and each other? Yeah, it. was. awesome.

And then we got there. And the weather was beautiful. And I got to eat cold stone crab claws with mustard. And we went to the Lowry Park Zoo, which is great for people with small children. We fed a giraffe. Well, we tried to feed a giraffe.

Can you see the lettuce gently falling to the ground?

Instead of being snatched up by that disgustingly long tongue?

 

The girls both LOVE turtles. They are obsessed with them. Do you have any idea how many different kinds of turtles there are in this world? A LOT. They are everywhere. And I am fairly certain that this zoo had every. single. species of turtle that exists. It seemed around every corner was another turtle, to which Charlie would scream TURTLE! and run away from us, with Sam yelling after her, "Charlie, you can't just run away!"

 

These particular fellas gave us some education on reproduction...

 

 

Then there was the carousel. Charlie would not sit still long enough for us to get a good shot. I think she liked it.

 

Ever since Sam was born, Workaholic has asked her if she is a squirrel or a monkey. Did you know there is such a thing as a Squirrel Monkey??

There is an actual, real Squirrel Monkey sitting on that branch behind them.

Maybe if I get a poster made, you'll be able to see him. Or her. Whatever.

 

A few short steps later, Sam took the opportunity while we chased Charlie around a tree to teach Baby Panda Bear all about orangutans.

She is actually pointing out the orangutan to him. Or her. Whatever.

 

Sam also wanted to take pictures, so we obliged.

It's a sleeping white tiger. She was perfectly happy that he stayed sleeping.

 

While Charlie fed a goat...

Sam did more important things, like read the map to see exactly where we were and where we would go next.

Which, as it turns out, was to see the wallabies.









 

After we visited the wallabies in their completely gated yet completely open habitat, it was decided that it would be best for all involved if we went home. So we did, and were happy with we survived another adventure to live to see another day. Specifically, the day we went to the beach. 



Food Obsessed

I haven't really ever talked much about Kale on here, because, well, he is the second. And that is just the way things go. Here is a list of things you need to know about him...

1. He loves food. Probably more than anything else.
2. He loves to swim.
3. He loves to run.
4. He loves to go to doggie daycare and play with his friends.
5. He understands that Kabo is the alpha.
6. He loves to snuggle.
7. He loves to "play" with Sampson, and Sampson often "plays" back.

The reason why I got Kale when I did was because I knew that Kabo was getting older and I wanted to have another dog that had all of his good attributes. Kabo doesn't run away when off leash, stays in our yard, knows a bunch of tricks like sit and down and wave, and generally knows when to leave a person alone. (If you pet him, he will be your best friend. If you don't look at him, he'll have nothing to do with you. For at least a few minutes. He does eventually try to win over even the hardest of non-dog-loving hearts.) Everyone who knows Kabo loves Kabo. And I knew that I would be raising this new dog in a totally different environment than we raised Kabo. I know that I wasn't solely responsible for his awesome-ness, so I knew that I needed help with a puppy.

When I went to get Kale, there were still six other puppies left out of the twelve in his litter. I was able to witness feeding time, and it was basically a black puppy eating frenzy. They were polite, no growling or such, but pretty much went in a circle around the bowl, perfectly synchronized, scarfing down as much food as they possibly could before any of the other puppies got more than their fair share. The first time I met him, the breeder brought him up from the kennel area and I attempted to see if he liked me. Because really, I liked him, he was a puppy, what was there NOT to like? But he seemed more interested in what was in the kitchen than me or any affection I might give him. He was sniffing at the counter and didn't want to be anywhere near the living room, where we were sitting on the floor. When we took him outside, the story completely changed, and that is why I chose him to come home with me...because he chose me.

Now, a year and a half later, Kale's favorite room of the house is still the kitchen. When the kids eat at the bar, he is positioned between them, staring up, just waiting for something to fall. He considers the chairs fair game if the food doesn't make it into the girls' mouths, and willingly cleans them off, whether the girls were going to eat that bite or not. When we eat together as a family, and especially when we have guests, I have to put him in the laundry room, because he literally cannot help himself. He knows that he shouldn't beg, yet he inches closer and closer to the table until you look down and his nose is right next to the hand which is holding your fork.

