The Daily Fuss

Is Life Better In Your Twenties or Thirties?

A friend posted today on one of my favorite topics - which decade is "better" age-wise, the roaring twenties, or stable thirties?

It's a good piece and immediately begs the question "what does better actually mean"?

I will tell you that I am happier and more fulfilled now than I have ever been, but I can't put my finger on exactly why I would refer to this decade as better. 

Evie, the author, points out the seemingly obvious trade offs. As a paraphrased example, feeling truly and desperately alone after a breakup in your twenties versus rarely enjoying five peaceful minutes of alone time in a locked bathroom when you have little kids, for example.

When I think of who I was, personally and professionally, in my twenties, juxtaposed against the person I am now, I have no sense of regret. I always live my life as fully and honestly as I can. I make decisions and I don't look back. If I make a mistake, I convince myself it was a necessary and teachable moment. I move on.

Evie makes a point about wanting to pull back some personal time and it's not lost on me.

My biggest issue with the current decade is that with little kids, there aren't enough hours in the day to do what I want, and so I am forced to compromise with my own wants and needs. I like projects - writing, entertaining, discussing politics and other things that really don't matter for endless hours over too much wine ...

Still, you couldn't pay me to be 24 again. Have you seen Girls? The slightly more realistic Sex and the City type show about twentysomethings in NYC attempting to live the dream?

It's taken me the better part of the last decade to resolve my inner Carrie Bradshaw. I find Girls to be an hilarious expose on why being a woman in her twenties is comically and emotionally BRUTAL - even if you're pretty and popular and smart and thin. Or ... not so much. Lena Dunham is a real-life genius so definitely tune in to season two later this month if you are so inclined.

I love the 36 year-old me more than any other me. I'm not as hot as I used to be (working on that), but I'm smarter, happier and have more money and more responsibilties in all areas of my life, than I did in my twenties.

A lot of pain and growth went into the last decade and I wrote about it so I can remember it all one day. Here are my thoughts: 

On having my first child

On suburban living

On identity crisis

On homeownership

On being the neighborhood hilljack

On minivan-ownership

On baby #2 and the worst anniversary EVER

On treading water

On a new job

I love my life and I sincerely hope I feel exactly the same way when I turn 40 three years and five months from now. And, I hope I'm still enthusiastically inclined to tell you about it.

Fight

Janet Wojciechowski is an amazing woman. She's also my aunt.

She works tirelessly to support her friends and family in any way she can. She works incredibly hard. She owns her own business.

She's a health nut. She's a loving mother of two young women. She's a devoted wife, and a fiercely dedicated family member and friend. She fundraises. She donates. She gives.

She makes your problems her own and never stops trying to solve them. In fact, as one of many examples, she brought a buffet of organic food and a stepladder the day she came to help me paint my house so I could move in on time.

Fate can be cruel, even to the most selfless, loving and thoughtful people. My aunt was just diagnosed with stage IIIc ovarian cancer. Right now, she needs our help in return for all she has done for others. She's prepared for battle in what will certainly prove to be a long and expensive fight.

She's going to win, but needs our help. She and her husband Jon are longtime small business owners. The deductible on their health insurance is painfully high and rewound to zero on January 1st, to be paid out-of-pocket all over again.

While surgeries and some types of chemotherapy are covered once the deductible is met, alternative chemotherapies, treatments, supplements and healthy organic food remain out-of-pocket expenses, as well.

Moreover, (despite what she'll tell you) Janet will need to cut back her work hours to focus on getting well. Her family relies on her monthly income. Lying awake at night worrying about more bills and less income is not an option, and certainly not what we want for her during the coming year.

Thank you for reading. Please give what you can. Every immensely-appreciated dollar goes directly to Janet for her care and recovery.

Sweet Life

Last month, after nearly eight years with the same company, I gave my two-weeks notice. You may have seen this coming here. 

I've spent the last three, blissful weeks checking home and garden related things off of my to-do list while enjoying my children, husband and life immensely.

This is an Instagram shot of Mairin and I watching Leighton ride a pony at the Bristol Renaissance Faire last weekend.

In the interest of full disclosure, we have Mary Poppins, our full-time nanny, so I have had the best of all worlds for three solid weeks now. I am far from where I started - a quasi-control freak who lacked the ability to rely on others in earnest.

I could get used to this - having Mary Poppins and no real employer of which to speak.

But, I won't. I start my new job on Monday.

While starting anew can be stressful, I honestly welcome change. I have limited patience for getting set up - new computer, phone, HR stuff, new employee number, 401(k) rollovers and the like, but I'm incredibly excited to begin a new journey.

I will embark on this new personal career adventure with a clean and organized home, brilliant and healthy girls, a happy husband, 28 day meal plan (which I will finally begin posting soon), booming garden, 9 minute mile, a bit of a tan, and a weekend I am about to spend with my college girlfriends and their families.

At this moment, I am completely satisfied.

I am going to sink into this small and perfect space and be as grateful as I can possibly be for as long as I possibly can.

Jump

Life before marriage and kids allowed for a fair amount of risk-taking. Settling down to feather and fill my nest set me on the familiar, working-mom trajectory.

