Holding strong at 29...

Being "grown-up" takes some getting used to. Especially for someone who has spent the last... ahem... 29 years... vehemently trying to deny the process is/has/will ever take place. In my less-than-grown-up world, birthdays are meant to be at least a week long celebration-- complete with daily countdowns--culminating in a 24-hour period of party-having, cake-eating, balloon clad, unbridled festivity focused on the birthday boy/girl. Very mature, I know. But with each 29th birthday I celebrate (this will be the third, for those keeping count), I'm starting to realize that perhaps the center of attention is no longer mine. Of course, I've fully accepted that this is true for 364 days of the year, but that last day I've been clinging onto is officially slipping through my (icing-covered) hands.

This year's birthday was spent helping Jay in the garage, cleaning windows, and nearly enrolling Elle in boarding school after an unsuccessful 2+ hour battle for naptime. Or even rest time. Anything other than erupting from one's room every 12.5 seconds screaming/singing/dancing time. Sigh.

The plan for a family birthday dinner degenerated rapidly as I had visions of an over-tired toddler (and self-professed grumpy berry) melting down when she discovers her fork has 4 prongs instead of 5. The horror. So we abandoned the dinner out and I stuck candles in my Domino's delivered pizza with only a moderate amount of pouting. I began plotting my Barbie/Strawberry Shortcake/Smurf/Batman bash for next year. I'll be 29 you know.

But somehow, when the "festivities" were over, it occurred to me that actually, I wouldn't change a thing. Growing up-- with my awesome husband and sweet little one-- might not be so bad after all.

There should be a third video in here, but I have failed miserably at getting it to upload. Darnit Jim, I'm a radiologist not a computer programmer.

The Plague

Presumably courtesy of the daycare petri dish, I am quarantined with some unholy combination of the bubonic plague, Ebola virus, and scarlet fever. I'll spare you the details but let's just say that my colon and I will never be friends again. So go ahead and cancel that lunch date, splenic flexure. Sitting in a (semi) upright position at the computer is the most strenuous thing I've accomplished of late, so in addition to being overdue, this post will be comprised of a few random photos and lackluster comments with no particular cohesion... or... let's face it.... coherence.

First, a Valentine's Day greeting.

That was the "Happy" part.

And this is "Valentine's Day", but with a super exaggerated tongue extrusion for the "L" sound. Drama queen plus enunciator = my child.

In keeping with the eccentric facial expression theme, here is the current "Cheese" face.

I think she must be watching Bewitched marathons on the We channel when I'm not looking... And yes, she eventually twitched the nose again and turned the dog back into her dad.

As promised, I have nothing clever to say about this photo. Only that I thought it was cute, and marveled at how grown up she looks in the ponytail and headband.

And finally, I leave you with the sight Jay and I witnessed when we turned our heads for 10 seconds at the little arcade at JP Looney's. Our seemingly innocent 2 year old wielding a very large, albeit plastic and bright orange, rifle asking me to help her find the reindeer. Oh. Dear.

Watch out boys.

I anticipate higher quality posts in the future. But for now, I have to start making friends with an internal organ that hasn't betrayed me...

Lest anyone get too excited, the newest addition to our family has four legs, not yet a fetal pole and crown rump length. Jack Jack joined the chaos that is our household this week after graduating from the New Leash On Life program through Forsyth Humane Society. The weeks before his arrival were met with much anticipation; E woke up routinely asking, "Is Jack Jack here yet? Is he done with school?" She helped build his house, and dutifully tested it out for him.








She packed treats to take to him on graduation day.



Of course, the thought of JJ snacking necessitated a snack for E too... hence the Cheerios. Equity amongst siblings I suppose.


I thought she would surely squeal her way into wet (Cinderella) panties when she spotted him at the graduation ceremony. You mean the Cinderella panties that were sent home from school wadded up with the pants that actually matched this outfit? Oh, right.



They instantly became best friends...



Tickling teammates...





Partners in crime...





Begging buddies...



And simultaneously spoiled by Nana.





E has started teaching Jack his letters. When she got to"D", she said "D for Dog. They don't have a picture of a dog in the book though." I think he got it.



The first day he came home it was raining and muddy outside, so we wiped Jack Jack's feet off when he came in. E is now obsessed with cleaning his paws whenever he's been outside, and he humors her with the greatest of canine tolerance. She then asks me to find socks for his feet, and gets frustrated when I don't oblige.


Trying to keep up with him on his leash, she panted behind exclaiming, "Jack Jack, you're killing me!"





And she will tell anyone with a pulse inanimate objects all about "my new dog whose name is Jack Jack who came home from school and doesn't pee inside he pees outside and when he pees outside we say good boy but if he stands up in the kitchen we say no jack and then he sits and we give him treats and throw his ball and he eats my toys and gives me kisses i like dog kisses his name is Jack Jack". And breathe.