I've tried making him stay in a certain place, but to be honest, it is a lot of work. I have just a couple of minutes to eat my food as it is, and spending that time taking him back to the same spot over and over just isn't what I am generally in the mood for at 6pm. I used to crate him, but wow, he was really annoying with the crying. I have also since taken the crate down. So we deal with it. To the laundry room it is, unless his manners are working for him that day and he doesn't annoy me too much.

I feel like I should mention that no matter what brand of food, nor how much he gets, he always. wants. more. He gets almost four cups of food a day, which is more than the recommended amount on the bag, and that amount is for un-sterilized animals who have higher metabolisms. So yeah, he isn't starving. Around five o'clock, him and Kabo start to stare me down and follow me around, just so I won't forget to feed them. Not that I ever forget to feed them, OK, maybe just once.

Sam and Charlie LOVE to help feed the dogs. Charlie especially. She sees me pick up the dog bowls and she'll scream at me and cry if I don't let her put at least one of them down. She is very serious about the whole matter, s-l-o-w-l-y leaning down to put dishes in their designated spots. Since she loves to feed the dogs, I suppose it is only natural that she also loves to play in the dog food. Kale's food is in a container on the landing in our garage, which means that Charlie can just wander out there anytime she wants and attempt to pry it open. Usually she can't. The other day she could.

What followed was an experiment I had been wanting to try, but couldn't find enough excuses to do so. Charlie filled up one of the dog bowls to the very top, almost perfectly level. She then "accidentally" dumped it out onto the floor. It was probably eight or ten cups of food, and Kale heard it hit the ground. He was cautious at first, looking at me since I had let out a loud exasperated "Charlie!" when I heard the food spill. I looked at the food, then at Kale, he looked at me, then at the food, and I sighed and said, "OK." He dove.

He didn't have the same desperate drive to get all the food in his mouth as quickly as possible, especially since I think he knew I wasn't about to sweep it all up. But that damn dog ate every last kernel of dog chow that was scattered across the floor. He thoroughly checked underneath the refrigerator and obediently allowed Kabo to have a few bites when he approached, and I was so relieved that I didn't have to sweep up yet another mess.

But it just confirmed what I thought, if I accidentally left the top of the tub open, he probably would eat the whole damn thing. The first six months of Kabo's life I could barely get him to eat half of what was recommended, and even since then, he's never been so worried that he won't get fed. Kale, I guess it is just that survival instinct kicking in...eat as much as you can while it is there. Even if you know more is coming in 12 hours. I supposed that is juts one of the downfalls of being one of twelve.  

Little Girl-isms

Sam has always been a talker. Charlie...not so much. Well, she likes to talk a whole lot, in French. Or something else that we just do not understand.

The other day, while at the park, Sam fell running on a piece of playground equipment. She whacked her head on a metal bar in the process. When asked if she was OK, her response was, "Yeah. If I would just watch where I am going, things like that wouldn't happen!" OK...way to give yourself a lecture.

While forcing the girls to clean the playroom last week, Sam was literally walking in circles talking to her "friend" on an old cell phone. Which we seem to have in abundance in our house. When I told her to get off of the phone and help clean, she said, "MOM! Sshh! I'm talking on the phone!" And ran out of the room. Where I had to chase her down and rip the phone from her clenched little fist while she fought me and then threw a crying fit. SHE IS THREE.

Everytime Sam gets in our nanny's car, she goes on and on...
"Your car is so much smaller than our car. And you don't have a TV in your car like we do, because we are lucky."

"I've had a rough day."

"Mom, I can do it because I'm bigger than Charlie. I'm the big sister."

"Mom, Charlie is crabby today. I think we need to get her to bed early tonight."

Actually, just think of anything that a teacher would say to her students or a mom would say to her children, put it in a squeaky little girls voice, and you have it...a Sam-ism.


As far as Charlie goes...well, let's just say that she is a little more stubborn and defiant than her generally well behaved older sister. Some of her favorite phrases...

NO!

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BED!

Mm-hmm.(Instead of saying Yes, she says this in the cutest little girl voice ever.)

