Out of the Mouths of My Babes

My dear son is now a three-day old Kindergartner.  The shiny new student smell is still there, though I am noticing differences in the child.  For one, his usual tendency towards motor-mouth has been revved up into fifth gear, likely from sitting quietly all day in class.  Or as quietly as a five-year-old boy sits.  But the instant I pick him up until the moment his eyes snap shut at bed, he talks.  And talks... and talks, talks, talks, talks...

On both Friday and today I had to swing by my office after picking him up from school and complete a few mundane tasks.  He chattered like a tweaking squirrel all the way into my office, as he fished out a piece of scrap paper and started adorning it with a freebie highlighter.  He narrated his drawing process, zipping sound effects as he created four-armed aliens with twenty-seven toes. 

And when he's not talking?  He's a teakettle.  It started about a week ago as he was having some sort of Star Wars firefight -- he made a vaguely whistle-sounding noise, surprising himself.  Then he came running to show me, "Mom!  I can whistle!" as he pooched his lips and made a breathy, windy sound. 

"Almost, little buddy!  Keep practicing!"

And now I regret having ever given that edict.  Keep practicing.  Am I an idiot?  Why on earth would I suggest that to him?

Because he did.  And now he can whistle.  One note.  Over and over and over again.  He'll whistle rhythmically to songs he hears, doing pretty well with that, but he has no pitch control.  So guessing what song he's whistling is nearly impossible.  Hint: when in doubt, go with "Ironman."

Not that our little princess is to be outdone!  Nope, she's now sleeping in her own room, in her little toddler bed, with dry safety diapers every night.  Well, it's been a couple of weeks of dry safety diapers, but one night of in her own room.  I have a lampshade to cover and a couple of sheer curtain panels to pick up before I take the "after" pictures, but I think it's pretty cute!

And she is walking around naming things, everything.  Sula, Lala, Lissa, Nilla, Bracebrace, and other Scrabble names.  Scrabble?  Put all the letters in a bag and draw out five or six random tiles to make up a name.  Please tell me this is a phase and I won't end up with a granddaughter named Kisla...

And actually she's saying actually a lot.  Pretty funny, really.  It comes out "Ak-shlee" but she's using it correctly. 

"Ak-shlee, mom, your granddaughter's name is Bleena..."

Jeckyll and Hideous...

Oh, my sweet girl,
Why didst thou transform from sweet toddler to loud preschooler,
convinced that your narrow opinion matters when it comes to
eating your supper,
getting dressed,
washing your hands,
using the toilet,
going to bed,
picking up toys,
setting the table,
walking into the road,
eating too many Oreos,
hitting your brother,
feeding the chickens,
brushing your teeth,
or kissing me goodnight?

And, to myself, please, oh, please may my recent insanity be due to hormonal supplementation.
Please?  Please?  Please?
and more Please?

I have gotten a peek at my future, and I think that the world just might end of your puberty and my menopause align like an eclipse.  Poor Daddy.  Poor Milo. I think they might want to consider building a shelter in the back yard.  They don't really need that much space, do they?

Maybe you and I should get more sleep, huh, babe? 

Disclaimer:  No children were hurt during the making of this post, nor the events that led to the making of this post.  There was just a mommy with low blood sugar and a child pushed way past tired.  And mushrooms, a potty, and pajamas.  Don't ask, it wasn't pretty -- not sure if it was her tears or mine on my shirt.  She did, however, wake up this morning sunny and cheerful and full of hugs.  So did I.

My Little Moonbeam

Ahh, long weekend...  How I needed you!

Since I am now a part-time employee, I have my afternoons work-free.  That's not to say that I'm not working, because we all know that chasing hooligans and taking care of a house is work, but I'm not at my office working int he afternoons any more.

My new schedule kicked in last Thursday, but due to medical obligations (Milo's 5-year well-child check), I worked a whopping two hours that day.  And Friday morning FLEW by.  Friday afternoon brought many relatives and a bonfire.  Saturday was a trip back to my hometown to spend the day with my mom and the night and Sunday with my dad.  Yesterday was a lunch out with a friend who is moving to the Pacific Northwest, grocery shopping, and rain avoidance.

Which brings me to today!  I left the house shortly after my lil man woke up, but not before he started asking about playing the Nintendo.  And completely before my lil miss woke up -- all I saw of her this morning was a mop of bed-head and he little pink-jammied bum sticking up in the air as she slept.  Which is the cutest thing ever, by the way.

Violet has been showing off her sense of humor lately.  She's got a silly streak eight-miles wide running through her.  She often speaks in silly voices, uses goofy facial expressions, and sings random phrases.  Including a song she made up the other night, "I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiive!  I'm aliiiiiiiiiiive! Alive! Alive! Alive!  Aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive!"  There are no other words to this song.  I think she thinks she's alive, huh?

