Tuesday Thoughts…

In, When it comes to kids, embrace the average, the author (a doctor) argues for allowing to kids to be normal. Not “normal” like, the opposite of “serial killer,” but as in “in the middle 50% of the population. Right along the curve of the growth chart.

I have fallen into the trap of celebrating my own kids’ early achievements. I’m, absurdly, slightly proud that both topped 8 lbs at birth. Why? I have no idea. Overall, though, I like to think that I’m a pretty relaxed parent. Probably because I also think that both my kids are GENIUSES who will no doubt excel in everything they do. And bring about world peace while they’re at it. Doesn’t every parent feel that way? (Sadly, I know that NOT every parent feels that way about their kids…)

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As the kids get older, they are funnier and funnier, and daily I hear them say things that I think, “gosh, I need to write that down!” Naturally, as they get older I am getting older as well, and more prone to forgetting their gems before getting to a computer. What is up with THAT?! Sigh. Must try harder. Perhaps should send myself text messages when they say something particularly cute?

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A new site I’m really liking: http://www.hungry-girl.com/. I like that she takes a popular, full-fat, high-calorie dish and does a lower-cal version. It’s nice to have a not-so-guilty guilty pleasure mixed in with the “eat food. not too much. mostly plants.” mindset.

 

Happy Halloween!

Some pumpkin magic, courtesy of Aunt Tee.

Ready for the neighbourhood Halloween Party! In case you can’t tell, we’re dressed up as a ballerina and spiderman.

 

It’s almost your birthday, Baby Bug!

My dear Baby Bug,

It’s almost your second birthday! Why, I really can’t believe it; I still remember you so small and helpless. I still remember the sleep-deprived haze of the first few nine months. I still remember….

THIS:

I’m sorry; when you are 15, or 13, or perhaps even sooner than that, you will read this post and want to kill me. I will show it to any prospective young men who come sniffing around, and you will REALLY want to kill me. I know, because we still have a picture of me at 3 months laying in the buff on a bearskin rug. I kid you not. So, Bug, I can empathize with your teenagerly outrage.

But I can’t help myself! Look at those baby cheeks! That little baby mouth! That round, round face! This is you at 6 months. Just be happy you have hair. Trust me.

And here you are, 10 months old. Still with the sweet cheeks, but looking slightly more like a person and slightly less like a stay-puft marshmallow baby. (Wait, did I just write that?? SORRY!)

I especially love how your little teeny toes are barely poking out of your pants.

Here you are on your first birthday…and you will LOVE me for this one! You really liked this crown, although we forgot about it until everyone had left and it was waaaaay past bedtime. Which is why, about 30 seconds after this picture, you fell over flat on your face (hey, you’d only just mastered walking) and were inconsolable. But hey, the crown was great while it lasted!

And, oh my goodness, brand new little you! Here you are, just one day old. And, except for the hair (which I’ve said before, you LUCKED OUT with the hair, little girl. I mean, little bald boys are fine. Bald girls get hair bows taped to their heads, and I don’t think you would have liked that very much.) you look just like your big brother. Just exactly, exactly like his little twin who is just maybe a little more soft and delicate looking. Or is that my culturally ingrained conceptions of “girl” coming out?

Anyway, looking at you now, I can hardly believe you were ever this small, but you were! Oh! but you were. Our tiny little mouse. Or, tiny little mouse-beast with a cry to wake all the wee dead mouse-beasties from the grave. I’m just sayin’–if you were baby #1, I don’t think we’d necessarily be a two-baby family right now. That’s all.

So, as we approach the big TWO for my little baby bug, I just wanted to capture a few of my fave Bug pictures.

[And also say a quick prayer of gratitude to whichever saint is in charge of peacefully sleeping-thought-the-night babies. I haven't forgotten what those first nine months were like, I promise. So, consider this my candle lighting of the year.]

 

Private Parts

Last night, Fast Turtle, Baby Bug and I sat in the bathroom for at least a half an hour, singing songs and trying to poop. (The kids, not me. I was just singing.) After a fun–but, sadly, unproductive–time in the bathroom, we started getting ready for bed. Turtle was laying on the floor, getting diapered, and Bug was standing near him, narrating the process: “Now mommy get the diaper, that’s your diaper, not my diaper, and mommy put on the diaper on the boy parts…”

Turtle is just listening to her narration when he all of a sudden points to her, as she is standing there, naked, and says: “And that’s your girl parts!”

Evidently his pointing came a little too close for Bug’s comfort, because she backed away a little, and covered her girl parts with one hand. She shook her finger at Turtle and said: “NO, Turtle, don’t touch my girl parts!”

At this point, I saw a teachable moment to reinforce how girl and boy parts are private.  I started to interject, “That’s right, we don’t touch your girl parts because they are private–” and Baby Bug jumped in to explain:

“And they’re BREAKABLE!”

