Tips for Puking Kids

• Garbage bag, over the pillow, under the pillowcase.
  
• Mattress protectors: 10 bucks and half an hour of wrangling the thing on over the mattress, no scent of barf embedded in the mattress forever. Barf smell sucks.
  
• Cover the couch in towels, top with kid, keep a bucket handy.
  
• Lysol.
  
• Backup DVDs or a preschool cable channel is worth it when you're trapped in the house for 2 days.
  
• Have Sierra Mist, chicken soup, saltines and chocolate in the house at all times. (The chocolate is for me.)
  
• Buy a comforter that fits in your washer.
  
• Woolite Oxy Deep carpet cleaner works.
  
• When puked upon, remove clothing and get dressed again before trying to change her sheets. Half-asleep naked moms on Benadryl are not effective linen changers when shivering so hard we can't stand up.
  
• Be thankful you bought the mega-mini-van-jogging stroller so at least you can get out of the house for 20 minutes to walk the dog.
  
• Bake a cake to cover up the smell of puke. Eat the cake.

Sigh. She's recovered, thank goodness. And so far, no one else has caught it. Phew.

Star Bright

I hauled her sister's carseat up the stairs, gave her a hello kiss, and watched her run off again to play on the playground as I went in to the preschool to check her cubbie. In her neighbor's was a glittery star of David, the daily craft. I didn't see Rowan's. On the way home, I asked her about the art projects they'd worked on.

"Did you make a special star today, Rowan? Cool! Where is it?"

"I don't know," she answered, too busy eating her goldfish crackers to consider where it had gone.

"Oh, well. Maybe the glue wasn't dry yet. I'm sure we can get it next time," I said. "So, is it a star of David?"

"Noooo!!!" You could practically hear her rolling her eyes in the back seat.

"Mom, it's a Star of Rowan!!!"


Photo by zeevveez, on flickr.

Let's Dance!

Strike a Pose, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Rowan is loving her dance class, Dancing with Grace with Hannah. Every Tuesday we meet downtown and they fly around like baby birds, galop like ponies, jump over mud puddles, and flip scarves around, to the delight of their parents, watching through the windows (and occasionally sneaking off for a coffee.) The rest of the photos I took of her before we left are mostly blurs--she loves to dance! Check them out here.

Bathtime Grin

Bathtime Grin, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

It's a teeny bit blurry, but I just can't resist that smile. 5 months old.

Best Compliment Ever

I was reading her post this morning, and it kind of touched on something I've been thinking about for a long time. Back when I read this article and then the book, Nurture Shock, it got something percolating in my brain.

Compliments, praise. When are they real? When do they matter? When do they change our behavior? Our perception of ourselves? Our reaction to others?

How can a compliment mean something real to someone I care about? How can my own interaction with them matter more?

I thought about answering her question. I could answer half of it, my favorite compliment ever. But the second half has me stumped.

Do I give to others, the way I hope I do? Does what I say and think matter? Is it just lip service, or does it matter to them? Does what I really feel come across to them in what I say?

I don't know where I am going with this. I don't want to make any crazy vows, or promise to journal my meaningful interactions, or ask you to tell me how I've impacted you. That's not what this is about. But it's got me thinking.

Praise is such an interesting thing. It can mean the world to you, or it can mean the opposite of the intent. The timing can skew it to take on whole new meanings. Tone of voice, what happened earlier in the day, how you're feeling about yourself--anything can color it. It's so rare that the intended meaning is the perceived meaning. And yet, we all really need it. It's important.

I wonder if what I say to my girls will sink in. I hope they will grow to be strong and confident, that they will value themselves the way they deserve. I hope they won't succumb to the feelings that make them believe they are less than they are, because they are so very special. I hope I can be a part of their building up, an example to them of a strong, confident and loving person. I hope that on the days I am impatient or frustrated or downright angry they don't forget how wonderful they are and how much I love them and that it's not their fault. I hope that I am showing them that making a mistake does not make you a bad person. And that pooping in your pull-up may be irritating, but that Mommy still loves you and believes that you will be potty trained some day. I hope that they can see my joy, my pride, my love. I hope they can someday understand how much they have expanded my life.