Miss V has the uncanny ability to laugh at herself.  As a toddler.  To recognize that she does silly things or makes clumsy mistakes and chuckle.  Don't most kids get all grumpy and embarrassed over stuff like that?  Not my baby girl.  She thinks the strangest things are funny -- for example, last night she was eating dinner and suddenly broke out in a full-on guffaw because she had not one but TWO tortellini on her spoon.  Comedy genius?  I dunno, but certainly funny enough to make her laugh at herself.  Loudly.  And while I was on the phone with my mother.  A strange one she is...

I actually love this about her.  I love that she doesn't need an adult to cue her to laugh at things she finds funny.  I love that her general countenance is smiling, that her sweet indescribable eyes always twinkle with delight.  That her first reaction to most new situations is positive.  That she is completely capable of entertaining herself fully all by herself, though we do play with her and read to her and enjoy her nearly every moment of every day.

I am so darn glad for my little moonbeam every day...
     You are my moonbeam, my little moonbeam.
     You make me happy when skies are dark.
     You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
     Please don't take my moonbeam away...

Ultra Violet

Apparently I am simply destined to be up before dawn on Mondays, thank-you-very-much, Tess, the dog who groans and barks until I get up out of fear that she's going to have an accident that I will just have to clean up.  Yay for 5:45!  SO not happy about this, so it's a good thing that the kids adore her, grrrr...

So, as long as I'm up, I think I'll share a bit about our dear wee Violet, who will insist that she is "Not a muffin!" or "Not a puppy!" or "not" whatever you tease her about being.  Yes, I tease my two-year-old.  I also let her out of the house in 90 degree weather wearing her winter boots and Tinkerbell sunglasses with her ensemble -- which, on that particular day was a jeans skirt and t-shirt, so she tromped around wearing her sunglasses (upside down) and boots, looking very much like a Hollywood starlet.  Hey, at least she made people smile!

Little miss is potty training.  She's really good about getting her poopies in the potty, but apparently really only likes to tinkle in the potty at daycare, when she's stalling at bedtime, or when we're out and about and she thinks she'd like to see the inside of the restroom in stores or restaurants.  So she is definitely not ready to wear undies full-time.

Miss "not a muffin!" has been very animated as she tells us stories about what she's done that day.  She narrates them with a very musical tone, her voice climbing and falling for great effect, her little hands flitting about as they sketch the shapes and rhythm of her words.

One of her current favorite tales is the Tale of the Tornado Drill.  She vividly recounts the tornado drill practiced at daycare one stormy day:

"We hadta go to the basement because it was a wainy day with lots of flunder!  It was a big storm and we went under a table and the lights went on and off and on and off and we were in the basement!"

As she tells this thriller, she leans towards her listener, raising her eyebrows on "wainy" and "flunder" and popping her hands open, fingers splayed wide when she says "on" and fists closed tightly when she says "off" for the status of the lights.  She does this every time she tells the story, as if she's made her own little finger play for the tale.  She will tell you this story over and over until you acknowledge her with a relevant comment -- a general "Wow!" or "Oh, my goodness!" will not suffice, you must note how the lights went "on and off and on and off" or that the "flunder" was loud and maybe even a little scary.  Or you will hear this tale again and again and again.  And, really, a two-sentence tale can be retold  thirteen times a minute, you know...

My bonny lass has also decided that her name is "Violet, Big Girl."  She will answer to just plain old Violet, but if you ask her who she is, she will answer you with name and title.  She claims the big girl status at the playground, where she scampers up ladders as quick as a chimp, passing children her own age and older to  claim her spot in line for the slide.  She tells anyone who will listen that her name is "Violet, Big Girl" and that she is four, or sometimes six years old.  Adults smile and compliment her for her youthful appearance, but children sometimes actually believe her.  Poor gullible children...

Oh, to be two and ready to conquer the world...

Ultimate Blog Party 2010

Hello!  Although I am not really a new mom blogger (I have been blogging since August of 2008), I am a sort-of-newish public blog mama since February of 2010.  Don't ask me why I felt the need to suddenly go public with my blog, I'm not sure I really have a reason for it.  I do know that it seems like a fairly healthy way to have a midlife crisis, right?

Anyway, if you are dropping by to join the party, please overlook the dog fur and kid toys -- I've got two of each and trying to pretend they don't exist is pointless.  Grab a seat, but don't be surprised if my son begs to play Star Wars guys with you or my daughter drags you to the kid-sized table where she's sticking glittery stickers to a piece of pink construction paper.  Or if my husband kidnaps you to the basement where we're keeping our first brood of Buff Orpington chicks, at least until he gets the coop built.  Did you know that they have automatic chicken coop doors?  I didn't know that until yesterday, either.

