• Discover your almost-5-year-old hiding in the pantry scarfing Bunny Grahams like some bulimic cast member of The Hills and then carefully disposing of the evidence, flying the Flag of Fairness in your face after you refused him a snack on the grounds that he didn’t eat any of his dinner.
• Race frantically through the mall in the last 20 minutes before you have to leave for a meeting trying to find something…anything! for your kids to wear for school picture day – TOMORROW because, well you just forgot.  (And you are still trying to make up for spring picture day when the kids get to hold a real live bunny, in which older child is wearing a shirt with a red-eyed cobra on it that looks like it is about to attack the bunny.)
• Learn that your 3-year-old, upon being asked what she liked about herself in a discussion at school on why each child is “special” responds with “I like my BOOTY” as she jumps up and points to her butt. This is recorded for posterity on the preschool wall, next to other children’s comments about liking their hair or knees.
• Then think to yourself that it could be worse, you could be the mom of that kid who exclaimed “I like my privates!”

It’s happening.  The other day I was watching a girl feed her baby the same kind of organic baby food that I used to feed Em and I got a sweep of nostalgia.  Today as I looked through my list of categories over there I realized that I probably don’t need “baby stuff” or “baby firsts” anymore.

I swore this would never happen to me.

Last week, I came to home to a request. Alex would like TWO babies. We already have one, but he would really like two. Preferably another girl. Or boy, depending on when you ask.

I never finished or published that post.

Today:

Nevermind.  For all the nostalgia, I can’t forget pumping.

I was informed the other day at school conferences that Emmy and Alex are both delightful to have in class and that they should do really well when they transition next month.  I had to ask for clarification on that transition thing, and it turns out that Emmy - my youngest, my baby – will be transitioning into the class Alex is in now and he’ll transition to the pre-K class. 

Whoa.  For some reason, this news hit me like a ton of bricks.  I’ve always known that through a trick of  birthdays and September cut-off age for school that Emmy would be a grade behind Alex even though they are almost two years apart in age.  But for her to actually be in the class that he is in NOW, just seems so sudden, doesn’t it?  Like, why rush things?  And what happened to me going part-time and spending days creating crafts and doing memorable, childhood-defining activities with them? 

 Next year, it will be too late – kindergarten is all-day.  There will be no random visits to  Grandma and Grandpa whenever we feel like it.  There will be no crowd-avoiding- family trip to Disney when all the other kids are in school unless we do it THIS YEAR.  (Which is completely irrelevant, as I 1) have little desire to go to Disney and 2) have it on good authority that I am almost guaranteed to come back exhausted and in need of a spa retreat.)  All of a sudden my work and life will be defined by a school calendar.

Now I see.  I see the need for three.  Not that I’m going there.  But I get it.

Alex:  Yuck!  I don’t like this dinner!  Will you make me something else?

Me:  No.  I’m not running a restaurant.

Alex:  Yuck!  I don’t like this dinner.  I’m not eating THIS.

Emily Kate (smiling sweetly):  Yummy Mommy!  This is the bes’dinnah evah!

It seems that Emmy has inherited the suck-up gene that Alex hasn’t yet discovered.

I allowed this parental slide to go on through the summer, but now…well…it’s Labor Day, summer’s official end.  Time to face the middle of the night demons.

A few weeks ago, I started talking to her about how it’s almost time to give the nuks to the little babies who need them, like baby Marli from daycare, and that pretty soon we’re going to pack them up and give them to another little baby.  Alex tried to help.

“Emmy,” he said, “You have to give dem to baby Mahli! Da wittle babies need them. You a big gowl now!”

At this point, Emmy’s face crumpled and she burst into tears.

“NO!,” she cried. “I need dem! I NEED DEM! Babies don’t need dem, I NEED DEM!”  She was devastated, tears pouring down her face.  I cracked.

A few days later, I experimentally cut off the tip of one of them.  She continued to suck it lovingly, only occasionally taking it out to look at it as if sucking hard enough would make it grow back.  Finally, she found one that was whole but continued to carry the cut one around, referring to it as “my bro-en nuk.”

