Showing posts with label big girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label big girl. Show all posts
Never fear.... I'm still alive!
Bet you thought you'd lost me, eh? It ain't that easy, friends. Fact is that I've been busy and moody and playing angry birds and you probably wouldn't have wanted to hear all the bitching that's gone on in my head anyway (damn birds). So here's a recap of the last few months in no particular order....
The babes are three
My precious little bundles of joy (and sometimes piss and vinegar) turned three on October 27th. We had a party for them at the place where we take circus classes. We flew on the trapeze, ate cupcakes, partook in general merriment. And just like that - they're not babies in the least. Quite honestly, they seem like they're going on five. Or sixteen. And all that dread I had of three? Somehow it seems easier than two so far. Maybe I'm delusional or hard is about to smack me in the face really, really soundly, but I'm liking three. Belly and Bug seem to be more imaginative, understand right from wrong better (even if they're still doing what they know is "wrong"), play together in a way that is more engaged than before... I don't know. Everything is just amped up a little in a good way. AND.........
Diapers be damned!
About five days before their birthday, I said a crappy thing to my girls. Well, it had the potential to backfire in my face and I said it without thinking and fortunately for me, it all worked out marvelously. I said in a very exasperated tone, "You know... only babies and two year olds wear diapers. Three year olds wear panties." They looked at each other. My mind raced - what if they simply were not ready to give up diaps? Or what if only one of them was? Would the other feel inferior? Did I just plant the seed of a lifetime of not being as quick as the other to grasp things? Fuck me. But then Belly repeated to Bug, "Only babies and two-year-olds wear diapers. Three-year-olds wear panties." And Bug said, "We're almost three." I asked if they wanted to practice wearing panties all afternoon. They said yes. And my darlings, that was the end of diapers (except at nap and bedtime). It has been wonderful. Except for one thing - they've taken to mostly pooping during naptime, which means I'm still changing at least one poopy diaper every day. I've been trying to figure out how to change their poop schedule so they'll poop in the toilet. Prunes before bed? I don't know. Anyone have suggestions?
Goth girls
I told the girls they could be whatever they wanted for Halloween. They were "skeleton faeries." They were soooooo goth and scary to other kids their age. I thought the whole thing was hilarious and felt quite proud that my girls stepped outside the princess box.
Some funny snippets
My girls have been saying and doing soooo many funny things lately. Today, for example, Buggy called me "little lady." I asked her where that came from and she said, "Well, you're little and you're a lady." Or when we were talking about Santa coming and I reminded them that he brings presents, throwing in that last year they thought I said "pretzels" and they got both presents and pretzels; Belly said this year she'd like cheese puffs. Buggy would like a trampoline for her dolls. There are a zillion other examples I'm not thinking of at this late hour, but trust me, they are high-larious kids!
I'm feeling more me
This is probably the real reason I haven't been a good little blogger the last however many months. I haven't been terribly happy. I haven't felt like me in a lot of ways. I sorta hit the bottom of that unhappiness and decided it needed to change or I was going to lose my mind. This is not a fun thing to write about but I feel I should because the purpose of this blog is to be my outlet for my thoughts. And I don't want to paint a picture that life is always rosy if it's not. Having kids takes a toll on a woman, mentally and emotionally. It's hard to stay home with them and not have as much mental stimulation as I once did. Sometimes it's hard to feel like more than roommates with your husband when we don't have time to invest in our relationship. It's a little tricky when my family and my husband and my close friends read this blog, though, because I don't want to share everything with everyone all the time. Some things I need to work out for myself. And this has been one of those things. I started going to a therapist in September and he's been wildly helpful to me. Dude has come with me a few times, as well, and is a fan. So.... things are improving. I'm feeling more like me. That's a good thing. And that's it.
More posts coming sooner than later. Promise. Cross my heart and all that stuff.
The talk
I am the child of hippies. And as such, I grew up with a working knowledge of all kinds of things that straighter parents didn't pass on to their kids. Oh I'm sure that Dude's parents explained the physical differences between boys and girls to him at a very young age, but was he privy to a book that explained the differences and showed nude photographic examples of boys and men/girls and women at varying ages? I'm guessing no. Of course, I also thought smoking pot was no different than smoking cigarettes - just something that some adults do. And I'd seen those special cigarettes rolled and felt confident that I could successfully roll one should the opportunity arise. No biggie. It was all cool. Groovy even. But let's get back to the naked thing. I've always thought that I'd be a pro at explaining these sorts of things to my girls. Yesterday, I got my first crack at it.
