Two Months!

Pin It Letter to my Lollipop: Two Months Terrific!



Dear Scarlett Margret,

I’ve been waiting for you to hit another mile marker just so that I could do another one of these. You are growing in so many cool ways. I just couldn’t even wait to get started.

To start, your smiles are no accident, anymore. They are big, wide-mouthed, whole face-consuming smiles and good God, they are beautiful. You’re smiling for Daddy now too, and Thursday (on your first Thanksgiving), I even caught you flashing grins at mom-mom and pop-pop! They used to just be our thing… But, you know, whatever.


This is more of a grin, but when you smile your trademark smile you have a tendency to blur the pictures with all of your wriggling around like a crazy lady -- so this one had to do. Still, one very foxy grin!

You haven’t laughed yet, but Daddy is on the job, believe me. His mission in life, since you started smiling at him is to get you to take the leap. It’s like Open Season on your tickle spots whenever that guy gets a hold of you. It sounds sweet, but watching a powerless little baby who can’t laugh yet… or, you know, OBJECT get tickled is actually kind of agonizing to watch. All you can do is bunch yourself up into this little protective ball and grunt and kick and cough until I’m convinced you can’t breathe and I pry his evil fingers out of your vulnerable little baby pits. The other day you came dangerously close to actually giving in and letting out a real giggle. Once that happens, kiddo, it’s all over. Don’t count on me to come to your rescue; I’ll be right there with him.



On our way out the door to church. You being cute a freakin' button.

The cool thing about you at this stage is that you are right on the cusp of developing a personality. It’s like you’re finally emerging from out of your newborn skin… so aloof and incapable, to show off the first real glimpses of the you you’ll be for the rest of your life. Whenever you respond to something new, for instance, it’s you we’re seeing in your truest sense, completely clean of influence or suggestion. The things you smile at now are really and truly the first things that have ever made you feel so happy that the emotion couldn’t be kept inside. And that is so cool.




Is that not the most perfect Alfred Hitchcock style shadow, ever?

One of the first times this really hit me was just the other day. Daddy could be heard upstairs going about the routine of putting Matthew to bed while I held you in my lap and sung you a little lullaby in ours. You were sitting up, working hard to keep your neck balanced between your shoulders so that you wouldn’t lose my gaze… and I could have sworn that you were trying to sing along. An easy grin swept over your little face and you Coo’d Gaa-aa’d and gurgled in this long string of baby notes, only stopping when I did. Whether you were trying to join in or not, it was certainly evident that watching me sing to you could be considered one of your very first “favorite” things. Again. Just so cool.



Just Love.

Speaking of which, we’re quickly learning that you can’t wait to talk. You don’t just cough up little accidental blurbs here and there like the typical (let’s just say it: lesser) baby, exploring the noises you can make. You make it look like you really want to be heard. Like you have got Things to Say, and the words are just trapped inside of this unknowable language neither one of us can figure out. Your expressions are right on cue with the tone in your voice and you love to go back and forth with me, listening and smiling and responding. Sometimes you just go on and on, too, like you’re telling me a story. I can’t wait to understand what wonderful things you have to say.

Oh, also? You are already a total wuss. The fact that you look (comically) like your dad may make you look like you are One Tough Chick to an outsider, but it’s a total front. There is not a tough bone in your whole body kiddo… at least not now. One example of this that Daddy can’t seem to let go of is that days home from the hospital he tried lifting you up just a little over his head and then slowly bringing you down to his face for a kiss… and you tensed up every time as if you were wrestling the G-force of a roller coaster ride, no matter how slow or shallow the descent. He tried everyday for a month and a half to get you to trust that he wasn’t going to drop you, but you weren't buying it. You also whine at the slightest discomfort. Not a cry -- an actual whine, almost as if you’re telling on whoever upset you (another indicator of how badly you seem to want to speak). It’s super precious. It’s enough to make us want to annoy you all the time!


One (not so) Tough Chick.

I still love your sad face, too. Don’t get me wrong, your smile is to-die-for-adorable, but when you get sad, your whole face shows it even more now. You have a pout that, I swear, could bring a grown man to his knees. Much less a very love-sick Momma.

All in all, kiddo, I could just eat you up like a double fudge sundae. For as much as I devoured Motherhood before you were born, and was convinced to the point of even feeling a little guilty that it couldn’t possibly get any better, you make being a mom exponentially more fun. I just love the living daylights out of you, kid, and I look forward to every new day I get as your Momma.

