Showing posts from March, 2013

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You'll have to forgive me if this post is a little out of sorts. My in-laws shipped up Easter goodies to the girls last night. One gift was a pink bunny that repeats anything it hears while jumping up and down. LMC is enthralled and tells it all sorts of things.

It's, um, well... I'm waiting for it to lose its luster so as to misplace the batteries. MOTY, right here.

As I type, the bunny is repeating the sound of the zipper from the lunch box it has been enclosed in. LMC running around screaming, "Mommy! My lunchbox is talking!" only for the lunchbox to repeat those words and jump around, "Mommy! My lunchbox is talking!" and so the cycle continues.

My eye is starting to twitch.

I have received so many text messages, emails, phone calls, and facebook posts asking about the house. So far, so good. We have not received the actual report yet, that will be on Monday, but the verbal communication between Bill (the inspector) and Husband was that we made a mu…

I wish this were about silver polish.

I polished almost all my silver yesterday with silver polish purchased in these regions. Not Recommended. The silver was washed, polished, rinsed, sudsed, dried, and buffed... only to have to be rinsed and buffed again. Cheap silver polish will never do in my household. The shops up here should know that nice silver needs nice polish. To make my point, is there such a thing as silver that's not nice?

A few weeks ago, a friend was preparing for her daughter's baptism and I volunteered (stalked, really) to polish her silver. Donning an apron and tarnished fingers, I gently scrubbed with a toothbrush the intricate designs of beautiful pieces, careful to not scratch the flat places where the silver shone in the light, switching tools to a silver sponge. She looked at me more than once, skeptical that I was enjoying myself.

Polishing silver is one of those chores I love to do. If it were a job that paid, I'd be all over it.

As a "thanks" present, her Aunt Bettie swear…

Three Months!

And we are starting to get our act together…

House Hunting... Part II

Poor Aunt Susie- She finally saw one of my famous Excel Sheets. Formulas that calculate price per square footage, neighborhood, address, price, square footage, and beds/baths were just a few of the cells that were marked for our second round of house hunting.

As we get closer to The Move, it gets a little more real. We picture ourselves in these homes and think about the neighborhood and who are children will play with. After a day of house hunting, Brother invited us to an oyster roast that his Exchange Club hosts. It is the pre-party for the benefit "Cookin' for Kids" that was held on a rainy, dreary Saturday. But the oyster roast the night before? Now, that was a good time. The best thing about it?

Brother wanted to go.
It was like old times. Brother, SIL, Husband, and Wife were together and hanging out. We ate Gumbo from our favorite restaurant, Crum's, which I renamed CRUM-Bo! Andrew Crumrine owns Crum's and has done a bang-up job making the restaurant a won…


LMC was bitten at school today. It was a good'un. On one hand, I didn't see a problem, nor did I really know how to handle it. On the other, I was thankful that I was not there when it happened, to see the tears from both parties, and have to maintain a cool and level head managing the frustrations of toddlers and their emotions.

The teacher, who is full of love, promptly pulled me aside when I walked in and told me what happened. She was upset about it and the other party had to be sent home. Both the mother and child were upset. The mother, embarrassed as you can imagine.

But, was anyone really at fault?

As a parent, this is uncharted territory. Hell, everything is uncharted and the learning curve is steep and fast. How should I handle it and how would I want it handled if the shoe was on the other foot?

LMC was a happy girl with no complaints. She showed me that when she bites herself it doesn't hurt- which opened the door to the conversation. That we don't bite…

Herding Kittens

I adore my almost four year old, but sometimes... it's like herding kittens to get anything done.

Sure, the easy thing would be to just do it myself- but what does that accomplish? (A clean house in half the time, for starters)

Today, I made investments at the Mom Mecca- Target. I totally got suckered into a purchase in the Easter aisle of a princess egg decorating kit. Googly eyes, mustaches, crowns and tiaras, not to mention the hairs and bows- it was a $5 royal royaldom.

LMC is over the moon about this project... but she has one. simple. job.

Just one before we can get started.

Put her clothes away.

That's it.

Sheesh, I know I am echoing the words of my mother from years prior right now.

She is so excited about the princess eggs that instead of putting away the few clothes that were on her chair, she threw them on the floor. And then took clothes out of her drawer and added them to the pile.

Mom, can we have class outside?

Oh, right... mom asked me to put my clothes away.


Ink poisoning is impossible, unless you work at an ink factory

I called my SIL's mother last night. We were hosting dinner for some friends who just had a baby and I felt like pulling out the goods. I love pulling out the goods. Two friends were coming over with their two children. Compound that with our two children, and we would have four under the age of four and four adults. 
Why did I call BeBe? Part of a story she once told me involved a little anecdote about the lavish dinner parties they would have when they were about our age with their finest silver, china, and crystal out... with a hundred children running around while they feasted. It was lovely and comical, all at once. 
It sounded like a fun time and something I would love to be able to turn around and tell one day. As I set the table, LMC ran around finding paper plates that she could color. And toss on the ground. Once she saw the fish plates, she grabbed her goldfish and ate those off of a plate. I threatened her within an inch of her life if she touched anything other than …

Some Days…

The day after the locked door- we weren't staying within these four walls. Mama Bits and I hatch a plan on a cold cold Sunday morning. Building Museum and leg stretching with cookies and comrades. 
I never said she wasn't a handful, but even at her worst… she can still look her best? 

So... as I was saying.

Yesterday, I spoke so piously. About gifts.

It turns out that my toddler has her own set of gifts.

She can lock her door from the outside and pose a hunger strike that would shame Ghandi into grabbing a hamburger. Double meat.

She has the ability to soak-- positively soak-- the bathroom from a bath. Not a good place to put the baby in the baby seat while bathing the toddler. Mental note- babies don't like water thrown on them. Baby screams, each one louder and each one reverberating off the tiled walls. Toddler grabs her ears and says, "HUSH! My ears hurt!" A knock at the door and the neighbor asks if all is well.


She knows no level of cold (thankyouverymuch) and will run around the (very cold) house with clothes gone and mom akimbo chasing after her with the one pair of panties found in the dryer that are on this side of the locked door. Hooray for efficiency and disseminating the Everest of laundry making no toddler clothes available after the door was locked? …

A Gift.

I go to church. Not every Sunday, but we make it. I wish I could finish that sentence with "more often than not," ... but that wouldn't be entirely truthful.

Don't let my lack of attendance be a reflection of my belief.

Don't let my lack of effort on Sunday morning be seen as a manifestation from my Faith.

I know where my gifts come from and I know that I am lucky, very lucky, to have them. Holding my daughters, kissing their sweet noses and seeing them grow up so fast- it's all a gift.

A gift that I have received from Above.

My brother has been sick. He's getting better, but he is still on the healing side of the learning curve. But, he is here. He is here in this world be frustrated with and he is here on this side of the six feet to watch him relearn how to use his arm and see his body heal, helpless for me to assist beyond prayers.

It's a gift. It's a frustrating gift that might be seen as a curse. Instead of asking, "Why me? Why did you …