I've mentioned casually to Belly and the Bug on several occasions that boys and girls are anatomically different. They didn't seem to express any interest in the subject, so it was left at that. But lately? Buggy is veeeerrrrrrrrrry interested in the fact that her daddy has a little something extra going on that's different from what she's got. And since the three of them take a shower together every night, I decided it was time to sit down and have a formal conversation about it.
I set up the bowl of tortilla chips and the juice and invited the girls to sit with me. I asked if anyone wanted to have a talk. Belly's eyes lit up and she said, "YES, Mama!" Buggy said, "Sure! Do you want to talk about Sesame Street?" I suggested that we talk about how boys and girls have different body parts. Buggy gave me a total "whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis" look and Belly crammed about forty chips in her mouth. And so began their first "talk" about this sort of thing. They listened intently (amidst the chip crunching) and interjected thoughts here and there. I felt like it went as well as can be expected when having this discussion with two nearly-three-year-olds.
When all was said and done, I asked, "Any questions?"
Belly: "What letter does penis start with?"
Me: "Penis? It starts with a pa-pa-pa sound. What letter makes that sound?"
Belly: "P."
Me: "That's right."
Buggy: "Okaaaaay. But then, what does hippopotamus start with?"
Yes. Those questions instilled the confidence that I explained things perfectly. They clearly understood and processed their new knowledge immediately. I anticipate that this immediate changing of the subject will be par for the course when we have conversations such as these over the years. Ugh. And there will be so many. I'm dreading the teen years so fiercely already. Assuming we all make it through three....
I drive a Delorean
Not really, but can I blame my flakiness on time travel? That seems like it would be a good excuse. Better, at least, than I'm freaking lazy and tired and uninspired. Sooooo.... yeah. Hi. Here I am.
What's gone down in the last month? Well. Tons, natch. We went to Wisconsin to visit Dude's family at their cottage way up nort der hey. The girls got their fill of cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles. Dude was, as always, the returning hero. I smiled a lot. I also took a little mini Rachael vacay of my own in the middle of that trip and trucked down to Milwaukee to visit some friends. Woot! I loved every second of it, although I admit to feeling slightly past-my-prime as I walked around the old college neighborhood and realized that it's still filled with college-age babies. There was even a raging party in my former apartment (the building remains so inappropriately named The Chateau) that I considered crashing. Oh, but then I remembered that everyone would think I was someone's mom and nixed that idea pretty quickly.
Belly and Buggy have aged about five years in the last month. Belly literally informs me daily that she's going to be seven on her next birthday. Their linguistic skills have gone crazy bananas. They form complex sentences that incorporate deep thoughts and spot-on slang. They're funny people! They're also punks. Both girls are extremely polite as they say "no thank you" when I tell them to "pick up your mess/eat your lunch/leave your sister alone/come wash your hands/etc." Good times.
Not so good times: Sissy joined up with the AmeriCorps VISTA program and moved to Bozeman, MT. Um, can I tell you how much this sucks? Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much. Truly! I have no sisters left in Portland now. It's weird. I don't like it.
Good times light at the end of the tunnel: We've had two naked afternoons wherein the girls informed me each and every time they needed to go to the bathroom and they used that potty like the throne it is. I found it incredibly nerve wracking when they sat on the couch, but they showed excellent understanding of that "I gotta go" feeling and no accidents occurred. Of course, they both pooped as soon as I put diapers back on them. But I'm happy with some baby steps on the potty training front 'cause it was looking grim for awhile.
I know I'm missing a zillion and three other highlights of the past month, but in an effort to hit "publish post," I'm ending this now. Before I go, though, I'd like to say that I so appreciate your continued interest in my lately-non-existent little blog here. My site meter numbers remain consistent, even though I'm the slackiest slacker this side of the Mississippi (maybe even both sides). That means that you peeps keep checking to see if I've posted. Awwww. Thanks. It warms the heart. I'll try to keep my Delorean in the garage for awhile so that I can write.
xoxo, R.