Beep-Beep Kale! or Beep-Beep Kabo! (just depends on who is in her way)

Soo-kee (her way of saying our new nanny's name)

I WANNA GO BYE-BYE!

I DON'T WANNA GO BYE-BYE!!

NO! I WANNA DO IT!!

Mo-om...I wanna watch George!

I wanna go potty. (usually said either after she has peed in her diaper or while I am trying to get her ready for bed)

I wanna brush  my teeth! Followed shortly by, "I want a vitamin!" (Flintstones really are the best, aren't they? I remember as a kid sneak-eating them, and way more than one a day.)

She is also one of those kids who thinks that if told no, then she has a better chance of getting what she wants if she just ASKS FOR IT LOUDER. Which, you know, totally works.

Fortunately for me, both girls have sort of potty-trained themselves. It is not an overnight process, or even a three day process. One day, Charlie just ran and peed in the potty all by herself. Then she started taking her diapers off because she just couldn't stand them after she peed in them. (Sometimes, not all the time. Which is why I am not pushing the potty training thing.) After she peed on the floor a couple of times, I started taking her to the bathroom about once an hour. Which actually works great. (It doesn't work great when daddy is in charge, and the timing is not quite right, and suddenly Kale is being accused of peeing on the carpet.) I've heard that potty-training girls is way easier than boys, and I totally get it. Sam was super motivated once she made up her mind, and Charlie likes to be just like her big sister. I just don't understand why she doesn't give herself lectures when she misbehaves.

Light

Do you know where my husband is right now? Well, he's lying on the bed, but that is not where he wants to be. He WANTS to be at the Home Depot.

This isn't news, people. According to him, the Home Depot is the funnest place on earth. That's right...on EARTH.

Let me backtrack. A few weeks ago, our darling little Charlie started climbing out of her crib. Which meant that instead of playing quietly by herself for hours every morning, she rolls out of bed as soon as the sun comes up. And toddles her little pee-filled diaper into my room and climbs up onto my bed. On top of me. Effectively waking me up. And I am always too tired and lazy to take her back to HER bed, so I let her sleep the rest of the night (morning) with me. Except I never really sleep because all I can smell is pee and ew and I really should change her diaper but if I do that I might as well get up and I don't want to get up because I am so warm and comfy. Well, I was warm and comfy until someone woke me up and took over the middle of the bed effectively shoving me to the edge almost to the floor and on top of Kale.

This has happened every morning for weeks. WEEKS people. I have complained to everyone on facebook and twitter more than once about how I will never ever ever get a full nights sleep again. Like, ever. The sun wakes up Charlie every morning since her vertical blinds only half exist, and so she feels as though she must get out of bed and bother snuggle me.

Last night, our darling child also got up at 3:30am. So I rocked her until she was ready to go back to sleep and fell back in my bed. So let's just say I was NOT thrilled when I heard the turn of her door knob. Yes, I wake up now when the DOOR KNOB TURNS. And next thing I knew, she was next to me. I did the first thing that came to my mind, and something I should have done weeks ago. 

I kicked Workaholic. And told him to take her back to bed.

And you know what? He did. He did so gladly. Well, maybe not gladly, but willingly. I only had to kick him and tell him once. I drifted back to sleep for the whole 45 minutes I had left before my alarm went off.

She was still asleep when I left for work.

Tonight, Workaholic said to me, "You know what? Charlie wakes up every morning because of the sun. I'm going to run to Home Depot after dinner and pick up some blackout vertical blinds."

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

This is the exact same thing I have said to him every. single. morning since she turned two and started crawling out of her bed. As soon as it became his problem sleep disruption, he was aaalll about finding the solution.

Sheesh. Men. 

I just love when my husband fulfills the stereotype. It makes me smile. Even when I want to smack him upside the head.

Two Part Two

Ever since Charlie turned two I have felt as though I should give her a proper Happy Birthday blog. Something she can look back on in 10 years and be suitably mortified over.

Then tonight, I heard a very strange sound in my house. I was cleaning the kitchen. It was a sound I had never heard before, and I thought it was Charlie somehow playing in the water in the sink in their bathroom. How I wish.

I sort of forgot that someone used a tad too much toilet paper last night. As mom, it was my duty to fix the problem of too much toilet paper in too small a hole. But I forgot.