My life is pretty ordinary, and I'm sure that is the biggest reason I didn't go public with my blog when I first started writing.  I was a good student, married my college sweetheart, moved to a mid-Atlantic state when he was in graduate school, returned to Iowa when he was offered a job about 35 miles from where he grew up -- a big surprise for us because he's a theatre designer and this is, well, this is Iowa.  We got a dog, bought a little house, gutted it, got another dog, and renovated the house.

Then we decided to start a family.  After an ectopic pregnancy, we had our wonderful son in June of 2005 and made him the big brother of a little sister in September of 2007.  We are currently battling unexpected secondary infertility.  I swallowed my first dose of Clomid about an hour ago.  I don't feel any more fertile yet...

This past November, we bought a big old farmhouse out in the country.  This has been a bit of an adjustment for us (mice.  Mice.  Mice!  MICE!), though we are eager to put in a gi-gundous garden this spring and, as I said, we have a small flock of chickens started in the basement.  Because organic brown eggs sound super, don't they?

Here are some of my quirks:
1.  I like to be funny.  Sarcastic, even -- I know, SHOCKER!  If you don't want to read a blog where the author admits her shortcomings and pokes fun at herself, you shouldn't read mine. 
2.  I like to write.  I've never hosted a give-away, nor have I monetized my blog.  Yet.  If I end up pregnant with Clomid quintuplets, I might have to change that policy.
3.  I am a fan of the chain description: words-tied-together-with-hyphens-to-make-a-funny-run-on-point.  Yep.  I like me my hyphens...  And ellipses...
4.  I like comments.  OK, who doesn't.  I follow up diligently. Really, I do!
5.  I'm a lunch-hour blogger, so if my schedule gets keee-razy, I don't get a chance to give my blog or bloggy friends the love.  I hope you can forgive me, but I gots-ta pay the bills.  My hubby works in arts education, 'nuff said.
6.  I try to be positive and witty and clever, but the struggle we've had trying to conceive baby #3 has stretched my good humor to the limit.  Some of my more recent posts were a little darker than I would normally write.  But, since I am above all an honest blogger, writing something that was all cheery and rah-rah-rah when I was feeling blah-blah-blah was resoundingly fake, so I didn't do it. 

Here are some of my most favorite posts:
Malfunctioning Bedroom Devices
Brontophobia: Fear of Storms
Sleep

In case my blog gets pulled for a prize, here are my top three choices:

US6 – Hand Stamped Personalized Necklace valued at $48 The Double Stacked A Lot Of Love.
Provided by: Kristen’s Custom Creations  I lved this design and don't have any mother's jewelry!


US97 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade wire and colorful bead necklace from the mission-driven company, Ana Patricia!  just thought this was so much fun!

USC 10 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade glass pendant with their choice of chain. The piece is made by me with care using glass and paper.  The design I will give away is called “Lilac“.  I fell in love with this -- so very pretty!

Other prizes in which I'm interested: US39, US44, US66, US110, and USC19.  My son is 4 and daughter is 2, so anything appropriate for them is fine, too!

Alice! Oh, Alice! Wherefore Art Thou, Alice?

There are two times of day that I just detest:  the fifteen minutes before we leave the house in the morning and the hour before dinner when we get back from the day.

Our mornings went so much more smoothly when, when...  well, I don't think they have ever gone smoothly.  Except when I'm home alone with the kids and that's because I organize like I have OCD.  When daddy's around, I don't set every little thing up the night before.  I don't shower before bed, hoping that my hair doesn't dry overnight like a flock of seagulls.  I don't put breakfasts on the plates, ready to zap in the microwave.  I don't order two cups of milk to stand at attention in the fridge all night, and I don't leap out of bed the first time my alarm announces morning.  I do all of that when he's gone and morning's go smoothly.  Hmmm...  *Smacking my own forehead* I think I just taught myself something here.

And that hour between work and dinner?  Ugh.  Ugh.  Ugh.  I can't think of anything more coherent to say about that witching hour.  Ugh.  I do completely understand that my kids miss me and clamor for my attention.  I know this because I miss them, too. I wish that we would walk in the door and Alice from The Brady Bunch would greet us, wearing her starched blue uniform, asking to pour me a glass of wine or a margarita or something, supper simmering happily on the stove.  If that were the case, I could devote that time to kids-on-the-couch snuggling or sliding-across-the-floor-in-our-socks contests, or even blowing-bubbles-in-the-driveway time.  But, last I checked, I don't have a maid.  Ugh.