So much love,
Mommy

Memior of a Day

Pin It I feel like every new day is another chance to get it right.
Someday I'll have decades of parenting under my belt, and my kids will come to me for advice on how to accomplish too many miracles in one twenty-four hour period. Until then, this is the best I can come up with. This is a day in our life. For better or worse.




It’s almost 2:00 a.m. and you could say that my day is starting. Though to me everyday anymore just seems to run right into the next, never really stopping or starting anywhere. I feel so typical as I think about the fact that I am always on duty. I’m lying in the dark with the side table lamp on at it’s lowest setting. The baby is nursing and Spencer is snoring. Scarlett stops suckling to flash me a lazy smile. It’s a sure sign that she’s nearing the end of her little meal and we’ll be good again until 4:00. I whisper to her that I like those feedings a lot more because Daddy is awake to bring me a cup of coffee. I’m not as tired as I am just bored. Waking up through the night is as routine as brushing my teeth before bed. As I look down at her, watching her eyes get heavy and her suckling become tired and ineffective, I know better than to complain. I know that this is a moment I’ve waited impatiently for, for nine long months… and in some ways, my entire life. I absolutely love her.

She’s not quite asleep when Matthew lets out a tired, throaty scream from upstairs. I can tell the difference now between a nightmare and growing pains. I speed through a gentle swaddle, adjust my nursing bra, and head upstairs with the baby. I crawl into bed with Matthew without a word; pull him into my lap and hold his head to my chest, rocking him back and forth and shushing him down to stillness. I rub the leg that he tells me to from the knee down like I always do when his little muscles ache. While the baby is wide awake in the nook of one arm, Matthew is slowly collapsing into the shoulder of the other as he falls into a deep, comfortable sleep, and pins me to his headboard. I nestle my cheek into the soft, thick hair on top of his head, like a bird into a nest, and I breathe in the smell of coconut kids shampoo. I am so proud of how much he has grown as I lie there and think about the two years of memories sandwiched between their difference in size. Scarlett watches me kiss his sleepy head. I am in absolute awe of how much I love him.

Before I know it Spencer’s at work and the baby is finishing another meal that ends just in time for me to wake Mary up for school. I love that I got that part of our schedule in order. I try not to wake up Matthew in the process because he could stand a little extra sleep after the night he’s had, but I can hear the clanking of his binky dropping into the orange tin bucket we keep by his bed. I know he’s waking up in a good mood by the way he isn’t going to fight to keep his Binky in his mouth half the day. Even though I’m exhausted, I flash him a smile like I haven’t seen him in a week when he stumbles into the kitchen and hugs my leg. I’m as animated as I can force myself to be this early in the morning, but I’m not faking my excitement. I really am that happy to see him at the start of every day and I want him to know it.

The cat’s at everyone’s heels, begging for food like he hasn’t eaten in a month. Mary yells at him to shut up and calls him fat while she scoops a cup of food into his dish. I check it off of her chore chart. Matthew yells at Mary for calling the cat a mean name and she snaps “Whatever, Matthew! Just whatever.” It’s the same everyday, like they’re reading from a script. On the days that Mary gets a shower in the morning I fix Matthew a quick bowl of oatmeal or some cereal and blueberries with apple slices that I sprinkle with a pinch of cinnamon and sugar. Breakfast needs to be quick so that I can make it downstairs to blow-dry her hair before school. We talk about the day ahead. I sign her agenda book and her progress report for the week. I ask her a few random questions I know will be on her test today about snails. She answers, “Gastropods…No, they can’t…Antennae… and Larva.” I can tell that she studied since the last time we reviewed, and I check it off of her chore chart. She empties the dish strainer before walking out the door. She comes galloping back in three times before the bus arrives because of something really, really important she forgot… again, and then again, yelling, “Love you guys!!” with every new slam of the front door.



Before I’m ever out of my pajamas I’ve thrown a load of onesies in the wash, I’ve done the breakfast dishes, I’ve sprayed the counters down and I’ve swept the kitchen and dining room floors. I know that I only have about another hour before the baby needs to eat, so I scrub my teeth and wash my face. I do a clean sweep of the house, going from room to room picking up things that don’t belong: a pencil out of the bathroom, a Magna-Doodle off of the sofa, sneakers out of the kitchen, and towels from bedroom floors. I take ground beef and dinner rolls out to defrost. I throw together Spencer’s lunch for the next day and set the coffee maker to start brewing at 3:30 a.m. At ten o’clock I have to (literally) run the garbage down to the end of the drive while the trash men are standing by the truck, waiting and chuckling and waving cheerfully to Matthew. When they offer to help I feel completely embarrassed that I’m still in my pajamas this late in the day, knowing that this man has been awake and working as long as my husband has. Now I have to get a shower.