I also forgot that Charlie has this new thing where she likes to sit on the potty. OH YEAH!! How could I forget to tell you?! The other night, again as I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet racing down the hallway. Since the hall is open to the living room/kitchen, I was able to look up and see a naked Charlie (yes, she had been wearing clothes and a diaper) go into the bathroom. I went to see what she was doing and she was PEEING ON THE POTTY! ALL BY HERSELF!! She was clearly quite proud and impressed with herself, so I danced and clapped and generally tried to make sure she understood that I liked what she had just done. So hopefully, in a few weeks, she'll have potty trained herself.

Anyway, so I hear this weird sound and look up to see Charlie (dressed) giving me the devil eye from the hall. Hm. That's odd(not really). A few seconds later I decide to go investigate. (I also might have thought it was a good idea to go upstairs when I saw Sam carrying the plunger.)  I was just thrilled to find water all over the bathroom floor. My darling who loves to sit on the potty also loves to flush the potty.

So yeah. Flooded bathroom.

It was in this moment that I am SO grateful that I married not only a handyman who knows how to handle all situations but one who also knows how to do so without losing his mind. (or his temper) He simply grabbed a bunch of towels, sopped up the mess, plunged the toilet, and opened the bathroom back up for business.

I tell you this because of course Charlie was the one to flood the bathroom.

She is also the one who climbs out of her crib before 6am full of joy and happiness. She loves to run...from one end of the house to the other, and then back. She gets the devil eye and grabs Sam's toy/blanket/cup and runs. And she giggles and laughs while her sister chases her screaming and crying. She wants to do everything her big sister does, and she wants to do it NOW. 

Without fail she gets pissed at Fonz in the car on the trip to/from Michigan (for no apparent reason), and then cries when Kale eats the chicken nugget. She has selective hearing...the other night I was sitting 4 feet from her. Trying to get her attention, I said "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie." Then I threw a ball at her. She STILL didn't turn around.

She shocked us all when, at her uncle's wedding ,she walked down the aisle all by herself. And seemed to think nothing of the 200 people staring at her and saying "Aawww."  She continually amazes me with how smart she is. Either pushing a smaller chair over to larger chair so she can climb on the counter, or by putting her own dishes in the sink. It is getting easier and easier to understand her, and boy oh boy. That girl has some things to say!

She sees a camera and frowns. Or puts her hand in her mouth. Or looks away. Which is why there is no picture accompanying this post.

She is mischievous, funny, pretty, ornery, and tonight...she let me rock her to sleep. She is my daughter, and there aren't enough words in all the land to express how great she is. I love her to pieces.

Two

Yesterday, Charlie turned two.

Two.

I saw something on Twitter recently where someone said, "Whoever coined the phrase the Terrible Twos probably felt like an idiot when their kid turned 3."

So let's look at things. I have a three and a half year old. She is smart and cute and wants to do everything BY HERSELF. I now also have a two year old. And adorable, beautiful, smart, stubborn two year old. Life is about to get very interesting up in here.

I will begin Charlie's 2 year old tribute with a little story. Last night, it was past her bedtime, so Workaholic put her to bed. (Actually, Sam rocked her and read her books, Workaholic just lifted her into the crib.)  This pissed Charlie off. Like, really pissed her off. She was screaming and crying and I am pretty sure she was cussing us out in the baby babble she uses when she doesn't want to think of real words. This wasn't the typical "I am fussing because I am a little kid who hates bedtime because it is my duty as a little kid to hate bedtime" whining, it was the all out "hear it down the street if the windows are open" crying. Girl was angry.

There are few things that make Charlie that angry, and so I thought that maybe she wanted the new doll that she had gotten for her birthday the night before. It is one of those where it has a zipper and snaps and buttons and other things for little kids to amuse themselves with when they are stuck in a crib at bedtime. I set off clipping off the dozen paper tags on it that explained what each thing was (because 2 year olds can totally read) and headed upstairs to calm her down.