Seeing this one through to completion
I have four draft posts that have not been completed since the last time I wrote on here. Ugh. All of them are outdated and so here I am starting number five. I will complete and post this tonight. I'm hell-bent.
First of all, I can't believe that it's freaking May 4th. Hello? Where is this year going? Spring has rocked around here - until the last week or so. We've had beautiful weather. The flowers have exploded around my house. I've spent time barefoot outside. Sundresses have made their way into my clothing repertoire. And then... we've had cooler than normal weather and knee socks are making a comeback on my lower extremities. I'd like to register a strong "WTF?!" with whomever is handling this ridiculousness. Stop it and give me back my warm, sunny days.
Second, my children are growing up. They're officially two and a half. They're in the middle of a big "out" growth spurt. They're using pronouns correctly. They're speaking in complete sentences. Just today I had a lengthy conversation with the Bug about President Obama. She informed me that he's a good man and she loves him. Belly then chimed in that he's awesome. What politically astute little peeps! But they're still not showing a strong interest in the potty. Several times a day, the toilet sees some pee action from them, but the buck stops at poop. WHY? I've been going along and not pressuring them while promising M&Ms to anyone who wants to do their number two business on the toilet, but my patience is growing thin. I'm so tired of diapers. Today, I changed five poopy diapers between the two of them, one of which was a blowout (you non-kid-having readers should know that this is not a reference to getting your hair did but rather to a diaper that leaks). The reason for this is that my mother-in-law was here cooking for the girls and Dude this past weekend. Friday night they went out for Chinese; Saturday night she made Meat Dish Supreme; Sunday night was Country Captain Chicken. As entertaining as it might be to go into the details of these dishes, I'm not going to. Let's just say that they have wreaked some gastro-intestinal havoc upon my babies.
And why was Mimi here? Because I was not! That's right - I had a vacation all by myself! Friday morning, I flew to Denver to visit one of my best girlfriends in the whole wide world and didn't come home until Sunday night. Lord knows I needed a vacation, but I thought that I would be a little more lonesome for my family while I was gone. I called home twice a day and the girls would say, "Mommy, come home!" That certainly gave me some pangs of homesickness, but they generally subsided after I hung up and picked up my wine glass again. Oh I had so much fun. I drank plenty, I was goofy, I made French food (actually took a French cooking lesson in which we prepared Boeuf Bourguignon and mousse au chocolat), I laid out in the yard, I slept uninterrupted, I didn't structure my day around nap time, I didn't change any diapers. I was free! I was Rachael! Let me be clear that I overflowed with love for my girls when I came home and snuggled them to sleep, but I would've happily stayed away a few more days. The break was very, very much needed. And I fully intend to do it again when I can.
I think that about brings us up to speed on the bigger things going on here at Chez Belly-Buggy. Except can I say that even with only five people remaining on American Idol, I'm already getting giddy with anticipation for the next season of So You Think You Can Dance? Because I really do think I can dance, just not like that.
1 one-year-old + 1 one-year-old = 2 two-year-olds
Today is the last day my girls are one. The last day I could say "23 months." Tomorrow they will be two and I well up every time I think about it. I just can't believe that those teeny, tiny babies - the smallest babies I'd ever seen - are KIDS. There's no denying it, either. They can say their full names, as well as mine and Dude's. They are working on counting and the alphabet. They are, quite simply, pretty cool little people and while I miss their babyhood something fierce, I am dazzled by their toddlerness (look at me making up words as I go - wheeee!). I thought about writing this post as a letter to them, but I think it's more than I can handle right now. I'd end up blubbering all over the keyboard and I just can't go there tonight. Instead, I give you a list of some of the things that I think make my girls two of the most awesome people I know.
- The Bug can name most of the bridges in Portland (of which there are many).
- Belly uses "please" like a regular Miss Manners.
- Buggy loves to tease, saying the wrong names for things and then looking at you out of the corner of her eye with a big grin on her face to see if you caught her tricking you.
- Belly has this tremendous laugh that seems to originate in her toes and fill her whole body before erupting out of her mouth.
- Buggy is an awesome athlete. She runs and jumps and can throw a ball really well and does somersaults - all with definitive grace (this is most assuredly a recessive gene coming through because neither Dude nor I are especially athletic).
- Belly is something of a harmonica virtuoso.
