Thursday, July 23, 2009

Tidbits

We went to Cici's Pizza last night for a buffet dinner. For those of you who aren't familiar with the Cici's dining experience, it can only be explained as an affront to Italian epicureans everywhere. The girls loved it. Claire ate approximately 4 pieces of pizza (four!), plus a brownie. Her favorite was the macaroni and cheese pizza. You should have seen the look on her face when she figured out she could have two of her favorite meals put together into one entree. Kate also made several trips to the endless buffet. Not bad considering I didn't have to pay for either of them (children 3 and under ate for free). The girl behind the register might have raised an eyebrow when I told her the children were under 4 years old. Kate's 43" might have something to do with that.

Luke laughed today. Is there anything better than baby giggles? Love.

He is also arching his back so that he almost rolls over to his belly. This I do not love. He needs to stay immobile longer! He almost worked his way out of the bouncy chair the other day, and he is not in the same position when I get him up from his naps. Time to use the seat belt functions on all baby contraptions now. Damn.

Claire has had a cold for the past week that has made her voice hoarse. She sounds like she's been smoking a pack a day since she was born. It's so sad, but so cute.

Kate has told me several times over the past few days that she has "beautiful blonde hair", which she "loves". Vanity starts early in this household.

Also, she told me today that she needs to "follow her heart". I had to ask her to repeat herself, as I wasn't sure I had heard her correctly. She looked at me in all seriousness and said, "like in Cinderella, Mom." Perhaps it's time to lay off the Disney fairytales.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Found: 2 fists, a thumb and even some toes

Erm, that sounds a bit macabre. But this is what I mean:

Look! I have fists! Also, a wedgie. I am now wearing size 9mo, whenever my mom can remember. When she forgets, I just shake my fists at her. Or at the world.

Drooooool. There is a lot of spit around here.



Been a bit busy here. The girls started swim lessons this week. In Summerlin. So that's about a 2-hour event every day for 20 minutes worth of lessons. Not getting much else done around here.

Tim is trying like crazy to get back home. By this I mean that he is done with his work over there in fanistan, but is jumping through flaming hoops to catch the right flights. He's probably stuck in the Italian riviera right now. Love ya, babe!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Sunday, July 12, 2009

How to Lose a Babysitter in 3 Hours

First, make certain that your oldest child has been sporting a fever throughout the afternoon. Give her some Tylenol in hopes that she'll be able to go to bed early and fight off whatever is bugging her. Put the newborn to bed in his crib and smile as he sleeps peacefully. (Sort of facetiously) tell the babysitter that this will either be the easiest night of babysitting ever, or the hardest, if the oldest child were to, you know, get sick or something silly like that. Leave the babysitter upstairs playing with the middle child, and drive to the airport while listening to Pink's new CD.

Once you arrive at the airport and are trying to find the right garage to park in (why are there so MANY of them?), receive a call from the babysitter, who sounds frantic. Listen to her as she says, "Oh my God, Kate just puked everywhere!" Start to fret as you hear the newborn screaming his little lungs out in the background, and wonder to yourself how a 15-year-old is going to handle this situation, when you as a 30-something experienced mother would be extremely stressed out and borderline hysterical. Tell the sitter you will call her back in a few minutes, and pull into a parking spot that you hope is somewhere close to the correct terminal. Shove all the quarters in your possession into the meter, thinking that surely 75 minutes will be long enough to get to the terminal and pick up your 13-year-old niece.

Start walking and dialing, trying to reach your two neighbors on a Saturday night to see if they are available to help. Leave messages when no one answers. Call the babysitter back and hear her telling Kate to run! Find out that Kate is in the processing of vomiting for the third time. Hear the baby continue to cry and try to explain to the sitter that you can't head back home yet because you have to pick up a family member who is flying for the first time, and that her plane is late. Sit at the terminal biting your fingernails, hoping that all is okay at home. Receive a call from one neighbor, who is able to go over and take the baby home with her. Receive another call from the other neighbor who goes over to see if there is anything she can do to help. Talk to the sitter and find out that she has called her older sister who is on the way over.

Stop pacing when you see your niece get off the plane, and tell her that we need to speed walk because there is no time left on the meter and there is chaos at home. Arrive back at the car with one minute remaining on the meter, and start driving. Receive a call from the neighbor who has the baby and find out that Kate is quite sick and lethargic. Try not to stress out more.

Arrive home approximately 35 minutes later to a quiet house. Pay the babysitter almost double what you would normally pay her in hopes that she will actually return your call again some day. Quickly check on Kate and find out that she is super hot. Re-wet the washcloth for her forehead and leave to go get the baby. Spend all night worrying about how high the fever really is, since you can't get an accurate read on the thermometer without removing the washcloth that actually seems to be doing some good. Finally bring the sick child back to bed with you at 5am so you can keep an (asleep) eye on her, and breathe a sigh of relief when her fever finally breaks around 6:30am. Spend the rest of the day utterly exhausted, and finally shower and dress at about 4pm.

Kate seems to be fine now, thank God. She alternated between having a surprising amount of energy and wanting to sleep, and is now resting well. I'm hoping for the best tonight.

P.S. Happy 40th Birthday, Tim! We miss you and love you and hope you at least got to have a near-beer with someone you know over there. I celebrated with a bottle glass of wine.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Maybe

D'ya think this is why the girls were up late tonight?


Claire's favorite part of dessert: frosting. Yeah, yeah. She's my daughter.

Nice pile o' purple icing.

Hey, it's only July 9th

And here are my 4th of July pictures! It's been a full week. Tim had a long weekend to celebrate Independence Day, and we were busy almost the whole time. We invited friends over on Friday night, as they are ready to PCS. The kids swam and swam and ate and swam and lit fireworks and cried and covered their ears. Then they slept.

Saturday was a party at another family's house. The kids were up until 11pm that night...and crabby. Kate tried her first sparkler, and just as I was telling her not to touch the end of it (it had just burned out), she started crying. She had already grabbed it. I did the same thing when I was little, which is why I knew to tell her not to touch it, but I got to her too late. She is fine - just small white burns on three of her fingers.

On Sunday, we went to Max's birthday party at the gymnastics gym (is that redundant?), and they ran and jumped and ate cake. They slept pretty hard that night, too. We took Tim to the airport on Monday morning so he could go to "fanistan", according to Kate. We've been keeping pretty busy since then, so they are holding up fairly well.


Bandages.

Three months old: 25" and 16.5 pounds. WOW. Someone's been eating well.


The kitty is ready for fireworks.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

The Sixth Sense of a Toddler

How is it that a two-year-old can spy a jar full of pens, and choose the one pen that has that special permanent ink? Also, does anyone have a remedy for removing Sharpie from furniture?


Way to go, Claire! She got both cushions. Don't do a half-assed job, I always say.