Eureka! I've found my floor!

Here we are, home again, with three merry iterations of Christmas sadly behind us. I've finally found enough of my floor to justify stopping to update the blog. It was so fantastic to be around family again for a week. We wish we could always be a part of our 'village.' Perhaps some day, everything will line up so that we can live near family again. Ian seemed to remember and be almost immediately comfortable with most everyone. Isaac too a little warming-up, as expected.

Poor Isaac. He will leap off of nearly any cliff, but is afraid of anything cute:  puppies, kittens, bunnies. It took him a hard part of the week to re-acclimate to my parents' dogs.  They were particularly scary (i.e. cute, cuddly, friendly).  Both boys surprised me with their self-control around the Christmas trees. For the most part they left them alone and otherwise remembered their 'one-finger touching' rule. It was rather hard to get to the trees in the first place with all those tantalizing presents in the way, but they restrained themselves there too.

A couple days before Christmas was my husband's niece's birthday dinner/party at his parents' house.  Ian has a particular love of all things party.  Any reason to celebrate, really.  He knew what was going on, and we could tell by the way he wasn't eating his dinner that he was saving plenty of room for cake.  Brian requested of him that he take one bite of his dinner.  Ian refused the many attempts, until Brian finally made it clear that no bite, no cake.  Ian's mouth shot open to accept the spoon.

I'm not sure the boys quite knew what to make of Christmas.  It was like a toy wonderland.  They were so fascinated with each thing they got, they didn't quite want to stop checking it out to open the next one. My family has always celebrated Christmas Eve night and Brian's family does Christmas morning, so it works out great. Some of the toys, we knew we'd better keep boxed up and our precious little boys wanted in so badly, but were very patient. When the car-packing day arrived, we truly thought it would take a miracle to fit everything in.  We did leave a couple old ride-on cars and Brian's new globe (to be shipped or brought up later), but somehow everything else made it.  It was like super-mega Tetris.

Ever since we've been home, it's like the boys' imaginations have been unleashed, surrounded by their new trains, puppets, a gourmet kitchen, ride-ons, a wooden castle, etc. I get such pleasure out of watching them work at playing and how they combine toys from one set with another.

The boys quickly transitioned back to our normal 'schedule', if you can call it a schedule.  The other night, after a bath, Isaac was crying about something. Ian, with his shirt still off, squeezed his 'breast' and said, "It's O.K., Baby, you can drink my milk." As I mentioned before, Ian has been weaned since about 2 1/2, but since he's figured out about the new baby on the way, he keeps reminding me that "Baby is making more milk for me." Finally it came out different this morning.  Ian woke up and said, "Mom. Baby is making more milk for...Baby. I'm going to have a new baby soon!"

Brian came home the other day and Ian approached him about a snack.  Ian said, "How about pizza?" Brian replied, "How about yogurt?" "How about s'ghetti?" "We only have yogurt." In his final attempt, Ian cheerfully proclaims, "We only have birthday cake!"

I ought to get back to unveiling more floor space.  I got an amazing Dyson vac for Christmas.  Before we left, I did an aggressive clean on the floor with our old vac.  I tested a strip of hallway with the Dyson and had to stare in amazement, excitement and disgust at all the stuff it sucked out of our "clean" floor! Vacuuming never sounded so fun - I'm actually looking forward to doing more. Is that the depths to which SAHM-hood has brought me? Hi ho, a derry-o, a vac-ing I will go!

Christmas Be-cation

Friday evening started our Christmas "be-cation," as Ian calls it.  I had the car ready to go when Brian arrived home early from work, so we hit the road.  That's one of Ian's favorite new phrases, by the way.  He'll tell me, "No, I do not want to go home.  I just want to hit the road." We drove until 8 or 9 and chose a Hampton Inn, predominantly for the free breakfast and inside doors.

Isaac thought the room was "yooper" (super). Ian was impressed too. They tried all the doors and drawers and buttons they could find. I started a bath for the boys while Brian dashed to the car for a few things. As I collected the boys' pajamas, they tossed two of our four towels into the tub and thrashed the bathwater with them. Brian returned and helped restore order as I milled around in a state of near-zombification. We each grabbed a hyperchild and melted into our respective Queen beds.

The next morning, I went downstairs and assembled an embarrassingly tall stack of scrumptious Belgian waffles and loaded my hoodie pockets with peanut butter and syrup. From the looks (and personal space) I was getting, it seemed no one wanted to be in the path of a very pregnant woman on a breakfast rampage. One person was brave enough to comment on how many people I must be feeding. Nevermind them, I thought.  My boys will love me for this. I sent Brian down for the fruit and drinks as the boys awakened and donned their syrupy grins. They kicked back like little princes with their catered mini-buffet.

Isaac pointed to the "yi-yoar" (dinosaur) on his shirt and roared. That apparently triggered a recollection of Ian's dream because he told me a dinosaur chomped him, but "Mommy fwat (swat) his tail and the dinosaur ran away."

Back on the freeway, we were slowly passing a semi truck. Isaac observed, saying in his toughest voice, "Big truck. Big truck. Big...where? (as it rolled out of sight)" One of their snacks was little natural fruit bits.  I asked Ian if he wanted some Fruit Nuggets and halfway through his bag he told me he likes his "chicken fruit."  Ok, no more Happy Meals.  Somehow, he also decided that the blueberry mini-muffins I brought were called "muffin dogs."

For what felt like the 20th time, we pulled into a rest stop with my bladder in a panic. I was hoping Brian would pull up and off-road for a bit for a smooth door-to-door potty transfer, but instead parked withing binocular distance of the restrooms. I chastised him and his reply was, "I thought I'd encourage you to walk a bit." The guy was just trying to be compliant with my Dr.'s orders that I stop every couple hours to stretch my legs, but in my urine-laden delirium,  I griped all the painful way to the ladies' room about him wanting to encourage me to unleash my burden all across the parking lot. Once again, the bladder muscles prevailed without incident and I returned to my human form.

The trip, as far as how the boys handled it, was extremely easy. They've become great little road-trippers. About and hour from our destination, we started hyping them up for our arrival at Grammy's house. I knew Ian remembered her when he proclaimed, "Grammy has a muffin for me!" My toddler-nutrition alarms cringed a little, but I settled back in my heated seat, grateful to not be picking up toys all day, and thought to myself, 'Tis the season!

Independence Days

My little guys are growing more independent every day. Ian wants to assemble the turkey sandwiches and cut his own food.  A dozen times a day, we forget some little task he can accomplish himself and he reminds us in panicked staccato, "I want to do it all by myself!" He doesn't even like to be reminded of anything. For instance, last night during prayers (which Isaac always reminds us to do), Ian started to interrupt Brian, with his usual request, and Brian said, "I know, you want us to pray for Thomas the Tank Engine." Ian furiously responded, "You may not tell me!!" Trying to correct himself, Brian suggested, "Oh, sorry, you go ahead and say it, Ian." Pouting, Ian replied, "I can't say it anymore. [making his voice creaky] I can't hear my voice." Finally he gave up the facade and placed his request for blessings on Thomas, along with Isaac's request to "pray. track." So Thomas and his track were well-blessed.