Even though I scrub so fast I nearly erase my own skin, the baby is squawking by the time I turn the water off. I spin my hair in a towel and rush Matthew into a pair of undies and a shirt as quickly as I can. They’re sticking to his still damp skin and he thinks it’s hilarious. He goes limp with laughter which only aggravates the situation. My breasts are painfully full and starting to leak when I grab the baby out of her crib. I’m in a panicked rush, wondering how long she’d been crying and feeling bad that I let her get this hungry. With my one free hand I manage to grab jeans and shirt, some stories for Matthew, a burp cloth and an outfit for the baby. By the time I dress and settle into a nursing position, I’d already worked up a new sweat. I swear to her that I’ll never take another shower again.

I have to keep Matthew’s attention. If he gets bored and starts to act up while I’m pinned beneath the baby, it isn’t easy to reel him back in. I read Thomas the Tank Engine and My First Airplane Ride, Scaredy Mouse and I Love You Stinky Face. He laughs at all the predictable parts like he’s never heard them before. I open the laptop and we start our phonics game. It isn’t easy to maneuver the mouse from my position on the bed, but I’m getting better with the everyday practice. Matthew and I high-five every time he masters something new.

It’s almost noon when the baby finishes and the computer screen is sucking the life out me. My eyes are starting to close involuntarily through the last few stages of the game. I make it through. I lie the baby tummy-down on my stomach and nestle down into the sheets, pulling the blanket neatly over her back. Matthew’s earned an episode of The Dinosaur Train, which we all fall asleep to, although my nap is only ten minutes long and one that I’m still half-conscious through. I utilize it for the rest, but I can’t afford to sleep through their simultaneous nap. I move the baby into her bassinet and I get up to fold my weight in laundry. An hour later Matthew wakes up to a tuna sandwich, celery sticks with dressing, applesauce, and milk.



I strap the kids into the backseat of the car. We sing happy, repetitive songs about buses and farm animals from Blockbuster, to the Hair Cuttery, to the library where we spend the rest of the afternoon. Matthew finds a little girl in pink tights and big, polka dotted rain boots by the Early Reader’s section where we’ve set up camp with Clifford, Thomas, and Curious George. I do my best to keep his attention while the baby nurses under a blanket -- and I’m proud of how well I’m pulling it off. Matthew’s showing off his smarts as he shouts out shapes and letters that he recognizes off the pages, and this little piece of the day is making up for the more frustrating moments of our morning. He bullies the little girl at first, but by the time we leave, he’s kissing her forehead and telling her that he loves her and that they’ll play again next time. I’m imagining him being older, falling in love for real as we trot over to check-out, talking about his “new buddy.” He gets a sticker from the librarian and he helps me bag up the books.

We wrestle with the clock on the radio display to make it home before Mary’s school bus. Then it’s time to help with homework and get dinner in the oven. Spencer’s home, tossing Matthew in the air and making too much noise. Mary’s asking to play at her friend’s house until dinner’s ready. Spencer cradles the baby and keeps me company in the kitchen, telling me about the new guy at work and how money is starting to catch up with us. Matthew’s crashing dump trucks on the linoleum floor and we have to struggle to talk over the explosions, but neither one of us mind the noise. We love the sound of him laughing and loving boyhood. We talk about what kinds of noises will fill our kitchen at dinnertime when Scarlett is three.

After dinner I rush through the evening set of dishes while Spencer grabs a shower. Mary and Matthew make all kinds of ruckus in some other room of the house, intermittently screaming with laughter, and then with anger, and then with more laughter. Again, I don’t mind this kind of noise. They surprise us everyday with how strongly they’ve managed to bond despite their incredible age difference, and besides that, I’m just glad that they’re wearing each other out before bed.

We all congregate in our bedroom, where the T.V. and the bed are big enough for everyone to share. Daddy gets dibs over the remote so we’re watching Myth Busters or Dirty Jobs or The Office, but it’s mostly on for background noise. We’re all taking turns kissing the baby and negotiating which pajamas to wear and which bedtime stories will make it up the stairs with us. Eventually, we all make it in and out of the bathroom; someone is helping Matthew into a Pull-Up for the night and someone else is wrapping the baby in a pink towel and draining the bathwater. Someone is wiping toothpaste from a tiny chin while someone else is putting dirty clothes into a hamper. It’s all very synchronized, noisy with a little bit of whining and a little bit of laughter. If Matthew wants to fight us, he’ll do it now, but if we play all of our cards right he’s pretty happy to be getting tucked in by 7:30. We make it through a story (or two, or six), we recite bedtime prayers and we kiss little foreheads. We flick on the motorcycle nightlight by Matthew’s bed, and we walk down the hall, calling out a final goodnight to him and Mary as we turn off the rest of the upstairs lights.