- Buggy asks me to cook "yummy fish" and "green-chini" (zucchini).
- Belly likes to say "good LAAAWWWWD!" (lord) and "holy mackwo!" (mackerel).
- Buggy nurses her Pooh about eight times a day.
- Belly loves to fall asleep holding my hand and with her face pressed up against mine.
- Buggy says "Mamamamamamamamamama!" And when I say, "WHAT?!" She says, "Love loooooooo!"
- Belly doles out kisses like you wouldn't believe - dozens daily!
We had a birthday party for them on Saturday and it was gobs of fun. It was a costume party with even the parents dressing up. Our family costume was "a little bit country, a little bit rock 'n roll." Belly and I were the rockers and the Bug and Dude were country. Check it...
I asked Belly if she could make horns with her fingers like I was and she looked at me quizzically for a few seconds, then promptly made the "pickle" symbol (you know - give me five; up high; down low; cut the pickle; tickle! tickle!). That cracked me up SO hard.
Sadly, I didn't get a lot of pictures of the party - which I've noticed is a recurring problem when I'm the hostess. I have GOT to fix that. But here are the banners that I made...
And the girls about to blow out their candles...
Those are carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. I also made five pizzas, a fruit plate, a crudite platter with homemade green goddess dressing and a bourbon-bacon-pecan pie. It was all quite delish if I do say so myself!
Oh jeesh. I hope I make it through tomorrow without too many tears. I really am looking forward to all that the next year holds - especially potty training - but I can't help but feel teary about those little babies growing up so mother trucking fast. Hug your kids, people. Just go love them up because this is the youngest they will ever be again.
Another hodgepodge of schtuff
Rocky Raccoon
Remember him? Some of you do and have asked me what happened to him. Did I get a trapping permit and, ultimately, a coon-skin cap? Did I hire someone to euthanize him using Craigslist? Did I go out there with some chunk pineapple and a spear and handle the situation myself? As fun as any of those stories would be, the answer to all of the above is no. We stopped leaving the kiddie pool filled at night and we never saw him again. But I have a can of pineapple in the cupboard just in case he comes back.
ACK! THE BIRDS!! THE BARRETTES!!
Poor Belly has developed two seriously ridiculous and unfounded fears - crows and hair accessories. I'll start with the hair stuff since it's a shorter story. That girl LOVES brushing her hair and having her hair brushed but don't even think about trying to put a barrette or a ponytail in there. She will react much the same as she does at the doctor when she's getting a shot. Except now that she can use words, if she sees me with a barrette in my hand, she runs screaming, "HURT!" I'd like to state for the record that I've never hurt that child with a barrette.
As for the birds, we have a lot of 'em around here. Belly's still only one and isn't savvy to all the different kinds, but she knows "crows." This is the word that she uses to not only identify big, black birds but also these big, blue-and-black birds that make an incredibly loud cawing sort of noise. And she is terrified of them. I was reminded of this this afternoon when we were at the park. She went from galloping across the grass with a big smile on her face to a sprinting-screaming combination when she passed under a tree and one of those birds called out. I scooped her up and she buried her face in my neck, pulling my hair over her head. One evening a few weeks ago, we had dinner on the back deck and were just wrapping things up. Dude was putting dishes in the sink. I was letting the Bug out of her high chair. Belly was waiting to get out, too. All of a sudden, one of those birds landed on a branch about six feet above Belly's head and cawed. Belly's arms and legs shot straight out; she clenched her eyes shut as tightly as possible; and she S-C-R-E-A-M-E-D. I couldn't get her out of her seat fast enough to properly comfort her, so I picked her up - still strapped in the chair - and carried her a little closer to the house. Picture her booster-seat-style high chair strapped to a big wooden kitchen chair and the whole contraption strapped to that little darling like a turtle shell while I hugged her. I have no clue why she is so afraid of those birds but that fear is very, very real.
Potty Training
The Bug informed me the other day that she had to poop. I took a peek inside the diap and it was, indeed, empty. I quickly ran and snatched up Belly from where she stood coloring at her easel, fumbled to get the gate off the stairs, hoisted both girls into my arms and stumbled upstairs to the bathroom - only to find that Buggy had just finished filling her diaper. Sigh. I took off the diaper, cleaned her up, and perched her on top of the toilet so she could get a sense of how it felt up there on the throne. I heaped praise on her for telling me that she had to go before she did the deed, but reiterated that she then needed to hold it until we got to the toilet. I think we're close. And I think the moral of the story is that I need to get a potty seat for downstairs.