I did NOT hear the thump. I did, however, notice that there was no more crying,

And then her door opened. And out crept the birthday girl. Carrying her blanket and stuffed turtle-that-is-really-a-dog-toy, and her sippy cup of water. The little shit crawled out of her crib.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

The best thing about Charlie, other than her big blue eyes, incredibly long eyelashes, and sparkling personality, is that she loves to sleep. And even if she isn't sleeping, she loves to hang out in her crib, playing with her toys or whatever it is she can reach. (Lately, her nightly goal has been to rip down one of the plastic blinds that hangs across the sliding glass door in her room. There are about half of them left...which doesn't really help to keep the light out when the sun comes shining in every morning.) She will routinely, on weekends, stay in her crib for 5-6 hours. Whenever she gets a little...touchy, I put her to bed, she plays and then sleeps. It is kind of awesome. I can relax, watch How I Met Your Mother on Netflix, take a nap, whatever! It is much easier to get anything done while a toddler sleeps than when said toddler is whining and crying and hanging on you, or running out the door down the street. (Yes, she does both.)

I was hoping the crib thing was a fluke. A random moment of intense anger followed by a stunt that she would never do without the blind courage that rage brings.

I was wrong.

This morning I heard the thump. I heard the short cry. And by the time I got to her room, she had her blanket and turtle and cup and looked at me with the smile and those eyes and giggled. She laughed at me. I am soo in trouble.

Drinking and Daycare

Since the downhill slide that was last week, I've actually had a pretty good few days!

The girls started daycare on Tuesday. When I picked up Sam, she declared that she was NOT ready to leave yet. On her way home after the first day, she also declared that she was NOT going back there ever again.

My worst fear about daycare was getting the girls ready in the morning. I hate mornings, and can't get out of bed to save my life, so having to get up earlier than ever and getting both girls fed, dressed, hair done and teeth brushed and out the door had me in a panic. But you know what? I got up even earlier than I needed to and was so early to drop off Kale at doggie daycare they were going to charge me the early drop-off fee! (Don't worry, I got a one-time pass and I assured them that it will probably never happen again. Me being early, that is.)

The cool thing about daycare is all the neat stuff that they do and learn. Charlie was singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star", which is a nice change from her usual Barney "I Love You" song. PS...she has never once sat down and watched Barney.

The not cool thing is how Charlie cries when I drop her off and reaches for me and is still sobbing 5 minutes later when I walk past her room again after I drop off Sam.

Sam has had some profound new thoughts as of late, and I would love it if she imparted her wisdom on her new friends at daycare...just so they can say these things to their parents.

"Bummer, mom."

"Shut up isn't a nice thing to say, unless the dogs are barking."

"I do NOT want to go to school! I am TOO LITTLE!"

"But that blanket is my faaa-vorite! I shoulda grabbed it!" (Said about the blanket which is identical to four others she has, but happened to be the one left at school. We have not made the same mistake again.)

"You can't take your clothes off at school...only at home."

"Ugh! Mom! You drive me to drink." (Umm...I have NO IDEA where she learned that phrase.)

Sam and Charlie are really starting to get along just as sisters should. Case in point. My mom called last night to see how daycare has gone that day. She asked to talk to Sam, which I was happy to hand the phone over. Normally, she LOVES talking on the phone, and wanders around the house, and does so on a regular basis, whether or not there is anyone to talk back.

This time though, she has just put a "tray" of "food" into the oven, and didn't close the door. As soon as Charlie saw that Sam was distracted, she bolted for the "food" and proceeded to whip it all across the room in seven different directions. Which caused Sam to LOSE HER SHIT and scream and yell and chase after a manically laughing Charlie, all while holding the phone to her mouth. Workaholic and I laughed and my poor mother had a screaming toddler in her ear.

We are all settling into the routine of daycare and work and whatintheworldarewegoingtoeatfordinner and "when will daddy be home?" I am hoping, no...praying for some drama-free months in which I get a lot accomplished and come out more sane and much happier. Wish us luck!

Pictures from the Park

The weather here has been so fantastic! Eighty degrees in March. If it would only stay this way.

We've gone to the park, and generally just been having a blast.

Miss Charlotte

Charlie turned 18 months last month, and her personality is coming out more and more.

It's always been there, she is just getting a little more....assertive.

Example.