It’s finally quiet under the sheets of our bed. This is the only time of day that is just Mommy and Daddy and baby, so we eat it up like chocolate cake. Before long Daddy’s fast asleep and she and I are left to stare at each other with just the light of the side table lamp on at it’s lowest setting. The weight of another day conquered is lifted from my shoulders, and I feel like the day has come full-circle as I stare into the eyes of this utterly perfect child, clean and fed and loved beyond words another day; content to drift off to sleep with a lazy, faraway smile.

Kicking Ass & Making Names

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In Daddy's Hands

Spencer and I are not your average newlyweds and we are not your average set of parents.
Even with Spencer being older than I am, the two of us together are very young to be raising three children. At twenty five, for instance, my mom was only just having the first of her kids. When I turn twenty five this March, I’ll be coming up on my second wedding anniversary, my son will be three, my second child will be nearly six months old, and my step-daughter whom my husband and I have primary custody of will be going into sixth grade. We’re not your average newlyweds because my husband and I never had the experience of a life together before our children, and we are not your average parents because… well, we just like to do things our own way.

This weekend we bought our first life insurance policy and we had a lot to talk about. Spencer almost died a few months ago. In fact, someone very real, literally feet from where Spencer swerved out of the way, actually did. The man who died was no older than Spencer, leaving behind a brand new wife and two kids. The detective on the scene said he’s seen a lot of fatal accidents, and by every law of physics Spencer shouldn’t have been able to swerve that school bus full of children out of the way. It’s only a miracle that he did, and that no one else was killed. If it had been Spencer… it’s scary to think how unprepared we would have been. So first thing Saturday morning before the kids woke up, we hovered over the paperwork and we talked about burial costs and switching the mortgage and making it through Christmases on one income. We talked about remarrying. We talked about having to teach the kids about parents they might not otherwise remember. We talked about the fact that Scarlett came so close to never even meeting her father. We marveled over the fact that death is so honestly a real part of life.



It wasn’t as grim a conversation as you might think. In fact it was kind of enlightening. In a world without me would Spencer know not to send Scarlett to school on picture day in sweatpants? The house has already been broken into once; If Spencer weren’t around, could I keep everyone safe if it happened again? Without a wife around to explain the importance to him, how would Spencer ever lend the girls the money for an up-do on prom night? And could I really see myself walking Matthew through his first oil change? Would their emotional health be compromised without a mom, would their sense of security fall apart without a dad?

And all of that talk about death got us thinking a whole lot about life. We teased about each other’s shortcomings but we also acknowledged just how give-and-take our marriage has successfully become; how heavily we depend on one another already and how much responsibility to this family each of us really carries on our own. From funny, little things to the very, very big. It also got us thinking about the way we really want to be raising our kids. Like, if one of us weren’t around to do it ourselves, what would it be important for us to have the other teach the kids or do with them that we wouldn’t otherwise? Since I’ve become a mom of two I’ve started to research things I never would have even thought twice about before… Things like nutrients being stripped from packaged bread in order to preserve shelf-life, and circumcision being outlawed because it’s suddenly being considered a form of mutilation and sexual abuse. Things like formula being poison, and disposable diapers being the anti-christ. I’ve learned that mothers who don’t share their marital beds with their toddlers or who don’t give up their breasts until their children are old enough to unclasp the bra themselves are not really mothers at all, but cruel and inhuman imposters. The more I look into the way that other people do things the further I realize I am from fitting into the mold of most… you know, good moms. We made a mental list:

We, for one, don’t co-sleep. Our son has way too many knees and elbows for that. No, thank you. We snuggle our son and read him bedtime stories in his own Gosh Darn bed and then we retreat to OUR room and have crazy grown-up sex with each other and then have an AWESOME night’s sleep so that we can be well-rested to put up with our children for the next day… Because THAT is what we’ve decided our marital bed is for.
We do recycle, but no, we don’t cloth diaper. And we definitely don’t dump the poop out of the baby's Luv’s and into the toilet before we dispense it into the Diaper-Genie. I don’t give a shit what the stupid box says.
I love breastfeeding my daughter. But I will thoroughly enjoy having my breasts back to myself before she turns eight and a half. Thanks.
We do buy prepackaged bread from Wal-mart and it still goes bad before we have a chance to eat it all sometimes. Me baking a loaf of homemade bread each week would be a waste of very healthy ingredients.
My son was circumcised and if I have eighteen more sons, they all will be “put on the chopping block,” too. And I’m willing to bet that not one of them will ever grow up to give a flying fuck about it - much less think that they were “mutilated” or “abused” as an infant. Oh, OR cry themselves to sleep at night as grown men because they don’t enjoy sex. I’m pretty sure men not enjoying sex enough has never really been an epidemic that has swept over Western civilization.