And yet, the things that stick with them will probably be ones I don't remember doing. Some weird, random thing I say that I didn't even think about. Because we never quite know how what we say will impact someone, do we?

So, my favorite compliment ever. Yeah, you probably wouldn't expect it. It's not from my husband, or from my daughters. Had nothing to do with how I look, music I played or sang, or what kind of person I am. The person who said it likely has no idea that it meant so much to me, but it did.


"If they had a Lefse-Off, you would totally win!"
                                          -Katya Delak

It just struck a chord. The right time, the right frame of mind, an achievement I really cared about. No grand pronouncement, but it really did mean a lot to me. Thanks, Katya. It still makes me smile.

(Note: Lefse is a Norwegian potato flatbread, very popular in the northern plains states of North and South Dakota, Iowa and Minnesota. It's a pain in the wazoo to make, takes a long time [2 days], and makes a real mess of your kitchen. But it is delicious, and I've tweaked my grandmothers' recipes in a way that makes it my own. I've never seen a Lefse-Off, but if I ever do--thanks to Katya--I will enter. And I'll win.)

I’ll Show You Mine, Now You Show Me Yours

She asked, I delivered.  Yep, that's me. In powder blue terry cloth that matched my sister, and the ubiquitous girl mullet. I just wish my dad had scanned in the one with me "thinking about" my sister as  her face floated above my head. (What was up with that anyway? What a weird thing to do.)

Worst part is, there are much more embarrassing photos in the set it's a part of on Flickr. And yeah, with a tiny bit of clicking, you can see those, too.

On the bright side, compared to that? I look pretty darn fabulous now.

So I did it. Now it's your turn. Let's see your awkward photos. And please, link me back so I can find them. On days like today when there are no naps and many, many poopy diapers and wet "big girl panties", I might just need it.

*EDITED to add:



I just had to. Is that not the worst photo ever? The perm! The "wet look" gel! The pattern on my shirt and the pinky ring!

Yep, looking at that photo definitely boosts my self esteem now. Uff da.

Observant

"MOM! I pushed a poop out!!!"

"In the potty?"

"YES!!!"

I ran up the stairs, yelling "HOT DOG!!!" We examined the evidence.

"Is that corn?" she said.

"Yeah. It is. One kernel. Um, good job, honey! Way to go! You earned the right to use the Dora soap, and a jumbo marshmallow! I'm so proud of you!"

Yes, one corn kernel. But she pushed it out, by herself, without prompting. At this rate, she'll have a whole bag of marshmallows for a real turd. But hey, whatever it takes! (She will get it, someday, right? Please? We've been potty training for 10 months, for one stinkin' corn kernel. I'm starting to lose hope.)

Fun at the Farm

Joy, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Rowan's first field trip was last week, at a classmate's grandparent's farm, tucked along Spring Creek. Though our first day was rained out, we were able to go on Wednesday. The kids had a blast feeding the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig (had to be 2 or 3 pots in there, if you ask me), chasing the free ranging chickens, going on a nature walk, and listening to a story next to the creek. But the best part of the day, apparently, was this--our best efforts to distract the kids from walking into the creek was to get them running in circles around a tree through the crunchy fall leaves. You've got to love the 3-year-olds' ideas of a good time! Next week we head to the pumpkin patch down the road.

Today, the girls and I joined our neighbor and his kids at the Penn State Great Insect Fair. We saw live cockroaches, beetles, walking sticks, bees and butterflies, and Rowan and I even sampled some cricket candy. (It wasn't very good, and I'm pretty sure it's still stuck in my throat.) We came home with a butterfly larva (I think?) in a little container. It will be fun to watch it change and grow.

Well, if I don't manage to accidentally kill it, of course.

This smile

My pretty baby, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

makes those two days of no naps and Clingy McClingsalot totally worth it.

Mom cliché: I cut off all my hair.

And I LUUUUURRRRVVVEE it.

Pink=Girl. DUH.

Day One:

Pink flowered summer one-piece outfit, with ruffles.
Pink socks.
Pink flowered shoes.
Pink pacifier with pink floral ribbon clip.
Denim bib. (I guess this is my mistake.)