I've enjoyed Isaac's beverage preferences. Somehow he's come to the conclusion, during my pregnancy-induced ice cravings, that anything with ice is "num-nade" (lemonade).  If he sees we have something carbonated he wants "yoda."  Bubbly in your throat it is.

Brian starts his vacation time today - woo hoo!!  Time to go do more Christmas vacation prep!

A Side Note About Dishes

I am sooo tempted to go primitive and fill my dishwasher with only metal spatulas and steel mixing bowls.  The Shlinnngs and Wahwahwwaaaws of taking them out of the washer are OH. SO. REWARDING.

Oh The Places You'll Go!

A couple nights ago, Ian was wrestling with Brian. At one point Ian's hand lands on Brian's backside and Ian stands, frozen. "Oh no Dad, you have poop!" he blurts as he squeezes something.  I glance over and giggle, "No, Ian, that's just Daddy's tail bone." Brian points out that Ian has a tail bone, too.  For the next 2 days, Ian would approach me bun-side first asking if I'd like to see his tail bone, and he pulls down his underwear a bit, saying, "See?" "Yes, I see it," I reply each time with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. "Yep, that's my tail bone," he replies and proudly swaggers off.

Last night we did our Georgia Christmas, so the boys have some time to play before we drive to the grandparents' for real Christmas. I was a little concerned that it would be a puny event for them, since in my memory it didn't seem like I'd gotten them many toys.  But, I think it turned out just right.  For instance, Ian gave the set of "castle people" hardly a pause before moving to the next gift.  However, when they opened their castle, Ian decided he needed a "Princess Fiona" (someone has been watching too much Shrek) to put in the tower and we reminded him about the castle people.  They've had nonstop fun with it since then. We got Ian a toy guitar and Isaac a not-so-toy drum.  All the toy drums were kind of lame and this floor drum was awesome and about the same price. Ian was hilarious rockin' out on the toy guitar. He had his eyes all scrunched closed and his head bobbing as he shouted, "Rock and roll!" Isaac got a basketball hoop, which Ian pulled over and nearly beaned his brother with (note to self: fill it with sand sooner than later). Ian also got a viewmaster. I LOVED those as a kid, and I think I still do. Ian is quite enthralled as well.  The most interesting/unique toy has to be the Kid-O Bilibo. It's even hard to describe. It's a plastic shell shaped like a flared-out helmet...sort of. It's made for open-ended play. It can be a seat to spin in, a helmet, a bowl, a turtle shell, a whatever. Isaac was scared to sit in it at first, so we put it on my head and sat under it while Ian opened his next gift.

This morning, we're sitting up in bed and Isaac pats his head and says, "Gaigick hair." Ian looks over at the bed-head and laments, "Oh no. Igick's hair is ruined!"  I've thought that about my hair some days.

Ian's philosophy is: Celebrate your victories, first; Deal with the details later.  I just heard, "Yayyyyy!  I peed on the potty!" Then, like an interesting bit of trivia, "Mom, I made a little 'plash on the wall." Sometimes he chooses to sit for the task and forgets about the aiming part. I think the puddle in the potty was incidental.

There's A New Chef in Town

I struggle with thinking of what to cook for dinner. However, when I stumble into a good-looking recipe, I'll go all-out to make a tasty meal for my guys. Frequently, the boys will poke at it if it appears too healthy or unexciting, or eat whatever part strikes their fancy. One evening, while finishing up some Christmas shopping, I'd ended up getting the boys some hot dogs, and I wasn't feeling particularly hungry. Brian was totally cool with that when he got home, because he prides himself in being able to fend for himself. On this particular evening, Ian climbed up to the table to inspect & sample Dad's wares and I heard Ian say, "Mmmm. I like this meal!" I simply had to know what had captured my son's heart, and to my disbelief, it was a sandwich consisting of a soy sausage, vegemite, probably some other condiments, and a can of beets. Apparently, only a true bachelor-at-heart can appeal to the delicate culinary sensibilities of a baby man-in-training.

I will have to say, Brian does have his strokes of genius. Perhaps this next "recipe" speaks to my own highly-refined tastes. We recently discovered the creamy goodness of Greek yogurt. After we polished off a pint of it in one sitting, Brian went to the store and returned with an additional half-dozen pints of plain Greek yogurt. He began experimenting with flavoring it, using various sweet condiments. Thus was born [insert chorus of singing angels]: peanut butter and jelly yogurt! To clarify, this is a puddle of peanut butter yogurt in a bowl beside a puddle of yogurt flavored with Brian's very own muscadine jelly. Scoop a little of each on a spoon, and voila - my heart melts. It seriously almost tastes like a pie filling. Maybe I'll try it on a graham cracker next time.

On a side note, I wrapped up a bunch of stocking stuffers for the boys. This weekend I started letting them open 2 each night (since we will do our GA Christmas sometime this week) - based on a Skinner family tradition. One of the gifts for Isaac was a pointer. It looks like a pointing Mickey Mouse hand on a stick. I'm not sure why this cracked me up so much, but I was in stitches watching him walk around pointing to things with it. He first went to the Christmas tree and gently touched a few ornaments. Our rule for the boys is, when they are near fragile things in a store, "One finger touch." That lets them satisfy their curiosity and greatly reduces the damage potential. This seemed the perfect device for the job. Ian begged a turn, and his first undertaking as Pointer-in-Chief was to aim the finger at his Dad and say, "Go out." Isaac took the plastic digit back and tried his 'hand' at banishing his father. Soon they turned to other tasks, such as pointing out imaginary bicycles and buses. Now begins the countdown until it gets lodged in a nose.

Domo Arigato

The boys have been absorbing some of my pregnancy struggles.  Isaac has started grunting with the strain of picking toys up. Yesterday evening, I sunk into a chair for a minute to relax while holding a very sad Isaac. I had put my phone on the armrest, but it had vanished.  I asked Ian, who was sitting on the floor studying a toy catalog, if he would help me find my phone.  Without looking up, he replied, "I can find your phone later, but I'm tired." Later that night, he puts a toy to my belly and says, "I can hear your heart beat. Your belly is getting bigger. I'm getting bigger and bigger and bigger too (sticking out his belly). Wall-E robot is in my belly."

Wall-E robot is his new alter-ego.  I'm fairly sure he has never seen the movie, but he has a pair of underwear bearing his doppelganger.  At bedtime, he says, "Wawwy is tired." Sometimes Wawwy provides generous catering services.  Ian scoots up along side me and says, "I'm Wawwy. I have a hand on my back. I have cheese for you (leaning his back towards me)." He also instructs us to push his colorful buttons.  They never seem to do anything but beep.  I asked him one time what the Red button does. "It says 'Stop'," he informs me.

They are both pretty fascinated with mirrors lately.  Especially Isaac.  Every time I change Isaac's clothes or put a hat or coat on him, he requests, "Meer," and then flirts with his reflection when we take him.  This morning, Ian brushed his hair and looked in a hand mirror, saying, "I look SUPER handsome!" I had to agree.