Just look at how happy he is to be circumcised!

When Matthew woke up that morning, stuffed puppy in arm and cute as a button, he asked us why we were laughing as he took out his binky to kiss his baby sister on the head. Not wanting to answer him, we changed the subject.
“Whose baby sister is that? Is that your beautiful baby sister, or mine?” I asked.
“She’s mine, Mommy!” he laughed.
“And whose Mommy is Mommy?” Spencer asked in a playful voice. “Is she your guys’ Mommy, or is she MY Mommy??”
“She’s MY Mommy, Daddy!” he shrieked, tossing his head back laughing.
“Well what is Mommy to me then?” he played along…
Matthew didn’t put a second’s thought into his answer. He climbed on his daddy’s lap and said in a perfectly serious tone, “She’s your best friend, Daddy.” He plopped his binky right back into his mouth, rested his head on his daddy’s shoulder and watched me nurse his baby sister across the breakfast table… Completely unaware of how perfectly he’d topped off our whole conversation.

My awful husband and I just looked at each other, surprised in a very good way, and we fell a little more in love. And Spencer said to me a little bit later that that is how we know we kick ass at parenthood. Our children know love. Period.

Six Weeks. Go You!

Pin It Letter to my Lollipop: 6 Weeks Wonderful


Dear Scarlett,

In case you are wondering, you still look almost exactly like your dad. Only your face is starting to get just a pinch rounder finally. At our appointment yesterday that was one of the first questions I was anxious to discuss with your pediatrician -- when you were going to fatten up. You, my love, are a petite little baby. Luckily, there was no need to fret. You gained a whole pound in the past month and grew more than an inch.

In just the past few days I’ve noticed that your newborn jammies are starting to pull when you kick or stretch your legs all the way out. You haven’t outgrown them just yet, but it goes to show how much you’ve grown since this picture was taken in the hospital:



Also, after last night I’m ready to declare your newborn diapers officially outgrown. Even though Momma is usually painstakingly organized when it comes to your stuff, I managed to mix up some of your size 1 diapers with newborn ones in the stash that we keep in the basket of your bassinet, and we’ve been just putting you in whatever size we grab. (It’s not easy to tell the difference between them. They both look like they could fit a Barbie doll.) I didn’t want to accept that you’d outgrown half the diapers we still have for you… But after you peed through your third diaper (two hours after your bedtime change last night), I realized it’s time to face facts.

So you are growing. It’s just so hard to imagine that it’s my milk alone that’s nourishing you so well; helping you to grow from this squirmy little ball of lungs and appetite into an actual person; strong and healthy. It almost doesn’t seem possible, and I guess that’s why I was anxious to get feedback from the doctor about your size. Hearing the doctor gush about how well you’re growing yesterday made me just swell with pride. It wasn’t just your size that impressed him, either. It was, again, your strength, which doctors have been impressed with since our days in the hospital… and of course, your lungs. Girl… You. Can. Cry!

Your cry, oddly enough, is one of the things I want to remember forever about you. You have, what I like to call the ten second warning signal. When you first start to fuss, it’s deceptively gentle. Dainty, even. You have the whimper of a helpless little puppy. I’m not joking. First your eyebrows come together to form this little teepee over your face, and you make a pretty little pout with your lips. The sound that comes out of you is so fragile and endearing, I swear sometimes I’d rather just watch you whimper than take care of what you need -- it is THAT adorable. It sucks you in like a vortex of cuteness. It’s a trap. After no more than ten seconds, it turns to this hellacious siren of a wail. Your helpless little face turns red with rage and you start throwing your fists around like you are looking for a fight. If you weren’t so helplessly tiny, it might actually be intimidating. And it is the same no matter what you need… even if all you want is to be held, you’ll cry like you haven’t eaten in three days. The first few times you shocked the hell out of your dad. He was sure you were suffering from a hernia or something, only to find out that you’d simply squirted about a teardrop of urine in your diaper and wanted to be changed. The second you’re tended to, though, you’re all rainbows and butterflies again… Like the happiest baby in the world; not a cloud in your sky.