Rut
I'm in a little bit of a cooking rut. Any suggestions that won't destroy my calorie counting ways?
Projecting the wrong image?
So Dude read my blog. I guess he does this from time to time? I had no idea. He told me the post I wrote just before he came back from Boston was especially interesting for two reasons: 1) I bought shoes and didn't tell him (to which I responded, "Then you also know that I only paid $17 for them and you need to take me out so I have a reason to wear them."); and 2) He thought I came off as a little bit of a prima donna (not his words - but I can't recall his exact words) because I mentioned Nanni and the cleaning ladies. This stressed me out a little bit. I want to be sure I'm clear about a couple things: I know that I am very, very lucky to not have to work right now so I can stay home with the girls. I know that I am very, very lucky to have a cleaning lady come every other week for two hours to wash my floors and bathrooms. I know that I am very, very lucky that I get an afternoon reprieve once a week thanks to Nanni's services. I do not take any of this for granted. And I hope that I don't come off as some sort of entitled bitch who complains about my kids being difficult when I live a pampered life. I know I'm lucky. But I don't think spending $1500/year on housecleaning is some sort of wild extravagance when we're not suffering to pay for it. We eat out only once a week. Buffalo Exchange and Target are the two stores from which I buy most of my clothes. I'm not knocking back hundred-dolla bottles of wine and eating white truffles like candy around here, ya know? You DO know, right? [Insert your "yes" here.] Oh good. I'll shut up now.
Oktoberfest!
Remember how I was so adamant just last week about that Laurelwood beer being my favorite? Well, I forgot about the molasses-goodness of Paulaner Oktoberfest. It is dang tasty! Last night, Dude, the girls, me, Bri and her boyfriend all went to the Rheinlander for their Oktoberfest celebration. See - Dude is German. Or rather, he's of German descent but don't tell him that. He's GERMAN as far as he's concerned and most people that know him know that fact. He loves German food, beer, beer-swigging songs, people, the language, The Sound of Music, knows tons of German history, etc. It's hard to believe that he's never actually been to Germany (except when we had a layover one time at the Frankfurt airport for a few hours), but that's our next anticipated big international trip. My whole point is this: Oktoberfest is a big effing deal in our household. Now back to last night...
We feasted on fondue with bier sausage and dark rye bread then we had two kinds of schnitzel (weiner being my personal fav) and Bri and her fella both had German meatballs. And apple strudel. And delicious, delicious beer. I had both Warsteiner and Paulaner Oktoberfest beers, but the Paulaner is consistently the best year after year. I strongly encourage you to seek it out and imbibe. And maybe stop by my house so you have a drinking buddy? I can probably get Dude to sing us some German songs while we knock it back...
Rheinlander had a room that was designated as the Kids' Pavilion for the festivities and they had organic sno-cones (we weren't sure what Oktoberfest tradition these were upholding), face painting and a crazy, crazy balloon guy. He had this running commentary on everything happening around him and his quasi-screechy voice became grating after a very short period of time. BUT he made awesome balloons and the girls were intrigued. He made them both punch-ball balloons. I asked Belly if she liked it and she hugged it VERY tightly and said, "LIKE IT! LIKE IT!" She kept randomly saying "Like it, like it" throughout the rest of the night. It was very cute.
Today was filled with lots of balloon tossing, chasing, squeezing and biting. Belly loves the squeaky sound of her teeth on the balloon. I know this will end badly and I keep warning her, but so far there have been no pops.
The girls are expanding their verbal skills at an incredible rate. It's awesome! We're not quite at complete sentences, but very close. They are using words to express their likes, dislikes, demands and desires. Tonight when I told Buggy that I was about to make dinner, she said, "Mommy. Dinner. Yummy fish." I said I was going to make something different. She said, "No. Yummy fish." So "yummy fish" made its way onto the menu this evening. Who knew that I'd be taking dinner requests from a one-year-old? But so long as it's not crap food, why not?
P.S. Happy birthday, Bri!