Approaching the Holidaze

I totally need to get more creative with my "veggie hiding" when cooking for the boys.  Ian saw a picture of green beans in a book yesterday and said, "green bean casserole!" Well, what can I say.  Putting them on a plate and calling them Super Green Power Rods only garnered enough interest for them to emit a few sound effects and launch them one-by-one to the floor.

Santa was generous enough to swing by our subdivision one evening.  We made a deal of it, tossing the boys in the car and letting them cruise, unbuckled, through the neighborhood as we searched for Christmas decorations. Several houses had the sidewalks lined with glowing candy canes.  The boys cheered for the candy canes, as if they had planted their own sweet selves in nearly-straight rows.  When we arrived at the clubhouse, Ian celebrates, "Yay!  We're at the North Pole!"  He shoots out of the car and up to the door, and once inside, squiggles through the throng to get a not-too-close peek.  Satisfied with the sighting, he raids the dessert table, chugs some hot chocolate and starts jumping and dancing and diving under the table.  Neither of our kids have any interest in getting close to Santa, so Ian hollers "Goodbye!" to Santa, who is busy grinning for a camera, and he prances back to the car. For the next couple of hours, he asks to go see Santa again, but it's late and we have lots of sugar to burn before bedtime.

It's probably time to start wrapping presents. We're going to have a GA Christmas and a FL Christmas. I've done an inordinate amount of Christmas shopping online this year, so hopefully the deliveries will be rolling in soon. After his drawn-out birthday and the approaching drawn-out Christmas, we're going to have to enroll Ian in a 12-Step program for gift addiction recovery.  On the first day of Christmas, I admit I'm obsessed with wrapping paper...

I'm excited to say Ian is probably officially potty-trained.  I haven't looked up the official Certified Research Academy of Potty Training guidelines, but he hasn't had any accidents, he's randomly decided he's willing to go on "big" potties (even in public places!), and only gets 'suggestions' from us right before bed or long road trips.  I'm not sure what has occurred in the blur of the last month to make all this possible. We really have done nothing but let him figure out his own body and provide choices of what undergarment he'd like to wear and where/how/if he wants to "go."

At some point we got all tangled up in our own frustration of trying to "make" it happen, so we just gave up trying, really. We'd usually describe his behavior to him and help him try to link that with what his body was telling him (You're dancing.  Your body is telling you it wants to pee.  There's your potty if you want to pee.).  We didn't think he had attachment issues with his poop/pee, but we explained that it's just parts of food he ate and other 'trash' his body doesn't want anymore.   We pointed out how when his belly grumbles, his body is telling him it wants food and he eats. When his mouth is dry, he drinks. When his nose tickles, he sneezes, and so forth, and then pointed out the potty signals. After that, we turned it over to him. No more reminders to go or anything. Maybe he just needed the time and space to figure it out himself.

Ian's been enjoying a steady trickle of gifts and cards mailed from relatives.  On his actual birthday, he got a motorized Cars racetrack that came with Lightning McQueen. He was so excited.  After playing a while, he came to me and said, "We need to go to the store and get Mater." Oh dear, he's got it figured out already. When he took a break, Isaac was turning the track on. Ian told him "No noise, baby. It hurts my ears" and turned it off. Isaac turned it on again. Ian said, "Baby, I know you want to play with it, but no more noise. It hurts my ears" and turned it off again and asked me to put it away. It's good to see he also practices tactics from those times when Mommy isn't a beast.

Isaac woke up on one of those rare occasions when Ian and I were already up, and got out of bed and walked out -- not sitting in bed crying (also rare) -- toddled past me (another rarity), inquiring, "Ian?" He found Ian in the kitchen and threw his arms around him and Ian hugged him back (getting rarer yet).  It's the cutest thing ever when they hug! Usually one is offering and the other wants nothing to do with it. Sometimes the sibling stars align, and...cute cute cute!!!

Isaac is sitting on the floor now in a pile of books. I just heard him close one and proclaim, "Great Tory!" His word combos are getting longer. Probably the best yet was when he stuck his toe up and said, "Kiss toe. Nay  bip-per hurt me (nail clipper)." Not to change topics, but I'm pretty impressed with his soccer skills too. He loves to run behind a ball and seems to have a knack for kicking.  So far I have a mechanic/engineer and an athlete/diplomat.

I've stalled long enough.  Time to go attack the Godzilla-sized pile of laundry.  :(

Ian's Happy Birthweek

Ohh, but it's been a while.  Last Friday, I ended up finishing Ian's cake. It said "Happy Brrrthday."

I sent Brian a picture of it and we got ourselves all hyped-up and decided to celebrate that evening, instead of waiting until Sunday.  Even Sunday would have been early, because his birthday is on Tuesday (today), but we were going to spend Sunday spoiling him so we could have a whole day.  Brian brought home "balloons and silly hats" (as Thomas the Tank Engine had in his birthday story).  Ian carried around his "honker" most of the evening.

He finally got to dig into his "snowy house" cake that he'd been drooling over for days.  Notice how he helps his lips to blow out the candles.

Probably his favorite toy was the set of Automoblox Minis cars we got him - little cars he can build and take apart.  They really are very awesome.  He definitely needs more of them!

Saturday night, we took him to The Rock Ranch, Truett Cathy's (of Chick-Fil-A) totally awesome ranch wonderland, to their free Journey to the Manger program.  It was incredible.  When we arrived, we filled out our 'census' papers and received our 'tax money' coins and hopped on a bus (which the boys could have ridden all night and been thrilled), which took us to the main gathering area.  We got some chili dogs and chili-cheese fries and hot chocolate.  It was fu-reeezing out!  When it was our turn to board the hay-ride-esqe wagon, pulled by a tractor (again, another thing the boys could have enjoyed all night), Ian shot off ahead and boarded, with no apparent use for the parental units.  We caught up and took our seats next to him and off into the night we rode.  We stopped next to an encampment of Wise Men, who told us about their star-studying findings.  Ian stood up and asked them if they saw the school bus.  Then he told them he was going to the manger, and that he had on his mittens.  Sure, he will cower behind our legs when we ask him to say hi to a friend at church, but he'll stand up in a wagon-load of strangers and chat up some oddly-dressed Wise Men below.  

Next we proceeded to the edge of a corn field, where we were escorted off by some Roman soldiers and directed down a torch-lit path through the corn-field.  As we entered the town of Bethlehem, we were directed to turn in our census papers and tax money. Ian faithfully coughed up the gold.  Inside was quite a spectacle.  Rows of trade booths, in probably-accurate biblical detail, lined a small clearing in the field.  There were carpenters, potters, people peddling wares of cloth and bread, people selling animals for sacrifice (that the kids got to pet), and soldiers stomping around impatiently barking orders. All along, Ian kept asking where Baby Jesus was, and so we kept up our search. As we continued down another path, we came to the Inn, which of course had no vacancy, but we were permitted a tour.  From there we followed the path to an encampment of shepherds, with their sheep in a corral.  They told us their story and pointed us in the direction of a star, bright over the corn field.  It led us to a sweet little manger scene.  The boys stood in awe, from a safe distance, and yelled "hi" to Baby Jesus. Then they yelled "bye" and "congratulations" and proceeded down the path to where a poor red-eyed fella told us a synopsis of Jesus life & sacrifice.  We hopped on another tractor ride back, listened to a sermonette, and then Ian tried to offer up a competing prayer over top the speaker's.