Lately, they have both come home from daycare as hungry as hyenas -- I'm afraid to leave my hands near their snapping mouths, lest I lose a finger.  I somehow cannot cook dinner fast enough for spring days of outdoor play, running, climbing, swinging, laughing, and growing.  I offer a nutritious snack and it is inhaled before I turn back to the stove.  I give a big glass of water and it is drained before I turn off the tap.  Unfortunately, because I spend so much time hurling string cheese and apple slices at the ravenous vultures, I barely have time to tend the food for the meal I'm preparing to serve.  Things boil over or get stuck crisply to the pan, the microwave beeps endlessly to alert me that the veggies are done steaming.  I can barely slice a strawberry before a small pink hand plucks it from the cutting board.

I have learned that I cannot put the food on the table until we are ready to sit down because my children will climb up there and eat it before I can get there.  They have suddenly become very self-sufficient, dishing up their plates while I try to assemble silverware for all of us.  They empty the fruit bowl, gnaw on pork chops, and slurp up spaghetti before my bum even meets my chair.  And if Scott doesn't come the instant before I call him?  The kids are done eating, flying off their seats to wash their hands and scurry about their activities.  Leaving me sitting there, utterly bewildered, blinking at my husband as he sits down to his plate and we survey the wreckage left behind.  I just can't wait until they are teenagers...

My Funny Girl!

Miss Violet has been learning her body parts.  All of them.  Yes, she's aware that she and her brother are not the same.  She completely understands that girls have a  'gina and boys have a peeeeenus.

 Here's a conversation with her father that I overheard:

Scott:  Does Milo have a penis?

Violet:  Yes.  He's a boy.

Scott:  Do you have a penis?

Violet:  No.  I'm a girl.  I have a 'gina.

Scott: What about Mocha?  (One of our dogs)

Violet:  She has a tail, daddy.  She's a dog!

Yep...  That's my funny girl...

Hello World! Remember Me?

Hello, world!  It's me again!

Still not pregnant.  Although, I did get my appointment with my doc moved up a whopping whole week.  Which, at this rate, will put me visiting right about ovulation time.  I'm guessing there will be bloodwork involved, maybe an ultrasound, I dunno.  I'll be rooting for the "hubby in the bathroom with some questionable 'reading' material and a cup" test, too, to see if the gout meds he was taking caused any issues with his swimmers.  Of course, he's been off the gout meds for a year with barely a flare-up, so maybe he can ditch them after all?  But of all the tests, that one seems at least pleasurable -- way more than having a KYed ultrasound wand poking around my innards.

Milo asked me to teach him how to tie his shoes yesterday and has figured out how to open a web browser and type "pbskids.org" and find some wholesome, educational computer stuff to do.  He attended a brass concert yesterday with his preschool class and says he now wants to play the trumpet -- or a cow horn.  They used one as a demonstration and now I think he thinks that there are cow horns in the brass section of a marching band.

Violet is turning into an adept staller at bedtime: she asks for one more song, one more book, new water in her sippy, and a different noise on the white noise machine every night.  Last night she added, "My go potty" and "Daddeeeee there are ladybugs in my room!" to her ever-expanding list.  She's such a cute little bug when she sleeps -- all curled up, bum in the air.  She also got a new spring coat and was eager to show it off to anyone who looked, telling them proudly, "My got a new spwing coat at Tawget!  See!  There's a wibbon and a bow on the back!  My cute now!"  I guess she didn't think her winter coat was cute?

Anyway, I hope to get caught up on all of the bloggy stuff I've neglected, so keep an eye out for me!  I'm a rampant commenter and will find you somewhere, bwah-hahahaha!

Milestone: 100th Post

I've hit a milestone!  My 100th post.  So, in honor of that, I thought I'd try a blog hop today.  Although it is doubtful I'll grow my followers from 20 to 100 today, I'm aiming for a 50% increase so that I get to 30.  As always, I reciprocate and love commenting!

I've also decided to point you toward some of my favorite posts.

It's Raining, It's Pouring is my reaction to the news that a good friend had (yes, HAD -- now she has a lovely pair of C cups that I covet) breast cancer.  It's might not be as funny as some of my posts, but I think it one of my most revealing posts.  I still tear up over this post.

Sidewalk is one of my most wistful and bittersweet posts, also the post where I feel like I really hit my stride and started singing most clearly with my voice.  It is about my darling Violet.

Lessons is about my Milo.  It is also the moment when I started tagging my posts "Mom Lessons" when I realize I'm learning more than my kids.

Laughter is the Best Medicine might be the best window into my sense of humor and the relationship I have with my family.  It makes me giggle when I read it, so I hope you like it, too!