Season 4, Episode 71
Last night was our monthly Family Game Night with the three of my sibs who live in Portland and might I say, it was one of the best yet! We ordered pizza from Hammy's on Clinton Street and it was awfully good. One was a regular pizza but the other was called "King Earl's Deliverance" with pancetta, sausage, bacon and extra cheese. My GAWD that was good pie. I probably should've washed it down with twelve fish oil capsules and a cup of flax seed powder to counteract its effect on my cholesterol, though.
Have I talked about my cholesterol on here yet? I don't think so. It's elevated. I'm trying to get it down. It's genetic. It's lame. Enough said.
In addition to the pizza, we had planned to pop a bottle of 1983 Bordeaux that I've been carting around for at least a decade. Dan was born in 1983 and this was the first we'd hung out since his birthday a couple weeks ago. This particular bottle of wine was given to me at a wine tasting when I worked at Spago in LA. When I showed it to the sommelier at the time, he told me that it was either going to age very well and be delicious or end up being pretty mediocre - a total crapshoot. I have moved that bottle from Los Angeles to Washington DC to Portland, taking great care to ensure it stayed horizontal. And last night when I took it out of its special box and ceremoniously took off the bubble wrap, it was apparent to all that the bottle's seal had loosened at some point and the wine had leaked a little. Uh-oh. I took off the foil; it crumbled. I pushed the corkscrew into the cork; it was soft like butter. I took a whiff of the wine; it smelled like moldy vinegar. Talk about a disappointment! We cracked open some beers and some other bottles of red wine and let bygones be bygones. Clink! Clink! Let the games begin.
Dude took the girls up for a shower while the rest of us started playing a card game. All of a sudden there was terrible screaming - the kind of screaming a mother never wants to hear. I knew instantly it was the Bug and I ran upstairs as fast as physically possible. I threw open the bathroom door and there was Dude holding both Belly and the Bug. Buggy had her face pressed into Dude's arm. There was a steady stream of dark red blood running from her face down his arm. She had slipped on her way out of the tub and apparently bit her tongue. She was hysterical and wouldn't let us look in her mouth. The amount of blood was truly alarming. I feared the worst, of course - half of her tongue was going to be dangling in her mouth and we were going to have to take her to the emergency room to get it reattached. In my head, I told myself to get it the fuck together because I needed to be strong for my kid. I finally got Buggy to calm down and we looked in her mouth. Everything was attached, but she had a nice gauge from one of her canines. And she had stopped bleeding at that point. It was clear she didn't even need stitches, but what an effing freak out!
Tucking them into bed after that was pretty uneventful. I kissed each of them and said goodnight. As I walked out of their room, I said, "Goodnight, everybody. I love you." And that's when it happened. The Bug said in response, "Lub lu." I froze.
"I love you, Buggy."
"Lub lu."
"I love you, Belly."
"Luv Oo."
They told me they love me!!! THEY TOLD ME THEY LOVE ME! It was amazing. I totally welled up as my heart overflowed a thousand times over. In the span of 20 minutes, I'd had two such opposite extremes of maternal emotion. I headed downstairs and poured myself a biiiiiiiiiiig glass of wine. To quote one of my favorite moments from The West Wing: "Game on, boyfriend." It was time to kick my family's collective ass at cards. I was PUMPED.
Are we about to enter the foreign land of...potty training??
I have fantasies about the girls using the potty. I have changed approximately 9,735,862,147 diapers and I am OVER IT. [I should mention that I think Belly is pooping as I type this. Damn it.] I yearn for the day when both girls will just inform me that they are heading to the bathroom and I can simply go in and wipe butts when they're done. That sounds as glorious to me right now as the thought of having a massage (which, if you know me, is ALWAYS my idea of a good time).
Anyway, a strange phenomenon has been taking place the last few nights with regards to the Bug's diaper. She's been waking up in the morning and that sucker is still dry. And then about 10 minutes later, it is a giant water balloon. This means that - hello, my little glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel - I could potentially place her on the toilet in the morning and she could use IT instead of her diaper. We'll see what the sitch is tomorrow morning. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
...fast forward 10 hours from when I started this post...