We returned to the gathering area, checked out the gift shop, and warmed up again to some hot chocolate before another exciting bus ride back to the van.  The boys couldn't stop talking about the school bus, but when asked what his favorite part was, Ian said he saw Baby Jesus.

Sunday arrived after a quick night and we decided to continue the spoiling (instead we earned yet another Horrible Parent of the Year award).  We took Ian to an Italian restaurant (?!) for breakfast.  He ate his favorite breakfast of banana pancakes, while Isaac scarfed his favorite -- cheesy eggs. Someone asked if we were going next door to a movie afterwards. I took the boys to several kids movies during the free summer showings and they loved it, so we thought that was a great idea.  Brian had a co-worker tell him he thought Ian would really get into the new Christmas Carol movie, so we got tickets for that.  Later, I asked Brian if his co-worker has any children and he sheepishly admitted he (obviously) didn't.  Long story short, what, in our fanciful imaginations, we thought would be a fun family holiday movie was probably terrifying for the little guy. He did hop into my lap, and I did cover his eyes a few times, and he did comment afterwards that the guy (scrooge) was scared and sad and wanted his mommy. Otherwise, he didn't seem traumatized, but I knew those images could stick with him. That night he said, "There's noooo monsters here."  Brian talked to him a bit and tried to explain the concept of "pretend" and promised to gobble up any monsters, if any were to exist. Ian seemed content with that and fell right asleep and had a calm night. But, yeah, we hang our heads and humbly accept our not-so-genius parenting award.  The next morning at breakfast, Ian said "Daddy gobbled up all the monsters."  I think he'll survive.

Sunday evening, we had a leaf-raking party and a beautiful sunset.

 

Today is his actual birthday.  It's a rainy day, so we're stuck tearing the house apart.  We are expecting a grandparents' gift in the mail, and he gets to open some cards, take some phone calls and there's still a few walls of the "snowy house" left, so there's still some celebrating to do.  We plan to take him out for ice cream, too, and that always makes his day.

This morning, Isaac woke up, grabbed my hand and started rubbing his leg with it (as to demonstrate) and said, "Get going." Ian said that last night Grandma was a giant and was mad at him.  Ian later balanced his body in "flying position" on his Sit 'n Spin handle and said he was a "golden flying horse." I think we'll find plenty to do today.

Camels and Cookies

Sometimes what Ian says is still pretty muddled.  Sometimes he makes himself a little too clear.  I'll give a recent example of each.

I could have sworn Ian was telling me there were camels on his strawberry.  I chalked it up to his vivid imagination, tho usually his imagination has a little more logic to it than that.  Later, when strapping him in his car seat, he said he wanted to hold the "camels."  Listening more closely and having him repeat it a dozen times, it started to sound more like "camocks," which still didn't help.  I asked him to show me what he meant, and then I discovered he was talking about the hand sanitizer pen I had clipped to my shirt.  Then it clicked that he had remembered me talking about washing the chemicals off his strawberries.

The next incident was on the day we made gingerbread man cookies together.  That night, when Brian was trying to get Ian headed to bed, Ian was begging incessantly for another gingerbread man.  Brian got fed up with it and told him if he asked one more time, he would put his nose to the wall (our version of a time out).  Ian couldn't help himself and muttered once more, "May I have a gingerbread man?" Brian replied, "What did you say?" Without hesitation, Ian said, "Hey, what's in this trash can?"  It was so well-performed that it got him off the hook.

****************
Ian just brought me a Batman mask and asked if I could be Batgirl.  I agreed and did my best impression.  Then he brought me a book to read, so I took off the mask and started reading.  Ian stopped me and insisted, "No, Batgirl will read it."

Rainy Day Ramble

Hooray!  For two days now, I've kept the house unusually clean.  Go me.  But, it's not without that acid-reflux sheen that gives everything a warm glow. I don't expect to do a lot of posting this week, while getting my act together for Ian's birthday "party".  The boys helped me make some gingerbread men and trees, a few of which I might use on his cake. I don't intend to do any real, invite-all-the-friends parties for as long as I can get away with it. Is that Scroogey?  He's so thrilled with family parties now, why mess with what works? He's been having us read his Thomas the Tank Engine story about Thomas' birthday -- Thomas wanted presents, balloons and silly hats, so that's what Ian wants too.

Yesterday wasn't so special.  I was a grump.  Sure, I'm tired and feeling huge and uncomfortable, but I never feel justified in snapping at the boys so much.  It seemed like things were constantly being inappropriately spilled out, splashed in, stomped on, torn up, wadded up, knocked over, thrown down and whatnot, and I think each time I had a nuclear meltdown.  Why did it seem like my 3-y/o was the grownup here?  He kept softly cooling my jets with little phrases like, "Mommy, do you feel frustrated? I'm here."  "Mommy, you are soooo sorry for yelling."  "Yes, I am so sorry for yelling at you," I'd say.  "I'm soooo sorry too.  I love you sooo much," he'd reply.  "I'm sooo sorry about that, Mom. It was and acc'ent" I felt like an even bigger monster after all his cuteness. [Sigh.] Today will be better.

The boys had me read a couple stories before breakfast. Isaac wanted a truck book. He points to one and says "Car pa-po-ter," correctly labeling the car transporter. He also recognized the "duh truck," "deer [skid steer],"loader," and "tra-ter [tractor]."  These boys know more about trucks than I do.

We recently made hand puppets with paper bags, glue sticks, googly eyes, pom-poms & crayons.  Glue was a new concept for them. Isaac kept trying to disassemble his before it would dry. Ian felt he had a bad start and said his puppet was Isaac's and traded bags with him.  They turned out pretty cute.  Ian still liked Isaac's better in the end, but he had fun making them talk and dance.  The next day, they took Isaac's apart together.

It's a rainy, chilly day.  Ian keeps taking off his robe and then telling me how cold he is. Then he tells me, "I want the green blanket.  I want a green tent, actu-wy."  I see lots of story-reading in my near future.

Boyscout Badgering, Birthday Brainstorming and Baby Babbling

Yesterday evening, we juiced the boys up on ice cream and took them to the park.  While there, a troupe of boy scouts went thundering past the playground to an open field. Ian dashed after them and stood at the edge of the field.  The boy scout leader saw him and, in my best estimate, figured he was going to cleverly "scare" him off. Mr. Boy Scout launched into some loud monologue in a voice I can only describe as an even more annoying Bobcat Goldthwait. It was something like, "Hey little boy!...[blah blah blah]...Do you want to be a boyscout?!...."  Instead of its intended effect, Ian arched his back, threw back his head and erupted in maniacal laughter. The troupe went chaotic with it's own amusement. Ian - 1, Mr. Boy Scout - 0.

