Small and Precious and Fragile

When he was born, he had chubby cheeks and the cutest dimple on his chin. He liked to be held, bounced, shushed to sleep. He liked it when I rubbed his forehead. He would wrap his hand around my pinky finger while he drank his bottle. He gave us sleepy grins just before he closed his eyes. He was small and precious and fragile.

When he was 2 he had chubby little legs that helped him run away from me in a weaving pattern. He laughed with a huge open mouth. His smile was contagious. He sang songs and talked in third person. His little fingers fit perfectly in my hand. He called me, "Mama" and my heart burst open every time. He was small and precious and fragile.

This year he is 4 and this is his pre-school picture. I still see his dimple on his chin. His legs have thinned out, but he still laughs with a huge open mouth. He still likes it when I rub his forehead, He still calls me, "Mama." My heart still bursts open every time. Though he may not look it, he is still small and precious and fragile. Now, he is also big and smart and independent.

Almost Two

This little sprite will turn two in just over a month.

Though, if you ask her, she'll tell you she's five. And, if you  ask me, I'll tell you she's two going on fifteen.

Not one to ease into anything, she's preparing us for the Terrible Twos by diving in head first. Her desire for independence kind of resembles dynamite when you mix it with her determined personality. A fact that slightly scares me when I think of the next two years and downright terrifies me when I think of her at thirteen.

Her two most widely used phrases these days are:

"Yeah, sure." As in, "OMGGGGGG Mom, I guess I'll do what you suggest, but don't expect me to be happy about it."

and

"I'm still pooping." Used a stall tactic whenever she doesn't want to do anything. For the record, she's yelled this in public on multiple occasions. The Target cashier's response to her yelling it repeatedly was, "She's so articulate for her age." Yeah, sure lady. Yeah, sure.

I'm hoping she keeps the "I'm still pooping" phrase for her teenage years, but ditches the "Yeah, sure." Because getting (and keeping) a boyfriend with that phrase in her vernacular shouldn't be easy.
And because getting (and keeping) my respect at age 13 with a response like, "Yeah, sure" won't be easy.

She's showing some interest in potty training. Santa bought her Dora big-girl-underpants. When she got over the fact that they weren't Sophia big-girl-underpants, she decided to give them a go.

She lasted about two hours before peeing all over our floor. If you stop over, she would be more than happy to show you exactly where the "uh-oh happened. Coincidentally it happens to be the same spot where she prefers to place her potty each morning.

Perhaps if we install a toilet in the middle of our living room she will be magically and instantaneously potty trained.


She recently refused to be placed in her highchair at dinner time, so, we obliged.

The results have been messy. Along with the potty, I'm debating a garden hose running from the sink to hose her down each night.

She is OBSESSED with brushing her teeth, but hates when I brush her hair and she often tries to get dressed by "miaself" each morning. The end result is usually something similar to this:

Mama is so proud.

She can throw a mean fit and doesn't hesitate to do so in public. She also yells inappropriate things at inopportune times. Last week, while shopping, she screamed, "HI BOOBIES!" to the bra section.

If it sounds like I'm complaining, I'm NOT.

Yes, two is easily the hardest, most challenging, most trying and most tiring age, BUT, if I could figure out how to keep her two forever, I totally would.

Because when she's not yelling at boobies and peeing on the floor she's the most charming 23 month old with messy hair I know. And even when she is yelling at boobies, it's actually pretty
entertaining.


PS: Some of her more desirable and lovable traits at 23 months include singing at the top of her lungs to the radio (currently, "Timber" by Ke$sha is her favorite song). Requesting"dance music" each night after dinner. Setting up numerous tea parties for her teddy bears. Demanding to sleep with at least twenty two different lovies each night (actually, this one borders on annoying). Saying, "I love you, back!" when I tell her I love her.   Still calling Tyson "brother" but adding in an occasional "buddy" when she really wants his attention. Counting to five and singing her ABCs with an adorable lisp.

Christmas 2013

Christmas 2013 brought an unexpected death in the family, a trip to the urgent room in ugly Christmas sweaters,  bitter cold temps, an overtired two year old and a visibly spoiled rotten four year old
.
I'm still recovering.

That said, it was still the most wonderful time of the year......

Our 2013 Christmas pictures:

Helping with Christmas cookies. She believes in the two for me, one for the cookies rule of baking.

 

 

Christmas Crafting. Which apparently is best done without clothes.

 

 

Santa was a new outdoor decoration this year. Unfortunately, he was unprepared for this Minnesota winter and opted out of inflating after the third snowstorm and eight day below zero. A tactic I plan on trying myself next winter.

 

 

 

Our annual trip to the Holidazzle parade. Mila's sweater was purchased at Savers while I was shopping for an ugly Christmas sweater for myself. Clearly she was not impressed. Tyson insisted on sweater/tie combo.

 

Making out with baby Jesus at Brother's Christmas pageant.

 

 

Staged moment of sweetness.

 

 

It was 10 below and those are (somewhat) forced smiles, but I can officially cross skating on a frozen lake off of my bucket list. 

 

 

Two marshmallows in a pod. 

 

 



 

Proof of the over-tired two year old.

 

 



One more forced moment of sweetness for good measure.

 

 

As dictated by the four year old.

 



Go, Jesus. It's your birthday. We're gonna party like it's your birthday.

Our only family picture this Christmas. Also, the outfits we donned to the Urgent room during Mila's allergic reaction. The Doctors have determined that she has a tree nut allergy, but I'm not yet convinced that she isn't also allergic to how ugly our sweaters were.

 

 

 

 

 

Hope your Christmases were just as jolly! 

Santa 2013-The Year Without Tears

For four years now I have dressed my kids in their holiday best and stood in line for over an hour to subject them to the terror that is Santa Claus.

Each year has yielded at least one screaming kid, two crabby parents and a hilarious, but ridiculously spendy picture to display on our mantle.

 

 

 

I'll be honest-a tiny part of me was convinced that Santa was secretly pinching my kids while they sat on his lap.

This year, I was determined to obtain our first ever cry-free Santa picture. Mostly because I was sick of paying for a picture of my screaming kids. I see enough of that for free around here.

I booked an appointment at the Santa Experience at the Mall of America. They promised an appointment with minimal time waiting in line and a Santa that would play on the ground with your kids to obtain a picture and experience that the kids felt comfortable in. They had me at minimal time waiting in line and sold me with someone else playing on the floor with my kids.

On the day of our appointment, Mila woke up with an eczema flare and Tyson woke up with a cold.

Being the good Mommy that I am, I forged on anyways.

Mila yelled the entire way to the mall that Santa says, "Ohh! Ohh! Monkey!" while Tyson asked approximately nine hundred questions about Santa and his elves.  There really should be a parent instruction guide for Santa because I have no idea what Santa's elves wear to bed or what Santa likes to eat when he's not on the sleigh.

We waited in line for less than ten minutes before we were greeted by Santa. As advertised, he was laying on the ground waiting to play with my kids (which sounds much creepier when I write it a second time). Mila was a little hesitant, but quickly warmed up. Tyson informed him he wanted a train and Mila answered yes when asked if she wanted a doll, or a Dora, or a baby.

After ten minutes of talking, the moment of truth came.....




I now have a ridiculously spendy picture of both of my kids smiling with Santa displayed on our mantle.

A tiny part of me is convinced that the lack of tears is because Santa couldn't reach up to pinch them.