So, tonight I went to Happy Hour and then some with Sissy and her roommate. SO much fun. Good company. Good booze (grapefruit margaritas). And rather importantly, good food. I ordered the Duck Salad sandwich and was informed that they didn't have it but had the PBLT in its place. I know, I know - you're thinking Peanut Butter, Lettuce, Tomato? GROSS! And yes, that would be quite foul. However, that is NOT what the PB stands for. No no, my friends, it stands for Pork Belly. To which I say decidedly YUM!! As in, holy effing YUM. As in, I wish I had Anthony Bourdain's phone number to tell him YUM. I even told the cook (I'm not sure he was a chef?) that it was fantastic. And I should also mention that this place is 10 blocks from my house. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. The very, very best kind of trouble. Trouble with a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" (do ya know what that's from?)...
If you're reading this, thanks Sissy for taking me out and showing me a great new place! Now. If I can potty train my kids tomorrow, the sun will certainly be shining a little brighter. And hopefully that won't be a problem for my grapefruit margarita-saturated brain.
I'm off to watch the SYTYCD finale. God I love that show.
Kickin' ass and taking names
Yup. Belly is at it again. This morning was her Early Intervention evaluation and she totally, freakin' rocked it. The evaluation consisted of a teacher and an occupational therapist (both women in their 50s who immediately garnered the trust and interest of my girls) asking Dude and me questions about Belly and having Belly perform a bunch of different tasks - coloring, talking, knowing the difference between "mine" and "yours"/"in" and "on"/etc., sorting shapes, throwing a ball. You get the picture. She was so awesome. She pretty much got everything right on the first try. The teacher was asking me questions above her appropriate age/skill level so that she could establish the ceiling of where Belly's skills are and she even had mastered some of those skills. For example, the teacher asked if she could say how old she is. I answered no - that's something we're working on, but the girls always say "two." I then asked Belly, "How old are you?" And she said - clearly and decisively - "ONE." Needless to say - and yes, I'm totally bragging here - everyone in the room was impressed.
The evaluators said they would send a formal report, but Belly does not qualify for Early Intervention services because no need could be established. They showed us her scores in the five areas of evaluation and she was either in the middle or at the high end of average for her age range. And that's non-adjusted, thankyouverymuch.
What. A. Relief.
Scattershot
I haven't blogged in a few days, so there is much to write about. Here it is in no particular order...
Belly had her evaluation this morning. She's basically a baby-kid rockstar. The developmental specialist, the physical therapist and the audiologist all confirmed that there's nothing wrong with her - she's just a late walker (most likely the result of being preemie). The relief I felt this morning was MORE than palpable. We are going to get, however, an Early Intervention eval. The physical therapist suggested that Belly's fine motor skills might benefit from some occupational therapy - you know, to help her catch up faster. Sure! Sign us up! Sounds good to me! I want my girl to have every advantage.
Next...
Who knew when I decided that we must paint the gawd-awful red dining room and the gawd-awful royal blue girls' room at the new house before we moved in that it would turn into such an all-encompassing effing production? We started on Wednesday night (see previous post), painted some Thursday night, until 1:30am Friday night/Saturday morning, most of the day Saturday and most of the day Sunday. What made two rooms take that long? Well, the dining room was a deep, blood red so it needed two coats of primer. Plus the woodwork literally had the old paint (which was off-white) peeling up, so that was all pulled off, sanded, primed and painted white (it was salmon-colored under the off-white). The dining room is now olive green. If you hate it, don't tell me. I wasn't 100% sure about it at first but now I L-O-V-E it.
The dining room was nothing, though, compared to the girls' room. I don't know why, but this bedroom has siding on all four walls. It is clear that it has always been part of the inside of the house so it was someone's conscious design choice at one point. And to that person I say, "YOU SUCK." Every single board needed to be cut-in with a paint brush and then a 4-inch roller could be used. And since it was royal blue, it too needed two coats of primer. And I had a three-color scheme planned, adding to the fun. Fortunately, only one of those colors needed a second coat. In the end, I think it's totally fab. But it's not going to be repainted until the girls are old enough to do it themselves. I will wish them well in their endeavor as I sip cocktails on the back deck.
Here are some pics of both rooms:
The dining room before...
...and after.
I should mention here that the kitchen you see in the background will be a very soft tangerine before the year is out.
The girls' room before...
...and after.