Hosted by One 2 Try, Hearts Make Families, and Midday Escapades.

Snow Babies!

Muffin Top

We have been teasing Violet by calling her Muffin lately. It's pretty funny because most of the time she hates it, scowling and crossing her little arms over her chest, saying, "My not Muffin! My Wiolet! No fair!" Of course, this assertion really just brings on the giggles, at least for me.

I sing her a silly song: My Muffin, my Muffin! How I love my little girl, my Muffin! My Muffin, my girl!

She detests this. And, like most parents, I sing it anyway.

Last night I was playing with her, rolling around on my bed and pretending to eat her. I started "munching" on her shoulder and said, "MMMM! Tastes like green beans!"

Through peals of laughter, she said, "My not green beans! My Muffin!"

So I started singing the Muffin song. She growled at me -- which is pretty funny because her growl is actually pretty deep for such a little girl. Her growling was accompanied by little clawing hands reaching out for me, ala cat claws.

So I did what any self-respecting mother would do -- I pretended to run away, screaming, "Oh, no! The Man-Eating Muffin is going to get me!"

So, future daters-of-my-daughter, that's the reason she's been nicknamed the "Man-Eating Muffin." No other reason, got it?

Baby No More

Last night, my little Violet slept all night in a toddler bed. It was her first attempt at sleeping not in her crib. I'm proud to say that she did a great job!

When I checked on her when I went to bed, she was sleeping soundly, her little pink hands clutching a stuffed fawn, her face pressed to the soft chenille of the toy. She looked peaceful and sweet. And suddenly like a child and less like a baby.

When I checked on her again after a middle-of-the-night bathroom trip, she was still snuggled warm into her bed, though not holding the toy. She again looked comfortable and even less like a baby.

When I woke for the day and checked on her again, I stifled a giggle as she was half out of the bed, her bottom half, but sleepily climbing back in -- she's light sleeper and I didn't want to disturb her, so I quietly pulled the door around after she'd gotten all of herself back in bed, looking even less like a baby.

Finally, after my shower I went back upstairs to wake the rest of my sleeping family. Scott was awake, lying in bed watching CNN. Milo was sacked out, and Violet was laying on her back in the toddler bed with her hands folded behind her head, looking very snug. I motioned for Scott to come in because she was beyond adorable in that moment. And so not a baby.

Sigh... Why are these milestones so much harder on me than they are on the kids?

My Mornings, before and after kids...

This is actually a repost from a mommy board to which I belong -- one of our witty members wanted a compare and contrast post about what our morning routine looks like now and what it looked like before kids.

OK this will look like a train wreck, but I'll post what I did this morning -- which was extra ugly because Scott's out of town...

Now

12:30 am: hear Violet over the monitor, "Mommy! I'm cold..." Stumble into her room with one eye open and pull up her covers. Pat her back for a minute, hoping she doesn't fully wake and want to nurse. Pull up the blankets on the snoring boy, too. Back to bed.

5:50 am: Hear Violet over the monitor, "Mommy! Mommy! I awake! I want to nurse in the chair..." She says this sixteen times, so I switch off the alarm and stumble into her bedroom, where a bewildered Milo looks at me. He says he has to go potty, so I tell him, "OK. Go potty, but then come back to bed because it's the middle of the night." Amazingly, he does and is sleeping again before his head hits the pillow. Nurse Violet on right side for ten minutes -- she's got a stuffed up nose, so she slurps four or five times, then breathes through her mouth. I don't hear any swallowing, so I don't think she's even getting that much milk.

6:00 am: Violet wants to switch sides. More slurp, breathe, slurp, breathe. I have to frickin' pee now and I can hear the dogs getting restless downstairs, jangling their collars and dancing at the bottom of the steps. I am concerned as I went to bed early last night and they didn't go out at 11:15 like normal, so I envision huge piles of shit on the floor...

6:20 am: unsuccessfully try to put Violet back to bed. Resentment toward Scott building as I still have to pee and can't get Violet back down. Dogs still dancing, but now one is whining, too. Decide to get up with Violet and bring her downstairs. Tell her this and she squeals, I shush her so that she doesn't wake Milo. Thank goodness that kid can sleep through a tornado.

6:22 am: Set Violet down so I can get the dogs on their tie outs. One cooperates, the other can't figure out how to walk around my ass to get to the door. Sigh.

6:23 am: Dogs finally out. Take Violet to family room and flip on Playhouse Disney. Still have to pee.

6:24 am: Violet asks for milk. I get milk and peek out at dogs. Neither of them eating shit, yay!

6:25 am: Give Violet her milk. Flip on coffeemaker -- I prepped it last night, yay me!