Make no mistake about it, child, you are a high-maintenance baby. When people ask if you are sleeping though the night yet, I just look at you and I laugh. You eat every two to three hours still, and you don’t take breaks just because the sun went down. At least you sleep at night in between your feedings, though. During the day, you require pretty constant attention. You do not like to be left to your own devices in your crib or bassinet unless you’re ready to fall asleep -- which you don’t mind doing on your own. If you’re awake, though, you fully expect to be played with the entire time.

When you do fuss for some attention, though, all it really takes is a little talking to. You don’t necessarily need to be held twenty-four/seven. The bottom line is that you just don’t like to be lonely, and you’re not a fan on silence. Some of the best sleep you ever get is in a busy restaurant or being carted around through a crowded grocery store. You like a lot of commotion and the low hum of a lot of chatter -- which is fitting because our life is really never very quiet for very long. Sometimes just having Matthew play with his cars or his blocks within earshot of your bassinet is entertainment enough for you. And watching him? Well that is something that you and I could both do for hours. He is such a nut. In fact, he is the only one besides me who’s been able to make you smile so far.

He loves the living daylights out of you.

As far as playtime goes, we have a lot of things that we do. First and foremost is reading. I am a literacy fanatic so reading together is something we make a lot of time for everyday. I’ve even started reading some of my own favorite books aloud to you during your nursings: partially because we haven‘t started much of a collection of children’s stories for you yet, and partially because a mom can only take so many Thomas the Tank Engine stories in a single day before her brain starts to liquify and oozes out of her ears. I also try to always do Matthew’s phonics games and alphabet flashcards with you nearby. I don’t know if there’s any real benefit to any of these things, but I figure that as long as you’re busy listening to us, it couldn’t hurt to give you something worthwhile to listen to. Lord knows you spend enough time listening to me bark at your brother like a sleep deprived lunatic (not that I'm blaming YOU guys or anything…) so the least I could do is balance out the crazy with a little bit of good, right?

You also like your rainforest playmat, but to be honest, I haven’t put you on it very often. When Matthew was your age, he spent a lot of time on it while I polished furniture or made the bed nearby, but since I have to protect you from things like… you know, getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face, you aren’t afforded the same luxuries. (Sorry, kiddo. Occupational hazard of being second-in-line.) On the upside: when it is playtime, you get my complete undivided attention - because that’s the only way to avoid you getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face. I normally lie you on the bed with me, though, where I feel like you’re more protected from accidents. Then I make silly faces at you for as long as you and your brother will let me. Or as long as it takes for laundry to start spilling out from the windows into the front lawn. Whichever comes first.

And so do I.

Developmentally, there’s still not a whole lot that you can do. You are still only six weeks old so you’re not exactly performing acrobatics yet, but you are right where you should be for your age bracket. You can follow objects with your eyes, respond to sound, and carry your head pretty sturdily on your shoulders in an upright position. When Matthew or Mary come scooting up behind you singing your name, you dart your head around to find them. And when Daddy’s holding you, he always laughs at the distinct way you’re whole face responds to catching me walk into a room.

You’re definitely starting to have your distinct reactions to everyone in the family. You smile that wonderful little smile of yours the moment our eyes meet and you’ve recently started to Coo a little here and there in response to my words. You even open and close your mouth, like you might be trying to mimic my speech… though it normally just results in you spewing out dribble. For me, you light up. We are totally best buds, while Daddy is like your tranquilizer. Every afternoon after he kicks off his work boots and then settles down for the night, he grabs you and there you’re stuck until it’s time for bed. He tries to play with you for as long as you’ll let him, but once he puts you to his chest, especially belly-down the way you like, you are utterly comatose until he peels you off for bedtime. I’m talking drool and snoring; the whole nine yards. Any other time you’re a terribly light sleeper. But elephants could stampede past your head, and if Daddy were holding you, you’d never even flinch. He calls it snapping together like Legos, like you were made to just “fit” perfectly in his arms.
The four of us argue everyday over who loves you the most.

It is definitely me.

To the moon & back, Little-Face,

Love, Mommy

Let's Take a Break

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Fat and happy and completely delicious.


This was a great day at the park when I taught him all about the changing of the seasons over a picnic lunch, and we collected fourteen different kinds of leaves while Scarlett napped in her stroller.

This was not today. Today I took a break.