I started to wonder if I could paint them with that nasty stuff you use to try and stop biting your nails.  Then in just the nuk of time, I was saved.  I picked Emmy up from daycare on Tuesday, and she informed me, “Soon the nuk goblin is going to come take my nuks!”  I quizzically looked at Miss Sue.

“Did she just say nuk goblin?”

At some point during the day, Alex had spun some sort of tale about a goblin coming to take Em’s pacifiers away.  Where Alex learned the term goblin, I have not a clue.  Dora?  Some other crazy Nick jr. show that I can’t stand to be in the same room for?  Regardless, the nuk goblin seems to be a better alternative than giving the nuk to other, needy babies.

I decided to go with it, tooth fairy-like.  Today, Emmy has told everyone she meets that the nuk goblin is coming to take her nuks.  We’ve explained that the goblin is coming tomorrow and that tonight is the last night she’ll need her nuk.  After breakfast tomorrow, we’re packing them into a box and while she’s at her gymnastics class, the nuk goblin will come and take her nuks and if she’s really lucky leave her a surprise.

“A potsickle?”, she asked me hopefully.

Now it seems, we just need to get mommy to let go.

Today I picked Em up from daycare at lunch, skivving off work for most of the afternoon for an early dive into fun. Which means she took a three hour nap, while I puttered around fretting about various work and life-related things, getting it out of my system like I do every Friday. When she woke up we went to early dinner, then to Rita’s for Italian Ice where we ran into some old friends, then came back home just in time for a bath and bed.

As I look ahead to the weekend, most of it is centered around eating and sleeping, which is totally how it should be. I’m debating taking a boot camp class on Sunday morning, debating partly because I’m a little scared of the guy that teaches it but also because I’m a lot scared of the diseased hellions running around the gym daycare. We’ll have to see about that one. Maybe we could go for pancakes instead.

In other great news, the child at daycare that was the cause of so many angst-y posts in the past year has been given the boot. Hooray! Next week is his last week. There are some mornings when I drop off the kids that this other child is yelling and behaving so badly that I can’t stand to be around him for 10 minutes, so I don’t know how this has lasted as long as it did. I’m just thankful that he’ll soon be somewhere else.

Time for me to go watch my new obsession…Cake Boss.  Happy weekend!

emmy’s happy feet from Heather on Vimeo.

Alex wasn’t even a year when he flung his head back while sitting on my lap and broke my glasses.  Even now, he gets excited and does this move I like to call pogo-ing, where he bounces around and up and down like someone on a pogo stick.  He often does this while I’m leaning in to help him zip his coat, or button his pants or tie his shoes, which means I get whacked a lot.

Emily Kate, just a few days shy of being 18 months, is showing a propensity for being the exact same way.  Just last week she cracked me in the cheekbone so hard with her head that I saw stars, then in a painful version of Groundhog day, did the exact same move the next day.

How I have not had a broken nose yet is entirely beyond my comprehension.

Anyway, it occurred to me Thursday afternoon that I should buy a few things just in case we got a few inches and I couldn’t do the regular Saturday shopping.  As is my way, I kind of meandered around Trader Joe’s throwing things I thought were necessary into my cart.

Things I bought:

• milk (a nice addition to the unopened gallon already in the fridge)
• eggs (ditto for the dozen already there)
• a pork tenderloin (no I don’t know why either)

Things I DID NOT buy that I totally should have if I were seriously planning to not go anywhere for the next 3 days:

• COFFEE ( We are out OUT of everything but decaf and may not survive another day in the house without)
• butter (necessary for everything from pancakes to cookie baking to mashed potatoes)
• salt and pepper (again, necessary for everything)
• mandarin oranges (one of the only guaranteed kids will eat it foods)

So that said, for once we actually got the worst case scenario. In fact, our street is now a solid sheet of 3 inch thick ice.  Total we got about 8 inches of snow topped with ice topped with more snow.

Day 1…waking up to white

You know it’s a good time when your pants are totally snow covered…

The snowman may not have a head but he does have a hat…

Shoveling…

Helping build the snowman…

You are officially not a baby anymore.  (Really, you haven’t been for a while.)  As of last week, you are 18 months old.  For the past year I’ve been too busy drinking you in to write blog posts about how amazing you are, sometimes just watching you,  humbled at how you are so full of life.