6:26 am: Pee, finally! Collect urine in OPK cup, dip strip. Still positive! That means baby-makin' sex tonight!

6:28 am: Get dogs back in house. Naturally, one has stepped in shit, so I scrub her stinky-ass paws. At least they weren't eating it this morning... Pour coffee

6:35 am: Snuggle Violet on the couch. Milo's still snoring away. Drink coffee.

6:48 am: Tell Violet, "I'll be right back!" and bolt for the shower. Shower faster than fast.

6:52 am: Doing final rinse on hair when Violet throws open the shower curtain and says, "My want shower, too." Sigh... Unbutton her pajama top, tell her, "OK -- take your jammies and diaper off!"

6:53 am: Ask Violet, "Are you naked yet?"

6:54 am: Ask Violet, "Are you naked yet?"

6:55 am: Ask Violet, "Are you naked yet?" Finally, she is. Pull her into shower. Hold her under the water for about 35 seconds before stopping the tub and letting it fill. I figure she'll play in there long enough for me to get my contacts in and make-up on.

6:58 am: I'm out of shower, Violet is happily splashing in the tub. Dry off, get contacts in, start make-up.

7:08 am: Done with face! Violet is still happy, so I go upstairs and wake Milo. He is in a surprisingly good mood considering that he hates being woken.

7:10 am: Snuggle Milo on couch. Don't worry, I can hear Violet singing and splashing.

7:15 am: Get Milo milk. Offer him breakfast, he refuses, politely.

7:17 am: Get Violet out of tub and dry her off. Stop in family room for diaper, she howls because she wants to go upstairs to get dressed. I carry five diapers upstairs and assure her that she can get dressed upstairs.

7:18 am: Diaper Violet.

7:19 am: Standing in her closet as she decides what to wear today. Luckily, she pick out pants and a shirt that do, indeed, coordinate. The socks, not so much.

7:20 am: Dress Violet as she dances around her room.

7:22 am: Violet really wants to go to my closet to help me pick out clothes, too, but I've already picked them out, just need to take them downstairs to get dressed. Grab clothes I laid out for Milo, leave the ones I had laid out for Violet since her opinion on fashion matters more than mine this morning.

7:25 am: Park Violet on the couch, telling her that I need to get dressed so that I may start the car. She protests. Milo still snuggles on couch under a blanket, looking very much like a mouth-breathing zombie.

7:26 am: Violet starts crying because she wants to come out and start the car, too. I manage to peel her off of my leg long enough to get dressed, but as I do this, she gets her snow boots on and brings me her mittens.

7:28 am: Mousse my hair and slide a headband on.

7:29 am: I'm putting on my shoes and Violet is insisting that I put her mittens on the wrong hand, then gets mad at me when I do. I say, "I give up!" and throw the mittens on the floor. She starts crying a sad little cry and I feel like a heel. I sit on the toilet and snuggle her.

7:31 am: Manage to get Violet back on the couch next to slug-boy and explain to them both that I was going to go start the car, then come in and get Milo dressed, then we were leaving the house. Violet agrees to sit next to the lump that is her brother while I run outside.

7:32 am: I get my coat on, gather the kids snow pants, my purse, Violet's warm mittens, and fling the fridge open to find some left-over to take to work for lunch. Taco meat it is!

7:33 am: Shove my way through the dogs to get to the side door. Open garage, walk to garage (not attached). Slide a bit in the snow because my shoes don't have a whole lot of traction. Get into car, turn it on, back it out, close garage door, unlock all car doors, and get out.

7:35 am: Go inside. Push my way back through dogs and head to family room to get Milo dressed. Surprise! The child who I thought might have been comatose is standing there proudly and fully dressed. I drop to my knees and throw my arms around him, thanking him for being so helpful He is dang proud of himself, and I kiss him a few dozen times.

7:36 am: Using the 90 seconds I gained by Milo getting himself dressed, I pick out jewelry to match my clothes and I feel better about myself instantly.

7:38 am: Get kids into coats, boots, hats and mittens.

7:41 am: Out the door. Realize that my car key has the house key on it, so I'll be running back to the house after the kids are in the car to lock up. Milo climbs into his seat quickly. Violet decides after I have carried her to the car that she wanted to walk, so she starts bawling. I set her down to help Milo get his coat off and into his seat and she walks all the way back to the house. Sigh...

7:43 am: Milo is in his seat, Violet is refusing to come to the car. I sit in the driver's seat long enough to grab my keys out of the ignition, apparently Violet thinks I'm leaving, so she yells, cries and runs for the car. I open her door and tell her to climb up while I lock the house.