"What's your brother's name?"

Day Two:

Black, white, TWO shades of pink and red flowered top with a bow.
Light and dark pink striped pants.
Two-toned pink socks.
Pink pacifier with pink floral ribbon clip.
Pink mary-jane shoes WITH pink flowers.

"This little fellow is really wide awake!"

ARGH.

If it happens again, I think I'm going to have to write, "I may not have hair*, but I have a vagina!" on her head. In Sharpie. PINK Sharpie. With glitter.





*Her sister also didn't have hair at this age. In fact, she didn't have hair until she was at least a year. She's now three, and it hasn't even hit her shoulders yet. I'm working with what I'm given, people. Give me a break!


Hilarious photo by gregoirevdb on flickr. Thank you!!!

My love, my love

My love, my love, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Preschool!

First day of preschool at the JCC, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Today was Rowan's first day. I went up to wake her up after another night in the igloo, and though she was groggy and confused, she hurried to get ready and ate her breakfast without dawdling. The first day of school was too exciting to wait. We brought her in, and she immediately began walking one of the school babies around the room in the shopping cart. We begged for a kiss and hug goodbye as we tucked her things in her cubby. She squeezed me around the neck, but her eyes were already searching for the next new toy to play with. She was ready for school.

I dropped her dad at work and headed to Target and Wegman's. Nursing Anya in the parking lot without a toddler climbing over the seats was peaceful. At Target, I was able to browse and no one raided my purse for snacks 8 times. At Wegman's, I actually got everything we needed and nobody sat on the bread. I thought I was golden, but somehow got in the lane of the slowest, most talkative (though quiet so you couldn't hear her anyway) and worst packing grocery checker in the history of the world. After reshuffling everything in the car, I zoomed back downtown to pick her up, only 4 minutes late.

She seemed glad to see me, but wouldn't have been upset had I not shown up until 3. She was in her element, eating crackers with her new buddy Sophie, a girl who's "nice and she has a pink dress like I like". On the way home, though, she decided to reassert herself, and announced that the fruit pops in the trunk that we were racing home to get in the freezer before they melted would be her dessert after lunch. "No, they're for snack after naps," I said. A tantrum ensued, and she cried for a good 45 minutes before finally accepting that Mom was not going to give up. She ate her lunch, played for a few minutes, and then threw a feeble protest before being hauled halfway up the stairs for naps. At that point, she agreed to walk herself, and climbed up and into her bed. We argued again about the curtains, and soon she was calling me back, begging for a hug. We had a talk, hugged and she climbed back up to nap for real this time.

During her nap, I went to load the photos from my camera of Rowan and her new teachers, and I found my punishment. She'd chewed the end of the cord that hooks the camera to the computer, beyond repair.

But this time, the talk must have worked. When confronted, she immediately apologized.

And then, she got her fruit pop.

What you need to sleep in an igloo

Book Igloo: one of 2 tents she got for her birthday., originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

I set up her igloo tent in her room, a cozy spot to read a book and play with her puppets. Of course, she insisted she must sleep in it. Comfort? Who needs comfort? (Besides her mom--but I am admittedly pretty old and decrepit.)

At my own bedtime, I go to check up on her and find her snuggled up with her pillow and security blanket, her dolls Harley and Mimi tucked in next to her (with their own blanket), and of course the necessities. A cell phone, brown flats with pink velvet bows and a pair of pink, fur-lined snow boots.

The next morning, I asked her what the boots and phone were for. "In case someone needed rescuing, Mom!" Of course. She plans ahead pretty well for a 3 year old.

"And, my igloo didn't melt, either."

Phew!

Grandpa Ron meets Anya

Grandpa Ron meets Anya, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

My dad and Pam came to visit us last weekend. They stayed for 5 days and we had a ball. Hanging out at the pool, Spikes game, bowling, and lots of eating--we were tired when they left. But it was a really fun visit.

In this economy, having a job is a very good thing, and having a good job you like in a great town full of wonderful friends is a fantastic thing. But even so, I wish we were closer to home.