The other night she wanted fruit snacks after dinner. Totally fine, except she had just thrown her napkin on the floor. When I told her to pick it up and throw it in the trash can (something I have seen her do a million times on her own), she threw herself on the floor crying. And kicking. I was like, "Seriously?"

After about 30 seconds of trying to reason with her, I gave up, and reminded her nicely every few minutes that she could have her fruit snacks if she just threw her napkin into the garbage. That was met with more tears and snot and screams.  Workaholic came home and asked what I did to her. He was doubtful that she "understood what I wanted." HA! He believed that for about 5 seconds, until he tried to do my bidding and was met with the same resistance.

About 30 minutes of tantrum later, she calmed down enough to find a package of wet wipes and start playing with them. As she pulled one out, I said to her, "Charlie, if you just throw that wet wipe and the napkin on the floor away, you can have FRUIT SNACKS!" As in YAY!! FRUIT SNACKS!!! You know what she did??? She looked at me, looked at the wet wipe, and THREW IT ON THE FLOOR.

OH NO SHE DIDN'T!!

Workaholic just sighed and got up, put her in the timeout spot, and let her calm down. It was about 15 minutes after that when he was able to go and get her, still crying, force her to bend down and pick up the wet wipe and force her to throw it away. Then he forced her to bend down and pick up the napkin, and made her throw that away. And then shut the door to the cabinet that the garbage can is kept. And then she got her fucking fruit snacks. And you know what? She stopped bawling immediately.

What is wrong with this picture?? 1) Over fruit snacks?? I mean, come on, they are good, but not THAT GOOD. 2) Over throwing away a napkin?? What the hell am I supposed to do with her in 15 years???

Our other issue that we are struggling with her is to get her to communicate with us. I would be perfectly fine if she would learn sign language for things like more and thank you and milk. But nooo, she won't even do the more sign. The easiest thing in the world that Sam will still do to this day.

A few weeks ago, my father-in-law walked in to my house and she ran to him and said "Papa!" Which was huge, considering everyone and their mother and their children are currently "mommy". Even Workaholic is mommy. We then tried getting her to say Oma, and she wouldn't.

She will, however, say full sentences that you can sort of understand, such as...

What is that?

I want to go to bed.

Where's the puppy?

Go Away!!

I wanna go bye-bye.

and the ever popular,

NO KALE!

(OK, yes, I know a couple of those are only 2 words, but considering she still refuses to say the word YES, I want to go to bed is pretty impressive.)

I see a lot of myself in her, and it isn't just the eyes and the propensity for eating dog food as a child. I think we may be in trouble.

Any suggestions on how to deal with stubborn children? Or how to motivate them to do your bidding?

Half devil-half angel

First SNOW!!

We got our first REAL SNOW today...

Happy to get ready

Excited to go play!

Sam is still happy...Charlie is not so sure...

Believe it or not, Sam laughed after I took this. She loves the snow!

She Sleeps...and Sleeps...and Sleeps

When Sam was 9 months old, she started daycare, and so started semi-regular ear infections. The first one was just terrible, with her laying on me, burning up, barely moving, moaning softly with a 103 fever. I finally took her to the doctor where she was diagnosed with "raging" double ear infections.

As time went on, her symptoms got more minor. Her fever didn't elevate quite as much, she rarely, if ever, pulled on her ears, and her energy level barely dipped. Other than the flu one time, ear infections were the only sickness she really got that slowed her down. At all.

Around the time she was Charlie's age, she touched her ear once, and then went to sleep...for 19 hours. I checked on her a few times, and each time she was still breathing and didn't wake up when I dared to enter her domain, so I let her sleep. And then I took her to the doctor, where she was diagnosed with a "mild" ear infection. The doctor said she was doing exactly what she needed to be doing, sleeping it off. (Let's just say that I took that doctor's advice whenever I feel myself getting sick...I promptly go to bed, and stay there until I feel better. And PEOPLE, I swear it works! I'm sick for a shorter amount of time!)