[Of course, like all little kids, Bug and Turtle have learned that some things we don't touch--like mommy's tea cups--because they are glass and they are breakable. So, it's no surprise that Bug would extrapolate from untouchable cup = breakable cup to untouchable private parts = breakable private parts. But, still...I haven't stopped laughing yet at the sight of her standing there, naked as a little jay bird, chiding Turtle about her breakable girl parts!]

 

Baby #2

MyHeritage: Look-alike Meter – Old photographs – Geneology

 

Crying it out

My poor little Baby Bug, she’s just not an easy-to-bed little girl. She’s happy enough to head upstairs, and thrilled to be able to sit on Fast Turtle’s bed for story time (and they are so adorable sitting there together, drinking their milk, asking me to “read” a story, which really means tell them a story). She’s usually the one who decides when the story about Kah-Sharkie and his sister Cah (Jah)-Sharkie is done, and lets me know that she’s ready to go to her room and rock with mommy. So we rock, we hug kitty and pillow and 2 blankets (shades of Turtle’s old animal family, long since retired to the animal basket–isn’t it funny how siblings can be so the same without even trying?), and mommy sings the same song that I sung for Turtle back when he still needed to be rocked. But then, once my voice has nearly given out and I’m dying to escape downstairs to finish the dishes or get some school work done or have a cup of tea, I try to put Bug to bed. And that’s where–more often than not–the waterworks begin. Ever since she was born, this little one has been able to shed some tears at a moment’s notice. So she stands there, sobbing, “Where are you, mommy? Where are you? Rock me, rock me!” I stand in the hallway just outside her door, trying to determine if the crying is growing in intensity or lessening, if she’s still standing or if she has laid back down as a prelude to soothing herself to sleep.

Whoever thinks that cry-it-out is hard with a little baby, I can assure you, it’s much harder with a sobbing two year old who demands, “Come BACK, mommy, come back and rock me some more!” and then, “Wipe me, wipe my eyes, mommy, wipe my eyes!”

How do you think the story ends? I think that I spent another 30 minutes rocking and singing “Oh, B’darlin’!” until Bug was finally ready to lay down with kitty and pillow and “more blankets! more blankets!” And yet, there’s too much that goes wrong in life to really wish that the evening had turned out any differently.

 

Monday Morning Fun

Here Kerem is drawing on his neeeeew easel, from Ikea, while posing “as a statue!” Since he loves drawing but also loves being able to run off and then come back to drawing, this seems like a better solution than always having him at the table.

And here’s baby bug, eating whipped cream. Yes, she is eating whipped cream from her hand. It’s the morning ritual at gramma and beeba’s house. And, in case you were wondering, her shirt reads: “I’m in charge here; the parents are just for show.” Truer words ne’er writ.

 

Happy First Birthday, Baby Bug!

My little baby turned one yesterday…is it too much of a cliché to say that I can hardly believe it? I’m positively giddy with disbelief. Or perhaps that’s the leftover birthday cake I’m eating for elevenses…in any event, we had a wonderful party for her last night (pictures soon), where she showed off her newly perfected walking skills, wore a beautiful dress sent by her halas in Turkey, watched her big brother blow out her candles and open her presents, and had a great time. Until the very end, when all the little ones were fussy and tired, and right as we’re getting ready for bed she comes toddling over to where I’m changing her brother on the floor and, donk, falls right on him, head cracking against head, so hard that I can feel the vibration through the floor to where I’m sitting. A sad and painful ending, but what’s a kid’s birthday party without some tears and bumped heads?

This morning, as I try to wrap up everything work-related before our vacation to Florida (yay!), all I can think is how very, very lucky we are to have two beautiful, healthy, happy babies. Even when they don’t let us sleep a solid night through, even when they’re falling down all over each other, even when someone pulls all the clean, folded laundry out of the basket and throws it gleefully all over the floor (so much for packing for vacation!), even still. We are so very, very lucky!

 

Baby Bug Learns to Walk

Last night, with Fast Turtle running around like a little whirling dervish with his pyjamas half on and half off, shouting ever more frantically, “Good job! Good job! GOOD JOB!” Baby Bug took her first tentative steps! Then she figured out that it was much more fun to just stand for a minute and then pitch herself forward, waiting for someone to catch her. But still, her first steps! What a big, big girl.

 

My Bathing Beauties!

I’m very lucky that my babies have a gramma who is concerned with personal hygiene. Because in our house, when things get particularly busy, bathing is the first thing to go. I’m not necessarily proud of that, but there it is. Now, with little babies this isn’t so much a problem. It’s actually a good thing, delicate skin and whatnot. But with toddlers? Toddler boys? It’s a recipe for disaster, or if not disaster, at least a wee bit of grimyness.

But here are my baby angels, all scrubbed and squeaky clean. Fast Turtle even washed Baby Bug’s hair and scrubbed her back! He’s such a little helper: he’s always bringing us things he thinks we need. Anytime we’re leaving the house he brings everyone several pairs of shoes to choose from, “Hwey go, mama! Hwey go, daddy!” ( “Hwey go!” being his own particular contraction of “Here you go!”)

Just look at the mischievous look on Baby Bug’s face…