After the park, we enjoyed a spontaneous play date...at Kroger. We ran into a friend and her kids, and the whole gang of kids, ages 20 mos, 3, 4, and 6 (I think) zoomed off to besiege the grocery store.  I guarded the carts while Brian and the other mom dashed off in pursuit.  They forgot their nets and manacles, but eventually reclaimed our progeny.  We adults squeaked in a brief chat before the clan escaped again.  It had to be great marketing for the bakery treats on the tables they were crazily circumnavigating:  Buy these and your kids can be just like this!

We finally parted ways and otherwise left the store fairly victorious.  For his upcoming birthday, Ian requested a cake with a house and snow.  My best idea for tackling that was to find a gingerbread house kit to use for a cake topper.  Fortunately, Kroger had one, so I'll be tackling that this week.  They didn't, however, have any gingerbread man cookie cutters.  They had lots of gingerbread man cookies, but my masochistic self decided it would be a deeper expression of my love to make the little cookie men that will frolic in the sugary snowdrifts.  But, I may reconsider the bagged ginger men since he won't fully appreciate the effort until about his 32nd birthday...maybe.

-------------------------------

Isaac does everything about as cutely as I can imagine it being done. Right now he's fascinated with eyes. When I put on my "ga-giz" [glasses] in the morning, he slips a finger behind them and declares, "Eye!" and then points out all the other eyes present in the room. Then he gently raps on my glasses with his fist, saying "knock knock" and lets me know it's time to "eat!" The way he requests his waffle (wah-wul) sounds like he's prodding me to rock 'n roll.  He waits patiently as I dance, then leads me by the finger to the freezer. Ian walks by with a drink and Isaac makes the "share" sign and requests "chare meeeeeeee", holding out the "me" while his sweet voice slides into an increasingly higher pitch. Depending on what room we're in, "boo bus" either means he wants to ride his school bus or he wants his tooth brush (with "boo pase" on it, of course).  He's a little flirt and a cuddly cuddler, and I just want to squeeze him!

Redefining Normal

Ian is definitely his own boy. Yesterday in his Cradle Roll class at church, they were doing songs and activities related to the story of baby Jesus. The room was decorated with a simply-constructed manger scene in one corner, complete with plastic people and animal figures; a big star hanging from the ceiling overhead, and another manger scene on the opposite wall. While the children put felt angels on the board, he preferred to poke at baby Jesus in the manger. When they cuddled little lambs like shepherds, he danced with a plastic manger sheep. The kids each took a turn on a rocking horse, pretending to be the wise man on a camel. When it was Ian's turn, he dragged his "camel" across the room to face the manger scene on the wall while he rocked. When the kids galloped around the room on one of those "horse-head-on-a-stick" things, he waved his high over his head like a NASCAR flag man.  And, of course, he had to be contrary about the color of every bell and instrument he was handed.

Late that afternoon, we took them to the zoo. We planned to be there just a couple hours, so we braved leaving the stroller in the car. Instead, we put on their little blue backpacks with optional leash attachment.  They did a remarkable job of staying nearby and the visit was further improved by the cool weather and the amount of people that left as we arrived (hey now, our kids aren't that scary...). The parakeets landed on our seed sticks, the lions roared, the gorillas hammed it up, and the boys got souvenir smashed pennies of their favorite animals. We finished up just in time and were heading for the exit before the boys even got cranky of being there. It was the ideal day at the zoo. Then it was their turn to express to us the full extent of the joy they were experiencing at the zoo. They wailed all the way to the car and halfway home.  Finally, when we could get a word in edgewise, we reminded them of the friend's birthday party we were headed to, and they once again found happiness.

We made it to the party, where once again Ian engaged in numerous acts of "normal toddler behavior".  He couldn't wait to give his friend the present he had so carefully chosen. He kept trying to drag it out of the gift pile -- until he noticed the cake. The party had a fire truck theme and the cake was topped with an irresistible assortment of Hotwheels fire trucks. We got the cake scooted out of his reach and he grabbed one of the fire helmet party favors and stomped around with a stern look on his face grumbling, "I'm a fireman. Where's the fire hydrant?" Everyone sat down to eat pizza and crunchy veggies. He faked us out by taking a bite of a carrot and chewing it indefinitely while he made a piece of food art out of pizza, an olive, and some ranch dressing sucked up a straw.

Clearly, he was scheming on dessert, because soon enough, the other kids had scarfed their meals and were ready for cake.  Onto his plate, he spat a wad of chewed carrot, and proceeded to eat a piece of cake the size of his head.  About that time, they handed out popsicles too.  You should have heard the maniacal laugh that burst forth from that child, as he grasped a popsicle in one hand and leaned forward to bury his teeth in the cake before him.  In the picture below, you can't see the popsicle, but you might notice the complete absence of silverware and social grace.

Finally, with his sugar high intact, he was able to turn his attention back to gift time for the birthday boy -- after a good face wipe, that is.

By the time we got home, the boys looked like they'd spent a rough night at a Kiss concert.  Black icing stains  enveloped their faces like smeared mascara.  I think last night they weren't so much sleeping as comatose.

For some reason, this morning I decided to make a New Orleans breakfast of beignets and cafe au lait.  Maybe it was like one of those "hair of the dog" treatments I've heard of.  Within minutes, I had three guys stomping around the upstairs balcony, each with a hand over an eye and Ian growling "Bar be hearties!! [insert maniacal laugher]  We're pirates!"  Brian yells "We're in the crow's nest!"  Ian corrects him saying, "Crows eat corn."  Then a barrage of bouncy balls come tumbling down the stairs.  I think I'll go take a shower.

In Our Sleighday

I have approximately 8 weeks of pregnancy left. Yikes. I'm so anxious to meet our new little guy, but I keep reminding myself not to wish time away, because life is much simpler with him in my belly. Plus I'm trying to cram as much playtime in with the boys as I can before I face the excitement and guilt of caring for a newborn while feeling like a complete traitor to the other two.

I think it's a sick joke that during these last couple months, when I want to boost my reserves, I'm destined to flop around in bed all night like a spooked moose, trying to find comfort.  Listen here, my little womb-mate. I know what I'm up against. You, on the other hand, will like me much better when rested.

This morning, I gave up trying to sleep about an hour early, lit a fire and tackled some of the Thanksgiving aftermath in the kitchen.  Within 30 or 40 minutes, everyone else was up and we lazied our way through breakfast, showers and more tidying up.  I had the idea that we'd go to a mall and window shop for Christmas gift ideas, and maybe snag a few bonus sales. We piled into what Ian calls the "new van" -- a Ford Flex we picked up in August -- and headed to a mall I remembered seeing about 40 minutes away. Thirty-five minutes and two sleeping boys later, my mommy brain reset and I realized that the place I was thinking of was actually 45 minutes in the other direction. We circled the nearby shopping plaza, only to find that they were the exact same stores we had - maybe slightly bigger. Since the boys were still sleeping, we decided to head back to stores near town.

