Baby!

Maggie is an excellent mother to her baby doll. She gives her baby hugs and kisses, and wraps him in a blanket, and pats his back sweetly. Hannah never really went through a baby doll phase. We even bought her baby dolls when she was Maggie's age, thinking she'd be pretty pumped to have a real life baby (Maggie) in a few months. Hannah was not impressed.

I find it a little unsettling that Maggie is getting close to the age Hannah was when Maggie was born. So if I maintained that baby-making schedule, I'd be in my third trimester with baby number three right now. The only thing more unsettling than that thought, is the way my husband can survive some of our more epic night of meltdowns, freak outs, and general insanity, and wake up the next morning and make some comment about how nice it would be to have a baby boy. That kind of cognitive dissonance would make the average person's brain explode. Luckily, Maggie has a baby boy she can share with Daddy for now. His name is "Baby" and he is very soft and quiet and doesn't mind if you draw on him with a marker. It's pretty much a win-win.

I can't stop it with the text on pictures

Get it? Like the song? That is all.

Book Time

Maggie is really into books these days. It warms my heart. I will never get sick of reading Brown Bear Brown Bear, watching her eyes light up, seeing her eagerly turn five pages at once. It is sort of my favorite thing. (although it does give me a renewed appreciation for Hannah's ability to sit through more than ten words per page, and such...)

SAHM Fail

I kept both the girls home on Friday. I think it was good for all of us. I think the girls needed some extra TLC. I think I needed a healthy reminder that being home with them is not a some magical solution to mommy guilt. On bad mornings, when I feel awful dropping them off at daycare, it is easy to let myself think that if I could just take them home with me all would be well. But I had them home with me and all I could think was: "Ugh. A good mom would do x." Feed them healthier meals (they were still not really eating much, so it seemed like misdirected effort), spend more time outside (again, they were sick, so I felt I could let that slide), watch less TV (I was just proud of myself that Disney Junior wasn't on the whole, entire day), get them both to nap (well, at all, either one). Being a mom is hard. Feeling guilty about everything just makes it harder. It is way past time to let it go.

Anyway, check this out? How can you feel bad about yourself when you (and your girls) make masterpieces like this? Seriously though, coloring is super therapeutic. Even if you don't have kids, I still suggest you pick up some crayons and coloring books next time you are Target. 

Yeah, I did

Well hello, dog turds. Good morning to you too.

Is there any better way to start your weekend than to touch dog sh#t with your bare hands? Seriously, Junebug. I kind of hate you right now.
I was just lying in bed, feeling super lucky that Maggie was sleeping so late (past 8:00! amazing). Then I felt something under the covers, near my feet. I just assumed it was a forgotten Lego or piece of cereal that some toddler of mine sneaked into my bed. So I kicked it up to where I could reach it and examined it in the dark. Huh? No clue. It can wait until there is more light.
I stayed in bed. Thinking to myself, how lucky am I? So much luxurious sleep. Wait, what is that? Something else by my feet. I kicked this mystery object up and grabbed it, like the last. But this was less round. Less mysterious. More dog-sh#t like. And it was in my hands. I was holding it. Like the last dog turd that I left on the edge of the bed.
What the heck, Junebug. You know better than that. We are not friends anymore.

Spoiler Alert

It turns out, I cannot control vomit with my thoughts or words. Unless maybe those thoughts are, "Hey universe, I'm down. Please kick me." Because Maggie started throwing up last night. And you know that awkward moment where you can't tell if what you are feeling is actually nausea or just paranoia and disgust from being vomited on? So here is something that doesn't help: consuming a week worth of fiber in one evening. It was sort of an accident. Someone in the family is on a poop strike. I try not to discuss my kids' bathroom stuff (generally anything I wouldn't discuss about myself. You know, like my weight and who I bit at work and stuff). Suffice to say, I went nuts at the grocery store on all things fiber. Which an unnamed kiddo was not at all interested in. But those Fiber One brownies? Are kind of amazing. In a weird way. They remind me of some Little Debbie chocolate snacks I ate back in the day. Also, I sprinkled that powder Metamucil all over her dinner (which she didn't eat, but I did). So my stomach was like, what have you done to me? So I was kind of nervous. But so far no mommy vomit. But ohmylord am I tired. Anyway, look at those baby Toms, would ya? How stinking cute are they?

Just A Cold

 

Last night Maggie was about half way through her bath before I realized she was still wearing her diaper. That is pretty much all I have to say about how the last couple weeks have been.

First, I got sick. And I actually stayed home part of a day. Which felt like an extravagant and almost wasteful use of a sick day. You know, for me to actually be sick (as opposed to one or both of my children). Then the girls got sick. It was just a sore throat/cold/cough sort of bug. Nothing huge. Just bad enough to make it hard to sleep. And then to be awake. But when Maggie got it, she started having trouble breathing and we had to take her to the ER. For some reason I thought we had hit some sort of ER trip quota with her. Like I thought we were moving on to some new phase in our life where medical attention would become less frequent. But even worse than the ER bill, is the terrible sleep we have all had. This morning we made it until almost 4:30 AM without anyone crying, or coughing, or gasping, or all of the above. So I feel like we are making some progress towards one day sleeping normally again.