I would be remiss if I didn't give two resounding woots - Woot! Woot! - to Bri for making many of those loathsome hours of painting possible by babysitting for us. I did the math and I think she watched the girls about 22 hours this past week PLUS helped us paint on Wednesday. YOU ROCK, BRI!
Next...
While looking for some cleaning assistance on Craigslist earlier today, I came across an ad entitled "Free Carpet Cleaning for the Ladies." The body of the post went on to say "I have my own carpet cleaning business. I can do a free carpet cleaning for the ladies who have a fantasy of being with a uniformed carpet cleaning technician. A+ if you like it in the back door. Have time today or Wednesday." Ew. And by that I mean ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, EW. Ew.
Next...
Two days ago, my president Barack Obama (I can't tell you how nice it is to say those last four words, so I still like to use them whenever I refer to him) took his daughters to my favorite frozen custard place THREE BLOCKS from our old place in DC. Big giant audible sigh. PLUS he's been to Five Guys - my fav burger joint. He is really doin' it right back there. It makes me proud.
That's all for now. It's nearly midnight and I'm pooped.
A recap of mayhem...sorta
This weekend had its highs and lows, but I think it can be summed up in 4 words: Family. Everyone's got one. Let's just leave it at that. That way I don't run the risk of insulting some but not others. It seems like it just wouldn't be right if I didn't insult EVERYONE, so I'm not taking my chances. Let's instead move on to some seriously major news...
I know that I have made proud declarations on here before about Belly walking and I now run the risk of sounding like that kid who cried, "Wolf!" but FOR REALS, she's walking. And this is so incredibly exciting because let's face it - she's almost 20 months old and stubborn as hell. If she didn't want to walk until she was five, there was nothing I could do. Over the last week, she's decided that she's walking more than crawling and, in fact, crawling rarely happens anymore. She's grown steadier and steadier and steadier. It's awesome!! I've even considered canceling her evaluation, but nah - I'm going to keep it as is just to confirm that she's simply a late walker.
And the Bug is talking up a storm. She babbles nonstop, even repeating "yammer, yammer, yammer" (which cracks my shit up). Of course, from her it sounds more like "yammy, yammy, yammy." She also just started pointing to the ceiling and saying "up" (accompanied by "da" for down) and pointing to one side with "back" (and "doh" for forth). That Skippy Jon Jones - his book of opposites is having a profound effect on my little girl.
I should also brag about that other baby of mine, the Charmer. I think she's more of an old lady than a baby, though - one of those beautiful old ladies who smiles knowingly and smells like rose water, not one who complains about everything and steals the packets of jelly from Denny's. I've spent a fair amount of time over at my new home the last few days and I am pleased to say that I'm simply more in love with her than ever. I've already had a plumber over there; have calls in to a few electricians; have lined up a handyman; and have paint colors already assigned. This week and next will be sorta nuts as we get her spruced up and then we'll move at the end of next week (the last weekend in June). There is SO much to do, but I don't mind. Somehow it will all get done. I'm trying to be very Zen about the whole thing. Good luck to me on that one, right? A move in a week and a half with twins and a husband who works 9000 hours a week? Should be no problem for me to keep my cool...
Confidence is a beautiful thing
I have expended some serious time and energy these last months fretting over Belly and the fact that she just doesn't walk. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've googled "not walking at 14 months," "...15 months," "...16 months," "...17 months." Here we are on the cusp of 18 months and I've been thinking that maybe I'm in denial. Maybe there really is something wrong with her. I've been sorta bracing myself for the results of the developmental evaluation that the pediatrician is sure to order for her when we take the girls in for their checkup in a couple weeks.
And then...this afternoon...Belly walked. As in, she walked from the couch to the bottom of the stairs, paused to hold on to the gate for a minute, then walked into the kitchen to hold the freezer handle (the freezer is on the bottom of our fridge), turned around, walked back to the couch. This is a serious distance - maybe 38 feet round trip? She did this lap several times. Sure, she'd stumble every now and then, but that little Belly just stood right back up and kept on her merry way. I jumped and wooted and cheered and she was SO proud of herself. And dang it, I was pretty proud, too.
I was absolutely thrilled when The Bug first walked four months ago, but this is different. More than a lack of physical ability, Belly seemed like she had a big confidence hurdle to get over. And she did it. My baby believes in herself and that makes Mama prouder than just about anything.
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