We ate some ultimo-delicious Five Guys burgers and fries and squeaked in some totally fruitless shopping that looked more like two frazzled adults dancing around a hot toddler hive, clumsily trying to untangle kid leashes from one end of the mall to the other. At one point, Ian and I broke free of Dillard's, and while waiting outside for Brian and Isaac to emerge, Santa walked by and stopped at a cluster of kids. Ian asked me where his sleigh was. I told him I wasn't sure, but he could go ask Santa. He seemed to think that was a good idea so we walked over to Santa, very, very cautiously, of course. Santa said hi and handed Ian a small toy. I prompted Ian to ask his question. He murmured "Where's the sleigh?" and Santa said it was at the North Pole getting ready for Christmas. Always the skeptic, my brain launched into self-dialogue, demanding to know how he got here without his sleigh, but my prefrontal cortex managed to keep my lips closed. Ian asked Santa if he'd found Marty's truck [One of Ian's favorite books is Santa's Peppermint Rescue. Marty is the delivery mouse for Santa's candy]. Silly Santa thought Ian was asking for a truck. Is that how Santa deals with his primary candy supplier -- feigning ignorance? Or...do we have an impostor on our hands?

As Santa walked off, up trots a horse pulling a fancy Cinderella-looking carriage. Ian tries to hop on. I try to rein him in as I crane my neck to see if the guys have made it out yet. Just in time, Brian and Isaac walk up and we all climb on the carriage and under a blanket for our complimentary ride around the parking lot. The boys love it.

Back home, Ian dashes to the refrigerator for a snack. A couple weeks ago, he ripped the child lock off, and has since enjoyed his unfettered access to Snackland. He pulled out the egg carton and begged for an egg. Brian hands him an egg. Ian holds the egg at arm length and announces, "Now a chicken's going to pop out. Bawk bawk. [Sniffs] It smells like an egg." Then he gets a look in his eye and starts to dash after Isaac. Brian swoops in to rescue the egg and cooks up a snack for the boys. Ian repeatedly asked for ketchup, honey and peanut butter on his eggs. I resist on moral grounds. He begs some more. Sigh, who am I to tell the boy what he likes.

A Tour of Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving!  I wish you all a day of good health, happiness and fellowship. I feel so blessed for the people in my life.  My husband is the most loving, dedicated man I could ever dream of.  He is my best friend, team mate and life partner.  My children bring me unsurpassable joy.  It's hard not to wonder what I lived for before them. My parents just celebrated their 33rd anniversary.  They are so in love and have made love and life together look so easy.  Through example, dedication and sacrifice, they provide (even still) all I need to succeed in God's family. My brother, sister, and I are the best of friends. They are a continual joy and inspiration to me. My husband's parents are the most amazing people, too. Whether it's advising on a recipe or hopping in the car to drive 600 miles to help with the kids, they frequently drop everything to come to our rescue. They love me as one of their own. Sadly, for almost 6 years now, we've had hundreds of miles between us and the nearest family. It has been so hard. We have been blessed, though, to have friends and a church that have embraced us with both arms and have loved us through the lonely times.

I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:3 NIV

Being our own little 'island' family has been a challenge.  We are both very family oriented, and it's very important to us to that our kids know their family.  We've all worked hard to arrange visits in one state or the other, and occasional video chats.  Somehow, we've kept up a frequency of contact that our little guys are able to remember their grandparents, great-grandfather, aunts & uncles.  Some facet of the distance has been good for us, too.  It has helped us establish our identity as a family and has forced us to develop our own traditions and problem-solving skills.

The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. Psalm 28:7 NIV

We've had to get creative sometimes with our meals, and Brian has an uncanny ability to withdraw toothpaste from an 'empty' tube.  It seems like just when we don't know how the next bill will be covered, God provides. A gift. An unexpected refund. A raise. It never adds up with human math.

Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to his disciples to set before the people. He also divided the two fish among them all. Mark 6:41 NIV

I woke up this morning, full of joy.  &;A rich aroma filled the air.  I knew my dear husband had slipped out of bed early to start the turkey.  I tried to sneak out of bed, but by the time I had my sweats on, I heard a little voice inquire, "Mommy...?" I saw little Isaac's eyes peeping out of the sheet.  I crawled back under the covers and he whips a calculator out from somewhere and declares, "Button!" We share some giggles and he flashes me smiles that make my heart melt. I look over at Ian, my little sleeping prince, and it hits me that somewhere between two and three, my first baby became a little boy. He looks so grown. What beautiful, amazing little baby men.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever. 1 Chronicles 16:34 NIV

Isaac and I make our way to the kitchen. Brian not only has the turkey cooking, but our favorite loaf of yogurt bread is baking and he has breakfast ready. What a man, what a man! He never ceases to impress me. I can't imagine feeling more loved and appreciated. He seems to never tire of service to his family and God. I feel like I have more to be thankful for than I can express or ever deserve.

Now, our God, we give you thanks, and praise your glorious name. 1 Chronicles 29:13 NIV

Most of all, I feel thankful for the unending mercy and grace I receive. I mess up every. single. day. I want to be eternally patient and calm with my boys, but I blow it. A lot. I want to be a shining Christian example to them of love and respect, but I blow it. I want to be a cheerful, pulled-together, always-have-dinner-ready wife, but I blow it. I want to spend time every day reading my Bible, praying for my family and living what I believe, but I blow that too. On all accounts I am forgiven. Graciously, perpetually forgiven.

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, "Take it; this is my body." Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. Mark 14:22-23 NIV

What a day to celebrate! It seems amid all the struggles and disappointments, there is always an abundance of blessings for which I express my deepest gratitude.

Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift! 2 Corinthians 9:15 NIV

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here we go a waffling

Today has been a fairly typical day.  I wake up to Isaac's sweet voice on my right, going "broom broom BROOM!" I crack an eyelid, wondering as I do every morning in our blacked-out room, to what time they let me sleep.  Isaac is propped up on a pillow driving a monster truck.

A few moments later, Ian animates and sits up with an enthusiastic "Good morning, mom!", followed by "Is baby making more milk?"  He stopped breast-feeding at about two and a half, rather reluctantly, due to my first trimester discomfort and rapidly diminishing milk supply.  I explained that my body stopped making milk for a little while and was busy building a baby brother, but when baby comes out, my body will make lots more milk. Since then, he's been my milk sentry, making sure baby doesn't leave his post at the milk churn.  

Ian next inquired, "Where's my flashlight?"  I ease open a second eyelid and grunt into a sitting position.  I look down to the floor and see the flashlight among some other toys.  "It's on the floor, being guarded by the Christmas dog."  Ian peers down, giggling, "Well, that's kinda really funny", retrieves his torch and sets off to scare some monsters.

I turn the fans off and the lights on and start gathering the day's clothes.  Isaac swings open a dresser door, says "bye bye" and closes himself up as best as he can.  The glazed-over red-faced expression heralds my next duty.