The thing about sick toddlers, their colds can last for weeks. And you can’t stay home from work for weeks because of a cold. But going to work those two weeks means that every single day at drop off you feel like the worst mom in the world. And then every single day at pick up, you feel it again. And then you are usually late to work because of some combination of tears, coughs, ibuprofen, and guilt. And then you just feel like you are failing at everything: parenting, working, being awake.

I’m not even going to say, "at least no one is throwing up," because last time I did that my gratitude backfired. Instead, I will just end with a bit of wisdom: Those neat scented markers that aren't the regular Crayola kind? They don’t come out in the bath (not the first two anyway). Just keep that in mind in case your child starts coloring herself. That is all.

Unpredictable Rewards

There was a really fascinating article on Slate (Parents are Junkies) a while back that compared parents to addicts. Basically, the unpredictable rewards kids give their parents (in the form of hugs and giggles) are similar to the random flow of quarters from a slot machine. If we knew slot machines would spit out quarters reliably, they'd be a lot less fun or exciting. So we are willing to put up with the streaks of losses (or screaming, yelling, and mess-making) in the hopes of those random jackpots.
I thought of this article this morning when Cork got up early to make a cute breakfast for everyone. Except Hannah had a rough morning, and the breakfast got cold, and Cork got frustrated. It made me sad to see everyone trying so hard but where are the freaking quarters? I don't even need a jackpot. Just a little something. ANYTHING!
But the thing that makes babies different from slot machines is, well, everything. But in this analogy, unlike the quarters you lose in the slot machine, the casino doesn't keep your parenting "losses." Your kid keeps them. So they aren't really losses. You just have to have a little faith. Some day Hannah may pat your back, and say she loves you, and tell you a story about a time when she was little and you made her that special breakfast. Or she'll tell you about the time that you hit her (you totally didn't). Either way. But my point is, you're making a difference even when it feels like you're not. 

This Weekend in Cuteness

Saturday Maggie was feeding Junebug some of her cheerios. She was blowing on them (to cool them off, obviously) before she'd let Junebug eat them. It was a little too precious. 
Hannah kept starting stories with, "when I was little." That always makes me laugh. Although, one time she started a story off with, "when I was little, and Mommy hit me, and ...." To which I said, "whoa, wait, what?" Nooooooo. (We are a strict no-hitting family, including spanking.) 
Saturday was my half birthday (yes, we celebrate half birthdays around here. Twelve months is way too long to go without a celebration of some sort. Also, Cork's birthday is Christmas day, so that man needs a second birthday celebration). My wonderful husband let me get a pedicure while he took the girls by himself. Isn't he cute?
I bought Maggie some sparkly Toms (matching Hannah's). They are even cuter than I expected. So tiny. I would have taken a picture of her in them, but Maggie was a maniac at the mall. She wanted to do everything herself. And every time I tried to pick her up, she'd start screaming "MAMA! Mama! MAMA!" in a ways that made me look like a potential kidnapper that she was imploring her actual mother to rescue her from.
Overall, it was a pretty cute weekend. in spite of the occasional implication that I'm an abusive kidnapper.

Take That, Seton Hospital Smokers

(watch me on the evening news!)

I hate cigarettes. HATE them. You can read more about my fight here. I just hope that one day my girls will live in a world where this kind of behavior is obsolete and everyone will marvel that anyone used to be free to inflict their disgusting second-hand smoke on innocent people. But until that day, I at least want my girls to know that I did my best to do something about it.

story update: here

The Many Faces of Maggie

 

When Maggie was about eleven months old she was forever making this "ooooooh" face. Like she was in a constant state of amazement and awe. She even began to add an eyebrow furrow to the expression as if to say, "ooooh, I don't know how I feel about this just yet." So what I'm saying is, it was a versatile look for her. I immediately began to wonder where she came up with this? Do I make that face? A lot? And then one day the face was gone.

And then a little bit after her first birthday, she introduced us to the, "seriously?" face. It was more like a glare. With her eyebrows furrowed and her head slightly cocked to the side. She would always save this face for meeting new friends. I'd ask her to say hello to so-and-so and instead she'd just give them this, "who are you?" stare. It's not her friendliest look, but I found it difficult to explain that concept to a one-year old.

Most recently, Maggie replaced the seriously face with my absolute favorite, her "I don't know" shrug. It's a little too cute, I almost can't take it. She uses it to ask and answer questions. For example, she'll hold her arms up in the air with her palms facing the sky and say, "where dada?" (or bottle, or mama, or rarah, aka Sarah). Or if you ask her a questions she doesn't know the answer to, like "what did you do with your shoes?" she'll use the same look but only offer a little "eh?" It cracks me up. Except when she is asking where Sarah is, and Sarah is gone. But seriously, mom, where is she? and OMG she is gone. All. Night. Long. And the only thing that can make the incessant, frustrating question repetition bearable is the way Hannah responded to her. She gave me an exasperated look and asked, "Why is Maggie acting all crazy?" To which I just shook my head and then probably made the "I don't know" look followed immediately by the "seriously" face.