Maybe we could just erase Ohio, Illinois and Indiana? Or perhaps one of those Chunnel things under the Great Lakes? (OK, maybe not. Just the thought of that kind of terrifies me.)

Now we're saving our pennies again. We'll need a lot of them. Plans are in the works for a trip back to North Dakota for Christmas. (Yes, we know what the weather's like there that time of year. We can handle it.)

What Will I Be?

During the nightly tuck-in:

"Mommy, why you are tucking me in?"

"Because I love tucking you in."

"When I'm a big girl, what will I do?"

"I'll tuck you in, as long as you want. And when you don't want me to tuck you in, I won't, but after you fall asleep I'll sneak in and give you a kiss anyway."

"Mommy, when I'm a big girl, what will I be?"

"What do you want to be?"

"Five?"

"OK, you can be five."

Sun, here are your orders.

On the way home from Wegman's, Wednesday, 4:30 PM.

Her window cling sun shade proves too tempting and she begins peeling it off. Of course, then she can't get it back on. "Mommy! Mommy! I need help! My shade is falling!"

"I can't help you now. I'm driving. You'll have to wait until we get home."

The sun shines in the window and hits her face. Arms raised, she gives it the what-for.

"ENOUGH with the shining!"

(I burst out laughing. Then she did, too.)

"Mom!!! She SMILED at me!!!"

They'll have so much fun together., originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

She still checks on her first thing in the morning, before saying hello to us. As I sit checking facebook at night, I hear her get out of bed, and watch as the video monitor goes all wonky when she leans over Anya's bassinet for one last look.

"Rowan!!! Get OFF her!!!" I must yell that fifty times a day. Yesterday, she even knocked the bouncy chair backwards by leaning over it. Anya was squalling like a cat in a rain barrel. "I was just giving her some love!!!" I know, I know. "Honey, just love her a bit more gently, OK?"

She loves her sister. And now she's starting to see: her sister loves her, too.

Swinging

Just a swingin'..., originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

It's been a hot summer. Where the usual weather for our town is pleasant and in the 70's for all but one week of summer, with plenty of rain to make the long mountain a lush, green-carpeted hill to the west, this year we've seen 90's nearly every week, and lots of humidity, though little rain. The grass is brown and patchy, prickling your feet when you run through it, and the new rain boots sit waiting for some action. Trips to the park are frequent, but short. The heat just gets to you, sending you home on the hunt for lemonade and a nap.

Rowan's reaching the point where her naps are getting in the way. Though many of her friends no longer take them, she still will go down for two or three hours in the afternoon. Where a few months ago she could still fall asleep at 8:30 and stay in bed for 12 hours, now she is having more and more trouble falling asleep at night. We're hearing about "Monsters" in her room, and even the elaborate ritual of curtain cracking, night light illuminating, "Jesus Loves Me" music box winding, "Monster Spray" spritzing, and prayer saying isn't cutting it. When her dad was out of town, it got even worse. Tuesday night, she finally succumbed to sleep at 11:45 PM, on a little bed she made for herself directly under the overhead light in the hallway. I woke her gently 15 minutes later, leading her into my room to sleep on her dad's side of our big bed, where no monsters could get her. "Thanks, Mommy," she said, falling asleep again as she bent to pick up her lovey or doudou, a security blanket known as "Cover Blanket". Face down, bum high in the air, she snored into the carpet until I lifted her under her arms and led her into the bedroom.

When he came home, her dad was able to help, laying down with her at 8:30, snuggled between the bears, Groovy Girls, babies, stuffed monster toys ("But they're nice monsters, Mommy!"), a red Chevy Impala and the porcelain music box she likes to sleep with on her pillow, close to her ear. We're glad we've got a double bed in her room, for nights like this.

As I type this, she's gone up for an afternoon snooze, sweaty and sticky with sunscreen. I'll wake her this time, after an hour or so. With a kiss.

What she doesn't like about Jesus

Conversation with Rowan as we walked the dog, Saturday evening.

"So, you're going to go to Bible school next week!"

"What will I do there?"

"Hear stories, do crafts, play games, sing songs..."

"What else?"

"Learn about Jesus! He's a pretty awesome guy, right?"

"Yeah," she says. "But I don't like his hair!"