Ian drags his potty to its position in front of the TV.  I put on GPB, set the sleep timer and head off to make breakfast.  I make a somewhat Mickey Mouse configuration of waffles and sausage and in the midst of peanut butter-ing, I hear Isaac cry.  I mentally triage the situation and determine it's not a pain cry, but more one of annoyance.  Ian's usually pretty well locked-in when the TV goes on, so chances are it was self-inflicted.  I keep spreading.  He keeps crying.  I set down the knife and head toward the bawling.  Ian shuffles out of the bedroom, bound at the ankles by his pants, to tell me "Igick is crying."  That's because "Igick"  is trapped in the bathroom, not yet able to operate a door handle.  Unlike his older brother who was sitting two feet away and able to muster the effort to waddle all the way to the living room, but not....oh, nevermind.  I free Isaac and offer my sympathy.

Ian announces his potty accomplishments, and I take them to be flushed.  As I swirl the pot with soapy water, I ponder with disgusted amusement the irony and frequency with which I find myself performing tasks like this with PEANUT BUTTER ON MY FINGERS.  Isaac decides my sympathy job was lame and starts his 'stage cry'.  While scrutinizing the soapy pot, I verbalize more sympathy.  Not good enough.  Isaac whirls me around by my pants leg so I can also see on his face the utter agony and affliction he has suffered.  I properly comfort him and shoo them to the breakfast table.  Ian sees the glorious waffles and celebrates, "Oh fank you, mom!"  I get two sippy cups of milk poured while Ian is asking for his waffle to be cut into smaller pieces.  I deliver the milk and start to cutting, when I notice Isaac's food has dematerialized.  How does he do that?!

Later at lunch time, the boys plop down at their table.  As I'm pouring drinks, I hear Ian launch into his speed prayer.  It goes something like "Dear God, fank you for God, please bless evy-one. [Arms fling out to perform a giant clap]. AA-MEN!"  I feel a surge of pride that my little guy, who'd often rather bypass the ritual, remembered the blessing all on his own.  Mid-meal, Ian stands up, walks around the table and dutifully slurps applesauce off of his brother's shirt, then returns to his seat.

I take the opportunity to talk about tomorrow being Thanksgiving.  I talk about the time with family and friends, the delicious meal and how we will think about all the things we are thankful for.  I tell them how thankful I am for my sweet boys, their fantastic daddy and the health and happiness God has blessed us with. I tell them I am thankful that Grammy is feeling better from her appendix surgery,  I express my gratitude for the beautiful weather, good friends and that all our needs are met.  I turn to Ian and ask what he is thankful for.  "Straws!"  Well, he does make a good point.

Yes, sir. Right away, sir.

I snagged a couple windows of opportunity to dress the boys before breakfast this morning (obviously taking the huge risk that they will soil them beyond recognition by meal's end).  I jumped into some sweats and slippers before Ian's turkey sandwich requests turned riotous.  After the three of us finished a lunchy breakfast, I thought aloud, "I guess I should get dressed now.  My two boys are dressed.  I should be dressed too."  Ian replied, "Your boys are dressed, but their feet are cold.  How about some socks?"

I want sleep NOW! But, first...

I finally admit I'm a sleep fighter.  That's the first step, right?  An hour past bed time last night, my eyelids were so droopy tired, I was using them for slippers, yet I found myself in the closet, suddenly very concerned about the whereabouts of Isaac's hand-me-down winter coats.  Brian, festively adorned with an assortment of toddlers, diapers and tooth brushes, caught me mid-rifle to gently offer his support:  "You know, maybe this is a good time to tear the house apart for those coats.  We might need those tonight."  Aww, what a sweet ma-- now hang on a second -- I think I just got patronized!

I reluctantly gave up my search and found a small set of teeth to brush.  My sweet Brian already had Isaac in some cute little fire truck pajamas.  Ian, still prancing around in his squeaky-clean skin, insisted on having fire trucks too.  I opened the pajama drawer and was immediately transfixed by its disarray.  Brian was solidly into his narration of Tiger Can't Sleep, with Isaac tucked in the crook of his arm and naked Ian balanced precariously on the edge of the bed.  My hunt for more fire trucks segued into a full-blown drawer organization project.  My eyes were crossing, but this was "important."  About the time Tiger was one-man-band-ing, Brian realized I was into "it" again.  "Amy, what are you...?"  "Here they are!  Ian, let's put on your fire trucks"  "O.K., now come to bed....plllease."  "Hang on, I have to put all this back."

Finally, we're all tucked into bed. The last story is read.  Ian and Brian are discussing who will turn off the light.  An idea assaults my groggy brain:  Hey, I should go microwave that squishy little foot warmer thingy...

Mini Mama

What an amusing sight this was:  My 19-month-old, Isaac, chasing my almost-three-year-old, bare-bottomed Ian around and around the house, with little red toddler undies, gripped by the waistband in his chubby hands, insisting, "Wuh-wear! Wuh-wear! [translated: "underwear"]"

I need to figure out how to make a photo album of "I wish I got a picture of that" snapshots.

Man At Work

Brian is not an overly excitable guy, but he called me from work today with a glee in his voice, probably two notches higher than when he announced this would be a three-day work week.  "I found a dealer!  Right down town!  I'm headed there now!"  Don't turn him in just yet.  He's just trippin' on -- get this -- Vegemite.

"Vege-what?"  That's what all the Kroger people blankly replied when I attempted to get poor hubby his fix.  [C'mon, folks, do I have to start singing here?  Men At Work?  Land Down Under?  "He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich..."?  O.K., nevermind.  "Do you have a request form?"]

It's pretty good.  When I spread it on toast, it's reminiscent of a french dip sandwich.  But, my lands, this man eats it like I'd eat peanut butter.  Or chocolate.  Or peanut butter wrapped in chocolate.  He seems almost hurt that I'm "barely touching the stuff."  There's been nary a meal prepared lately during which he hasn't been struck giddy with the idea that "this might taste good with some Vegemite!"  After 8 years of marriage, he has me convinced that my cooking warms his heart and belly, so I know I can shake off notions that he's discovered a miracle cure for the mundane meal.  My Knight just loves his Ve-ge-mite.

Back in September, we were fortunate to take a "trip of a lifetime" to Australia and New Zealand.  It was cold, somewhat wet, and I was fairly pregnant, so we kept our adventures pretty tame.  It was amazing nonetheless.  As you can guess, among our souvenirs was Brian's Vegemite addiction.

Back to the phone call.  He told me about his phone conversation with the shop keeper:

B: Do you have Vegemite?
SK: Yes
B: In the 400g size?!
SK: No, just the 150g.
B: [slightly dejected, but still panting] Which is about seven bucks, right?
SK: [possibly starting to feel a bit leery]...Um, y-yess...$6.99....Would you like me to...set some aside for you? [possibly also wondering if he'd prefer her to don a dark hoodie and sunglasses and stand on a street corner]
B: No, thanks.  I'll be there in a minute.

[swooning] I just adore this man.