Fast forward to Charlie being 16 months old. She has been sick exactly maybe once in her life. We had a very great, but long weekend with friends where she didn't sleep her usual 18 hours a day. On Tuesday, new K woke her up at noon (from going to be at 7pm). And then she went back to sleep at 3:30...and slept until 9:30am the next day. 18 HOURS people...in one shot! So then they went and played and had a ball, and she was laid down for her nap at 2pm yesterday. She JUST got up! 19 PLUS hours! I guess she is sick.

I'm not sure why I am telling the internet this, except that I want it written down for me to remember in 5 years. Or come on, let's get real...5 minutes. My kids rock.

Yep, I Have the Bestest Kids

I like to talk about my kids...but I don't like to be one of those people who talks about their kids. Today I am going to make an exception.

The other week, Pink tweeted that "ummm i just have to say that my daughter may be the most bestest amazingest stupendoustest baby ever made in the history of the planet."

And you know what? I totally get that. I do. But let's be honest...I kind of think I have the best kids ever.

For one...everyone is always telling me how cute they are. Like the woman in Target who was watching Sam roll all over the floor with her head on her jacket, instead of putting on her jacket like I told her to. And when she walked by and I smiled sheepishly and said, "Sam, seriously?" She smiled and me and said, "She is just so darn cute!" Random strangers in Target think my kids are cute even when they are crawling on dirty tile floors! (As this was happening, Charlie was trying to give the old lady in line behind us a heart attack by repeatedly standing up in the seat of the cart. She knows how to wiggle out of the seat belt. She'd stand up, look at the lady, giggle, get a smile out of her, and sit back down. Repeat.) 

Number two...They say the darndest things. And have impeccable timing. Last week, Sam wanted Papa (grandpa) to make her chocolate milk. She pulled out the cup and the milk and the Carnation chocolate. (I know, I know, it is Nestle Quik in my  house, but he drinks Carnation malted milk.) He was trying to tell her that she needed to use a sippy cup, because the last time he made her milk in a "real" cup, she spilled it. And she looked at him and said, "But Papa, that was your fault, remember?" Already using her cuteness (and knowledge of adult-onset memory loss) to get out of trouble. Then the other day she asked for juice. I told her, as I do every evening, that she could have water or milk. She put her finger to her lips, looked to the ceiling and said, "Hmmm...I think I'll have milk." And then she watched me open the door to the refrigerator. As I stood there, staring at the lack of skim milk (Sam's) and the small amount of whole milk (Charlie's), she popped off, "Oh mom! We are out of MY milk! And I don't like Charlie's milk! Maaybe I should have juice instead." Master manipulator, that one. And Charlie? Her first words were "NO KALE!" I mean, come on...how much more awesome does it get??

Three...Charlie sleeps about 18 hours a day. That leaves 6 hours for eating and playing. And let's be honest, after eating, there are only about 2 hours for playing. Which is only 2 hours a day that I have to keep an eye on her to keep her from destroying the house. Not to say that she doesn't destroy the house on a regular basis, but it is a lot better than a kid who goes to bed at 11pm and gets up at 5am and refuses to nap for more than 15 minutes. The best part is, when we do decide to jack with her schedule and keep her up and drag her all over hells' half acre, she is totally cool with it. Like, she stores up extra sleep to give her the energy to get through outings, and the holidays. She wanders around where ever we take her without a care in the world, stopping to say, "What's that?" and "Mommy!" (she calls everyone mommy) People are dropping dead at her cuteness when she passes by.

There are a gazillion more reasons why MY kids are the bestest. (I suppose everyone has those reasons about why their kids are the bestest.) And I know I don't always show how great I think my kids are. Oftentimes, when Sam is doing something that she really shouldn't be doing and random strangers or family members see and open their eyes wide and shake their heads, I will just roll my eyes and say something like, "Oh Sam, she really is something, isn't she?" as I drag her away from the edge of whatever cliff it is she is poised to jump off of. (Unless, of course, she already has, in which case I have to go pick her up and dust her off. Unless of course she has already landed and is off and running again.) And they will nod and look away, obviously thinking, "You really should do something with that kid." People don't realize that every day, we are trying to figure out how to outwit her. And we haven't done it yet. I mean...look at her! What is she...16??

But honestly? Her and her sister are the bestest amazingest stupendoustest babies ever made in the history of the planet. Really.