Me too, Jack Jack. Me too. Welcome home.

Lessons from the Potty

Elle has been potty-trained for several months now, but she still occasionally has accidents at school. I can always judge the success of the day by whether or not she is wearing the same pants (+/- socks and shoes) that she spent 20 minutes insisting on doing it herself I dressed her in. This time as I was handed the tightly tied grocery bag of toxic waste peed-upon cinderella panties, E's teacher reassured me that "the accident" occurred while she was en route to the potty. I felt better, knowing she didn't deliberately conspire to exponentially increase my laundry burden. But for some reason, the interaction made me think for a (fleeting) profound moment about our intentions. Even when when we mean well, even with the best intentions, we can still find a way to mess up. A lot of my mistakes in life seem to come because, although I'm steadfastly headed in the right direction, I just can't "hold it" till the finish line. And while I'm sure that God sighs with frustration when that is the case, I can't imagine how disappointed he is when we just stand out in the middle of the playground and create more dirty laundry for him. Even after he's asked us if we need to go a thousand times, and we've resolutely said "No" each time. Thank goodness he's willing to wash out our Cinderella panties each night.

Sorry, E. You can censor this next year when you figure out html...

BGB

Big girl bed, that is.

Because I'm pretty sure cribs are on the "Do Not Bring" list for college (just under halogen lamps), we decided it was finally time to get E into a toddler bed. She was delighted with the transition, immediately pointing to the entrance area and asking me, "This is the place where I can get out? All by myself?" Ummmm.... precisely what I was afraid of.

Night One went fabulously-- she even circumvented the usually laboriously drawn out pre-bedtime routine, being perfectly happy with 1 reading of each book instead of the typical 400. In she climbed, and we didn't hear a peep until almost 12 hours later! Too good to be true, I assured myself.

And I was right. While bedtimes have been quite smooth, the elusive entity known by some as Naptime has been an utter disaster. Not that it has ever been a consistent staple in our household, but at least I could mandate "rest time" by caging her in the crib. Not so anymore. I can't physically force the Vehement Anti-Napist to lie down in her bed, nevertheless stay there. Sigh.

Nonetheless, my baby continues to grow up. Out of diapers and crib; college really is right around the corner. Now about that Lava Lamp...

Elle-isms, 28-29 months

Me: Elle what are you drawing?

E: California.

Jay: What is Mommy? Is she a doctor? A lawyer?

E: No, she's a twin.

(Playing with magnetic letters) Me: "M"! For Mommy!

E: No, "M" for me.

(Handing me a plastic corn) E: Here's some corn.

Me: Yum, corn on the cob!

E: No, it's cornuCOpia.

Bedtime prayers:

God is great, God is good... pause.... Dear Jesus. Thank you for a wonderful day. At the beach. Thank you for mommies and daddies and for Jesus in mangers and for angels and for Marys and for our piggybanks. And sausage. Amen.

E: I'm trying to catch snow with my mouth.

Me: You are? What does it taste like?

E: Grapes.

(In reference to her boo-boo):

Jesus will make it all better. Not baby Jesus. Big Jesus.

E: I'm going to work.

Jay: What do you do at work?

E: I'm a doctor.

Jay: What kind of doctor?

E: A purple doctor.

Encountering this picture in the Dinosuar book:

E: What that is?

Me: That's a dinosaur.

E: No, it's a dinosaur BIRD!

Smarty pants.

He appeared, and the Soul felt its worth...

It was my goal to keep Christmas more focused on a little baby in a manger than stuff. I failed. But I hope that-- amidst the Santa visits, princess costumes, Bitty Baby paraphenlia, glittery bows and unending stream of presents-- we imparted the true meaning of all the festivities to Elle. Did she sing Happy Birthday to Jesus with quite the same enthusiasm as she ripped santa-clad paper off boxes stuffed with... well... stuff? Nope. But hopefully one day she'll realize that the shiniest, glitteriest, most sparkling gift we'll ever receive came in the form of a baby lying in a manger in Bethlehem. That God loved us so much he sent his Son to live among us. As I rocked E Christmas night, I thought about Mary doing the same with her little one, only he was the Son of God. And as I laughed at Elle's rendition of Joy to the World ("Heaven and manger sing"), I thought of her smiling at His toddler antics. And I couldn't quite decide if Mary had to deal with tantrums...

Other secondary lessons of the season:

1. Family is awesome.

2. They may be Santa's crumbs, but they're still cookies. Finders keepers.

3. You might think them an unlikely pair, but Sock Monkey and Alphie are the best of friends.

4. You don't need a Fairy Godmother to be a beautiful princess.

5. Breakfast casserole makes you sleepy.