7:44 am: Stick my head in the house and tell the dogs to be good. Lock door. Walk back to car and find Violet terrified because she can't climb into the car in her snowboots.

7:45 am: Get Violet's coat off, buckle her in, kiss her a few dozen times.

7:46 am: Buckle self in and reset the "Phineas and Ferb" soundtrack. Drive off down the road.

7:54 am: Arrive at sitter's house in the middle of a song. Sit in the driveway singing and dancing in the car.

7:55 am: Get kids out, coats on, gather snowpants and Violet's warm mittens.

7:57 am: In the sitter's door. Get the kids' winter things off, Violet runs in to play and Milo does his normal "climb mom like jungle gym" thing. Sitter is in a chatty mood, so I chat. She's had a busy morning already, too. Apologize for not feeding kids, but I kept asking and offering food and they refused every time.

8:08 am: Back in the car. More "Phineas and Ferb." I don't even switch it off...

8:10 am: Park car at work, walk to office

8:15 am: Log onto computer, check facebook. Decide to eat taco meat now and figure something else out for lunch.


Then:

7:20 am: Roll out of bed, open door and let dogs out into fenced yard, prop door so they can come back in house when they're done.

7:25 am: Pee, turn on shower.

7:26 am: Shower (uninterrupted)

7:35 am: Make-up, hair, get dressed (also uninterrupted)

7:55 am: Leave for work.

7:58 am: Get to work and start day! On time, even!

Monsters

I've had to hide the raisins.

In our old house, though Violet could get into the pantry any time she wanted to, she didn't. It didn't really occur to her that there was food in there, even if she'd seen me pull stuff out to cook or use. So, it stands to reason that I might think she wouldn't be interested in the pantry in the new house, right?

Wrong. First I had to move the Nilla Wafers to a higher shelf. Then the instant oatmeal (she would rip open packets and try to cook it in her play kitchen for her babies -- cute, but crazy messy). And now I've had to hide the raisins because Violet helped herself to four boxes while I was sorting and cleaning and vacuuming the bedrooms this past Sunday.

Do you realize four mini-boxes of raisins is about 3 cups of grapes in real life? Yeah... Poor sitter had to deal with those diapers yesterday -- so sorry!

Other interesting things about our new house? Our new TV can be heard in the kids bedroom, so when Scott's not looking, I adjust the volume from 28 to about 12. Of course, when the kids aren't bouncing around us, we don't really need the TV at 28 to hear over them, so it's not terribly noticeable.

The liquor cabinet is very conveniently located within an arms reach of the fridge. It was at our old house, too, but if you were standing in the fridge, it was behind your back. Now, if your standing in the fridge, it's completely in your line of sight. Which makes it all too easy to add some Jamaican rum to my egg nog. And that's a darn tasty treat! It is, however, not consumed if I am the only adult in the house. One must always be prepared to drive on gravel roads to get a kid to the hospital or something if an emergency pops up. And if I'm the only one in the house who can see over the dashboard, I'm also going to be sober. But When Scott's around? Let's just say it's making creating baby #3 more fun...

Also, the kids are finding the holes in the wooden floors fun and tantalizing and scary all at once. The house was originally outfitted with a boiler and radiators, but through the years it has been retrofitted with forced air heat. The most recent incarnation is the geo-thermal heating installed by the previous owner. So there are radiator-pipe sized holes in the floor, the most obvious is outside my bathroom on the main level. Both kids have peered down the hole and they regularly step around it, though it is too small for either of them to get a foot caught. They look at it and wonder where something would go if it were dropped down there. Answer: the basement, of course. So Violet dropped a small white ball from the Hungry, Hungry Hippos game down there.

Milo was instantly alight and wanted to run downstairs immediately to find the ball. Unfortunately for me, the kids had picked the moment I'd chosen for a bathroom break to engage in this experiment, so they were hopping around in front of the open bathroom door as I was sitting on the toilet, begging them to let me pee in peace. After flushing, I assented and Milo and I tromped down the basement stairs. Violet is still wary of the basement and attic, so she stayed on the landing at the top of the stairs, clutching the wall as she peered into the basement.

Milo and I head to the back corner of the basement, avoiding the damp areas of the floor. I turn on the light and point to the hole in the ceiling and say, "Hey! I can see my bathroom, so this must be the hole!"

We look on the floor nearby for the hippo food, but don't see it. We look around the room in the basement for the small ball and don't see it. I can't, for the life of me, imagine that it bounced too far elsewhere, but we simply cannot find it. Milo's eyes get big and he says, "Maybe things that go into that hole never get found..."

I think I might let him believe that for a while as I'm not interested in playing "let's go to the basement to find my _____" repeatedly. Neither child has tried dropping anything else down there since then. I'm going to put a tall-sided Rubbermaid tub underneath the hole, just in case.