I lost my cheese

Ian (3 in December) has recently potty trained.  He likes to sit indefinitely on his toddler potty, sometimes taking his snack with him (eww), while watching a show.  When he sits so long that my bottom starts to hurt just seeing him, I try to pry him off, but his usual response is, "Wait, I'm pooping.", to which I suspiciously inquire, "Is that the truth?"  "No."  "Thank you for your honesty.  Now, if you want to finish your show, feel free to pull up your pants and sit somewhere more comfortable."  Here is our most recent potty-time conversation:

Ian:  Mom!  I lost my cheese!
Mom:  Where did it go?
Ian:  I dropped it in the potty.  Can you get it?
Mom: No! No no no! [I dash over to inspect/avert any HAZMAT crises]
Ian: Can you get my cheese?
Mom:  That's not cheese.  That's....poop.  Ian, that's your poop.
Ian:  That's not poop.  It's my cheese.
Mom: [Dashing off to flush the goods]
Ian:  Wait, Mommmm!  Bring back my cheese!

There's a Ford F-150 in my shoe

I have a few treasured thoughts swimming around in my head this weekend, in addition to my new-found Airwalk accessory, that I'd like to hang on to.

Last night, while Brian was insulating the water heater pipes, Ian headed for one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled out his kid-sized baking kit.  He climbed up to our ridiculously tall table and said, "Mom, we need to make cookies." as he pulled out his apron and wooden spoon.  Starting cookies at 7 p.m. is not what I had in mind for the evening, but I was taken with his cuteness and spontaneity.  I grabbed a couple cookie cook books and we flipped through them.  I adored hearing him ponder to himself, "Hmm, which one shall I make?  Maybe like this one...or this one."  I saw that coconut macaroons were super simple and quick and he agreed without hesitation.  As he stirred the ingredients that I helped measure, he informed me, "I'm making cookies for you, Mom.  I'm making coc'ut mac'roons."  He fit six on his little cookie sheet and the rest on a big one, all the while self-critiquing the portion sizes:  "Oops, too much.  There, just right."  He was so proud of his little macaroons and when they were cooled and on a snowman plate, he was quite the host, offering each family member a cookie, then a second, and attempted a third.  He long ago figured out that his best chance of getting a treat is to bring some for everyone.

Isaac was a big fan, too.  With the last bit in his mouth, he'd run up to his dad requesting, "One!  One!", hoping to get 'one more'.

Isaac is starting to put together small sentences.  This morning in the bath he said, "I want out."  Seeing that written down now feels slightly like I'm celebrating having put my shoes on the right feet.  Anyhow, it's the most complete thing he's said yet and as his mother, I'm excited.  He does very precious toddler things.  I love when he toddles over with a book and hefts it up onto the table saying, "Read, Mom.  Lllap."  I hoist him up onto my carefully-pronounced 'lllap' and read his 'gory' for as long as it keeps his interest, then he claps the book closed, saying, "E end."

Lately, Isaac has been running around singing "Ma na ma na" (popularized by the Muppets), thanks to a dancing, singing Christmas monster a friend gave us last year.  I keep trying to catch it on video, because it is SOOO PRECIOUS, but each time he stops singing to chase after me, saying, "Cheese!".  Not to hijack my own thought, but, "Christmas monster", you say?  Yes, Christmas is already up & at 'em at our house.  Normally, I'd wait until a more typical time to install Christmas, but we won't be home for Christmas, so starting it early made sense. We had family visiting last week, so I thought, "Hey, I have help!  Let's do Christmas!".  I put on a Christmas CD yesterday, and after Jingle Bells played, Ian remarked, "Now that was a really good song."  He's my Christmas kid.  He loves all things Christmas and has me read him Christmas stories all year long.  Aunt Ashley sent the boys something uber-cool.  It's a Christmas story that holds a recording of her reading it.  It's fantastic to have a pinch-hitter when my voice is worn from the likes of "Santa's Peppermint Rescue".


OK, the natives are getting restless, so I'm off to new adventures!

Of Ramen Descent?

I had another bizarre-o dream last night (One of the many uber-strange dreams I get when pregnant).  My baby was packaged in one of those blocks of Ramen Noodles and needed to be cooked out.  He didn't quite cook long enough, so the noodles were still fairly blockish and stiff, so instead of fishing him out of a soupy bowl, we had to pluck the noodles off  and he was all gummy.  Ever tried to wipe spaghetti up from a table or floor and all it wants to do is roll around?  It was like that.

So is this my subconscious fear that he won't "cook" long enough (I have a rambling, resenting vent about the way my first two deliveries went down, starting with my water breaking/leaking "too soon" before labor would kick in on its own...maybe I'll share some time), or that we'll end up with some clumsy home birth?  Am I envisioning his poor little future of "pasta night" at home with two big brothers?  More likely, the "cooking" I've been doing in my exhaustion has led to an MSG hallucination.

The De-Evolution of a Mother

I began motherhood as a complex organism that required people to decontaminate before holding my firstborn.  Food fallen to the floor may as well already be harboring maggots.  (Eww. did I just say that?)  When I finally consented to let him in the same zip code as another child, I was Mama Bear on a hair-trigger, but it turned out other kids don't actually tend to hit babies.

Then came boy number two.  Ian was remarkably civil with baby Isaac, probably because he hadn't lost property rights to "his" breast.  I did call the doctor the first time they 'bonked' heads, but things were loosening up.  I let my guard down just enough to not stop Ian from placing a raisin in Isaac's mouth, but applauded myself for rescuing my infant from certain demise.  The next day, I discovered I had excised the second raisin.

I began to realize how futile it was to keep my youngest sterile with such a quick and creative older brother.  Then once Isaac was mobile, they'd collaborate on all things messy.  One mind-melting day, I de-evolved to "not seeing" the two of them slurping Jell-O off the kitchen floor and, later,  letting Isaac continue yelling from underneath Ian just to "see where it would go."  For the record, Isaac can throw a mean one-two combo of elbow-to-chin and head-butt.  At the pinnacle of insanity and fluster-ation, I actually barked at Ian, "Give Isaac back the knife!" just moments before I caught up with reality and disarmed them.  These days, I try to provide them wise instruction on the meaning and responsibilities of family, but, really, how much cuter could a toddler spat be, with two boy cubs batting and bopping at each other to no effect?

Number three is on the way, and I don't even want to know to what depths I will sink...

What am I thinking?!

I've never blogged.  Ever.  Why on earth am I starting now?  I haven't even done the dishes yet.  It's probably because I've been sending a lot of text messages of the silly goings-on in our house with 2 toddlers, and often I try to condense these events into Facebook status updates, which people seem to enjoy.  However, blogging sounded kinda fun (and don't confuse my conversational English-butchering for grammatical incompetence - it's simply one of my micro-rebellions), so I've decided to give it a whirl.  See, the dishes will keep piling up and eventually slide off and shatter on the floor, hopefully to be swept up by the next broom that drags through town, but these moments in time really ought to be preserved.

I'm totally in denial that my baby is almost 3, and that he has a brother who will be almost 2 when the THIRD boy arrives in January.  This is happening wayyyyy too quickly.  I had time to write a few things here and there in a journal when it was just Ian and I holding down the fort.  I thought I was bewildered then.  Poor Isaac has little record of his life thus far, as the stereotypical second -child syndrome goes.  I can type much faster than I can write, and typed text looks just as legible when composed in solitary as when I have what feels like 8 boys in my lap.  So, here it goes!