I remember every detail of the day you arrived, right up until we went home from the hospital.  Last summer is a blur of trying to manage and figure out this parenting more than one kid thing, mostly focusing on your brother while you slept.  Somewhere along the way, you forced us to take notice:  you stopped being tiny and sleepy and unknown and started to become yourself – shining, laughing, spirited.

I knew then why you were given to us to nurture and parent.  You are so different from your brother, and you arrived at exactly the right time for our family.  I love to watch your delighted laughter when your brother tickles you, and even when he pushes you down or out of the way you don’t hold a grudge.  You’re big enough now to push back, although you don’t realize it yet.  You adore him, and he (mostly) adores you.  You bring him out of his shell, and give him ideas and the courage to do them.

You are headstrong and throw yourself at everything that comes your way.  Anxious to do whatever the bigger kids do, you walked at 9 months.   You want to sit on the potty, even after you’ve fallen in you try again.  You want to use real silverware, and would rather poke yourself than use a plastic baby spoon.  The alternative is a hunger strike, executed with pouty lip and a icy glare.

You talk non-stop, and always with emotion – I didn’t know it was possible to so thoroughly express displeasure, joy, and anger without a single word.

You’ll peruse any book with an intensity that makes me think you are actually reading it, and ask for your favorites by name.  It’s the first thing you do when you wake up, and the last thing you want before bed.

All the stuffed animals that never got much use before you came along have become real and loved by you.  You dance with them, name them, and talk to them.  When something interests you, it will hold your attention until you figure it out.

Everyone who meets you is charmed by your smile, from the teenager at the grocery store checkout, to the mailman and our neighbors.  Those who barely know you want to know you better and spend time in your happy presence.

You have grown so fast and taught us so much about embracing life, moving on, getting over it.  You’ll always be my baby, my girl.

Happy 1.5 Emmy.

This year was the first year that Alex was old enough to really GET the whole trick or treating thing.  We’ve spent the past few weeks reading him Halloween books and talking about going trick or treating. 

Me:  Alex, when you go trick or treating you get to ring the doorbell (I lived to rue this little bit of wisdom…)
Alex:  ?
Me:  And then when the person answers, what do you say?
Alex (singsongs):  HEEEEYYLLooooo!
Me: Yes, you say hello and then you say trick or treat!
Alex: ?
Me: And then you’ll get a piece of candy, and then say thank you.
Alex: WOOOWW!
Me:  But you have to wear your costume.
Alex:  NNNOOOO! No wanna wear a costume!

(Lessons learned for future discussions about Halloween - do not say anything about ringing the doorbell, stress that you have to OPEN your treat bag and let the person drop the candy in, you cannot pet people’s dogs that are inside the house, and you must say thank you then LEAVE.)

It was just like I remembered trick or treating, except it was 70 degrees and I was sweating trying to wrangle the kids and keep them from straying onto lawns and into the street.  I shouldn’t complain – poor Alex was melting inside of his 100% polyester beaver that I got on clearance last year. 

This is the only picture of him wearing the hood.  The hood was up for approximately 10.5 cumulative seconds.

From Halloween 2009

Emily Kate…

From Halloween 2009

Too late I remembered that I was going to try and get her to wear glasses, like the little Blind Melon girl. 

Ah well.  Probably for the best.

From Halloween 2009

We went trick or treating with a friend and her son who is 4, and also loves to ring doorbells.  Her and I spent the evening laughing as we choked out instructions from the sidewalk.

From Halloween 2009

“Only ring once!  NO ONCE!  THAT’S ENOUGH STOP RINGING THE DOORBELL!”

“OK, now say thank you!  NO TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF THE BOWL! SAY THANK YOU!  NO MORE!  SAY GOODBYE!!”

Alex refused to put candy in his bag and instead clutched it in his fist until he couldn’t hold anymore.  At some point during the night, we lost the bumblebee headband with the deelyboppers and I was so devastated you would have thought I lost my wallet.  Yes, I did make Brett go look for them, and no he didn’t find them.

From Halloween 2009

And….we’re spent.