But these are the incidents that live on in a child's fantasy for years to come. I remember being convinced that the house that I grew up in had been used for the Underground Railroad because there was a hidden door in our basement. To this day, I get the willies in my mom's basement because I swear I feel two-hundred-years of emancipated slave ghosts whispering when I go down there. I was pretty young when I came up with this story -- maybe only a year older than Milo. He might have a nagging feeling about that hole for a long time. Or he might decided to test the theory a couple of more times before we get the hole plugged -- he is a curious little fellow.

And Violet? I'm think she's convinced that there's a monster in the basement and one in the attic. But I'm pretty sure that the only monster in the house is the gas monster she created when she ate four boxes of raisins in 15 minutes...

Growing Violet

I think the toughest part about packing up our house to move is taking pictures of my kids off the wall. I'm not a parent that only leaves the most recent portrait up, so I counted and there are over 130 framed photos hanging in my house, mostly of my kids. Well, mostly of Milo. Poor little Violet gets the short end of the stick on that, simply because we sort of ran out of space and because I haven't filled some frames that I've been saving for pictures of her.

Thinking about Violet getting the shaft also reminded me that her birthday sort of slid through the space between tick and tock this fall, what with Milo breaking his arm on her birthday, then us plunging headlong into purchasing a new home and selling our current home, so I want to post about some of the things our little sweet pea has been doing lately.

Singing. She creates her own soundtrack as she goes about her life, "Doo-dee-dooing" and "La, la, laaaaaing" as she diapers her baby doll, cooks pretend lunches on the play kitchen, or dresses up in her princess gear. I love this! Sometimes it's just a long, breathy, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aa-aa-aaaah!" that scales her vocal range, sometimes there's actual words from a nursery rhyme, "Asses! Asses! We all fall down!", but there is always music in her heart.

Along with singing goes dancing. She's managed to pick up a delightful habit of dancing when she hears music, any music, any time. It's very cute -- sometimes, she turns slowly as if she's gliding in a billowing ball gown, sometimes she's head banging, and sometimes she's hopping about like she's raving. She skips and tumbles, twirls and dives, smiling and giggling.

One of her more humorous utterings is "No fair!" Always spat out with arms tightly crossed, chin tucked, and eyes peering out from under knit brows. I am surprised at the things she thinks are not fair -- last night, it was not fair that Milo was sitting in my lap and didn't want to move when she thought she needed to be in my lap. I imagine that I might be hearing this a lot in regards to Milo -- not surprising nor unexpected, yet sort of funny at the same time. I think it was only this summer that Milo started saying "Not fair!" I'm not quite sure that Violet actually knows what it means.

She really loves to play around with her voice and uses different voices for characters. Milo has yet to do this with any sort of consistency, though his toys have been talking to each other for nearly three years now. Violet has a particularly funny voice that never fails to crack me up -- she draws her lips into a tight circle, lengthens her jaw and talks in a very deep voice, her eyes are wide and her eyebrows raised. I haven't pinpointed who she thinks she's imitating, but she finds it funny, too.

"This is yours and that is mines!" I love how she has generalized mine to "mines." How utterly adorable! She properly uses hers, his, and yours and they all end with an "s", so why shouldn't mine?

Violet shares everything. If I hand her a cookie, she immediately demands another -- but not for herself, for Milo. She doesn't give it a second thought to hand him some of her loot, even if he hasn't asked. She is insistent that everyone have what she does, no matter what it is. She never squabbles nor tries to stealthily sneak away with more than her fair share. Her most selfish act is mine, too. She loves to lay in and nurse on weekend mornings, making it difficult for Milo or Scott to squeeze between the two of us. Neither of our boys is lacking for attention, but she is unwilling to share our special time with anyone. Given that Milo had us to himself for 26 months, I think it's OK that she has me to herself for 26 minutes on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Finally, she has learned, "I love you!" and will tell me this as she pretends to talk to me on the phone, or as I tuck her into bed or leave her at daycare. Hearing these words from her melts me into a roiling, fizzing, pool of joy. I feel lightened by her sweetness, lifted by her smacking little kiss. I can't imagine a day going by where I don't hear this and feel it from her and truly cannot wait until she's sleeping in the toddler bed and I can snuggle in deeply to kiss her goodnight, kneeling next to her as I do to Milo, holding her as she settles into her bed, soft and warm, her little arms wrapped around my neck, fingers tangled in my hair.

And so, my little flower, you are no shrinking Violet. You are graceful, kind, and effervescent. Your sunny nature shines on the cloudiest of gray days. I adore you, my beautiful girl, and wish you a happy, happy year.