Before Scarlett was born I had this family down to a science. Everyday started out with a list and as the day went on I crossed things off one by one. I had a schedule that allowed me to perfectly balance not only my housework for the day but also set aside individual time for everyone in the family. When Scarlett was born and everything flew off track as much as it did, it really blind-sided me. I knew that our schedule would need some tweaking, but once I sat down and really put a conscious effort into prioritizing everyone’s needs… I think my brain started to bleed a little bit.

When the sun set on Scarlett’s first few days home before I ever made it out of my pajamas, I was stunned. I literally remember staring out the kitchen window over a pile of dishes and an uncooked dinner at the setting sun, saying, “Again!? Seriously?” It took me a week to get the kids outside for a walk in the stroller. It took me two before I was able to get myself and both kids bathed and dressed and out to the park in a single day. And it took me until just yesterday to have dinner ready by the time Spencer got home from work. The kids were bathed and dressed and the house didn’t look too shabby either. I was feeling pretty accomplished, but I was also exhausted beyond all comprehension. And, as is usually the trade-off, I was riddled with guilt over having spent so much time crossing things off of lists that I hadn’t left much time for fun with the kids.


This was not today either.
This is just an equally delicious picture of my girl.
Enjoy.

Today was starting to look the same. Scarlett and I had a fussy, restless night and she woke up needing to nurse at all the wrong times. My nose was running and my throat was horse. I’d forgotten to pack Spencer’s lunch, so instead of going back to sleep like he told me to, I couldn’t stop myself from getting up with him to throw together a couple of sandwiches before he left for work. Matthew woke up just as I was drifting back to sleep, and no matter what it is I turn to do, there is a kid in my way, working against me, almost as if on purpose.

So I said to hell with the list today. Instead, I turned on PBSkids for Matthew while Scarlett napped in her crib and I took a long, hot shower. Today, I decided I’d take a sick day from being a good mom. I counted ketchup as Matthew’s vegetable with lunch for today and I told him he could eat Halloween candy for snack today if I could. We toasted our cranberry juice glasses over Kit Kats and talked for a half an hour about how much fun it was to go skating the other night and to take Scarlett to the doctor with mom-mom yesterday. I dressed Scarlett in one of my favorite outfits even though I have no plans of leaving the house with her today and I explained to her that sometimes when a girl is feeling gassy is can make for a pretty crumby day, and that sometimes when a girl is having a crumby kind of day, it helps to get a little dolled up - just for the fun of it. It was the first time IN HER LIFE that she didn’t cry through a change of clothes, so maybe she was listening. While Matthew was occupied “fixing” a stack of blocks with a plastic screwdriver, I made the best of those twenty quiet minutes by working a smile out of my baby girl. Matthew came running into the room when he heard me singing the I Love You song to her from Barney & Friends, and he told me he wanted to sing along. It was the kind of moment that if he remembers it past the age of nine, he’ll wish to God he didn’t. Usually this is about the time that I pray for her to fall asleep so that I can get some picking up done before it’s time to start dinner. But today when Matthew pointed out to me that she wasn’t closing her eyes, I told him that I was so glad because now we can have story time, and today I want to read Scarlett The Little Mermaid for the first time, ever. And just like Thomas is Matthew’s favorite, The Little Mermaid might be Scarlett’s favorite someday, so this could be the most special story time we’ve ever had. And special times like these call for a few more Kit Kats. And maybe even some strawberry milk!

“And then maybe some MORE Kit Kats!” he squealed, laughing a sinister kind of laugh.


"That's my boy," I agreed.

And This is How I Died of a Cuteness O.D.

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I am sooo drunk on breastmilk right now.
Let's get this party started!


Right here. This is what did me in. This is when I died.
R.I.P. Mommy.

Costume shopping is always somewhat of an event in our family. It’s everyone’s favorite holiday, so we go a little nuts with it. Between having Mary, who’s old enough to get the most creative and Matthew who’s at the perfect age to get really excited about the pretend aspect of dressing up, AND having a newborn to doll up this year?? It’s impossible to decide who I was more excited to shop for. Needless to say, we’d been looking forward to this Halloween all year. And it didn’t disappoint.

Scarlett definitely joined in the festivities. When you tell people that you have an October due date throughout your pregnancy, everyone’s favorite question to ask is what the baby’s gonna be for Halloween, so dressing her up was a no-brainer. We couldn’t buy a costume small enough to not swallow her whole, so we had to come up with something on our own -- and we are not the most crafty of parents, so we had a hard time deciding. I didn’t want to go too extreme on her, so in order to keep it simple, comfy and warm, I decided to make it up of her own clothing and just add some flair with a hot glue gun and some soft craft supplies. She had a perfect little fleece jumpsuit that I could layer a warm outfit underneath of and still put a jacket overtop, so I started with that. It was white, which meant I could do almost anything with it. Then I noticed it had this adorable little kitten on the front, and sense kitten is one of her many, many little nicknames, I decided to go with that idea.


And this is our kitten!



Little Scarlett did beautifully. In fact, she did so well that she stayed out with us all night. We carried her up to the first couple of houses so that the neighbors could meet her up close and see her costume. When it started to get a little too cool, we bundled her all up in the stroller and let her sleep for the rest of the night underneath of the car seat cover where she was safe from any draft.





Calm down with the kissy faces, dad.

You're gonna embarrass me in front of the other babies...

Mary was an evil fairy… I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of getting her fishnets to go with the costume, but she talked me into it. She also apparently talked her dad into a pair or glittery false eyelashes, which I didn’t even know about and which ended up being too uncomfortable for her to even wear (which I could have told her before we wasted the money if she’d have asked me - but then again I’m sure that’s why she didn’t). (Welcome to life with a tween. Yay.) I did her up with some red eye shadow and liner, though, and in the end, she did look pretty awesome.

Halloween is the one holiday Mary always wants to spend only with us. Her mom usually doesn’t throw a fuss about letting us keep her every year, but this year she wanted a turn. Mary wasn’t happy about it, but her mom ended up never showing up anyway so it all worked out. It was also a good Halloween for Mary because we invited her best friend to go with us. Last year we found out at the end of the night that her friend never went trick-or-treating and didn’t even dress up because she’d just gotten braces and didn’t see the point. This year, they helped each other get ready and traded with each other at the end of the night so that her friend didn’t end up with a bunch of stuff she couldn’t eat.





The nicest of all the evil fairies.

Big Sister, Little Sister!

Matthew was the deadliest of all dinosaurs on the block. Shopping for him this year was a blast. He flew from one costume on the rack to the next, shouting out in surprise that all of his favorite characters were there. Unfortunately, some of his favorites were like, sixty bucks. WHO PAYS THAT FOR A TODDLER’S COSTUME!? (God, stupid.) But, he saw a really cool triceratops costume that came complete with little dino gloves and a giant headpiece, and he actually ASKED for me to put it on him in the store. Do you know what a stroke of luck it is to not have to wrestle your unwilling two-year-old into a costume in order to try it on before you waste your life savings on it? And did I mention that I just happen to have the most unwilling of all two-year-olds on the planet? Anyway, he tried it on and immediately asked me in his best dinosaur voice if I could buy it “A’cause it is so awesome, Mommy, Daddy! Rawrrrrrr!”

A litte smile for my bro bro

Every year with Matthew is a trillion times better than the year before. His first year he was a cowboy: He immediately took his hat off and the rest of his costume was tucked under a blanket. He cried through the first few houses and was asleep for the rest. His second year was adorable, but he kept retreating back to the stroller and didn’t always want to go to the door. This year was perfect. He ran from door to door, LOVED saying trick-or-treat, and gave a very polite “Thank You! Happy Halloween!” to every single neighbor. He was sociable enough to even strike up conversation with the neighbors about their decorations and costumes, too. And he was more brave than Spencer or I had ever seen him. He kept surprising us. He’s normally such a ridiculous scaredy-cat that he wouldn’t come within a foot of a Care Bear mask, so we worried about how he’d handle some of the houses in our neighborhood that tend to go all out with their decorations - soundtracks, smoke machines, strobe lights, the whole nine yards. But he did great. There wasn’t a single house he refused to go up to… He definitely got freaked out, but when he was scared, he’d just fix his little eyes on the masked person at the door, step very cautiously up to the top of their front steps, then smile nervously and say, “You’re not scary, riiiiight?… You are just a guy. You are just kiddin’ with me, riiiight? Heh, heh, riiiiiight, Mommy? He’s just kiddin.” My God, it was adorable. And whenever someone would call him Cute, he’d snap back at them, “I am not cute! I am an AAAN-GRY dinosaur! Rawwwr!” It couldn’t have been a more perfect Halloween.

Battle of the Dinos!

Oh, it's on, Daddy. It's on.

We took a break halfway through the night to grab some extra layers and to re-hydrate with some juice, but we had so much fun that not only were we the first ones out, we were also the last family off the street! Once we checked all of the candy, we let the kids curl up in our bed with us for the night and fall asleep to Dawn of the Dead.

You know you have a good dad when he wears your Dinosaur

head door to door just to make you smile.