I just turned 36 and somewhere in the month leading up to that birthday, I had an exhausting realization:

Unless I regain control of my fate, the only difference between birthday 36 and birthday 46 will be the fact that I'm an older wife and mom with an older husband and kids and a REALLY old house that STILL needs a new roof.

I vaguely remember once saying that I wanted to retire at 45.

Something happened when I had my babies. I instictively felt the need to maintain status quo with every other aspect of my life and focus the remaining 99.99% of my efforts on getting each of those babies, my husband and I through their first years.

And I didn't bother to lose the baby weight between having the girls.

And I wasn't able to put the finishing touches on the renovations we had done to the house.

And I didn't stick my neck out for what I wanted in my job.

It's as though I was afraid to do anything to provoke the gods of change. I needed to muddle my way up to Mairin's first birthday to find freedom from the shackles of post-partem hormones and adjustments and rapid-fire pediatrician appointments and breastfeeding and sleep deprivation and the like.

Working out in any way other than gardening was simply not going to happen from either a scheduling or committment standpoint. I'm not one to set myself up for failure, so I didn't even bother to engage myself in earnest to attempt weight-loss.

The house? Our half bath still lacks switchplate covers and caulk. And I just hooked up the sink a few weeks ago. You'll find more of the same throughout the house.

I passively moved through my baby-having years with my job too. I certainly wanted to keep it, and I maintained my desire to excel. Yet, somewhere between two maternity leaves, dramatically shifting compensation plans and a drastically different subset of clients, my give-a-damn cranked itself down into a regrettably lower gear.

I've been making my way out of the haze since Mairin turned one.

I've flipped my perspective on the inability to wean her - I'm still nurturing her while maintaining a bond she's clearly not ready to break. Yay me.

I'm happily busy with work and clients and all predictible aspects of business development.

My nanny and I are in stride most days. The kids and the house are cared for and I have what I need to be fully present when work is over for the day or the week.

I'm running the North Shore Half Marathon on Sunday, fully expecting to finish it at a 10 minute/mile pace.

My garden is in full swing and my lovely (albeit timeconsuming) landscaping project is coming together.

With all of this momentum building behind me, I need something to push me to the proverbial next level. If I really want to shake it up, I need to stay uncomfortable. Existing within my comfort zone won't produce any real satisfaction; It won't make me smarter or stronger or a better wife and mother.

Pain and growth are closely aligned and no matter the tiedious preparations made for change, the final bit always requires a leap of faith.

I've done the work. All I have to do now is ... JUMP.

Once I figure out exactly what that means, you'll be the first to know.

Boom Boom Part II: Lemon Drop

As I may have mentioned, Mairin is still nursing and basically using me as a pacifier at night. What sleep I do manage to get is achieved in a crooked "S" shape on my right side.  

I understand the argument that my youngest will eventually roll her eyes at me and make me drop her off a block before the theater and I will long for the days when she was a wee babe.

I realize that I said I would coast along for another two months and then phase out feedings. I said this as recently as Monday.

But, I can't take much more of this. She and I both need a good, solid night's sleep for a change. Actually, all four of us need it. Mairin's late night fussing has been waking up Leighton, who ends up in our bed, digging her toes into Ryan's spine.

We enjoy the family bed, but sometimes it's an ugly commune-type situation that results in a tough morning. We've had a string of those lately and something needs to change. Plus, my little Marinka Dinka has all but forgotten how to self-sootheas she likes to nurse to sleep. It's unequivocally my job as her parent to help her with that.

At approximately 1:00 am Tuesday morning, I broke free from my crooked "S" and found my iPad next to the bed.  I began Googling "how to wean a toddler," and "toddler resists weaning" and a few other seemingly absurd variations.

Most of what I found on the good old interweb pertained to weaning toddlers from a bottle. This, to me, seemsa much simpler proposition than weaning a toddler form the breast. I've done it with Leighton. I just didn't give her a bottle and talked her through the withdrawal. She was done in two nights at the age of sixteen months - from boobie to baba to batte just like that.

A toddler can't climb into the upper cabinet, fetch a bottle, assemble the nipple, get the milk from the fridge, heat it up, pour it into the bottle, screw on the nipple and have her batte. Toddlers are crafty, but not that capable.

They are, however, able to unbutton a blouse, shove their hands into the neckline of a shirt, stretch it out, throw a temper tantrum, bite through the blouse, pull out your earnings and repeatedly yell, "BOOM BOOM" as loudly as possible to cause a scene.

If I could put my breasts in a kitchen cabinet on some days, I would do it.  Alas, no.

So that brings me back to what the Google machine eventually did reveal. The message boards and blog comments have all the goods - the real answers from real people who aren't afraid you're going to try to sue them for giving worthy advice.  

I stumbled upon a few comments about toddler weaning using lemon juice. WHAT? I know, rubbing lemon juice on my boobs struck me as something akin a dare or a cruel trick to play on a little kid. Still, the desperate women who tried it happily reported that it worked like a charm. Their babies didn't mind much and lost interest fairly quickly.

So,I tried it. I cut a lemon in half and applied it to the targets. Before bedtime, Mairin made her plea for "Boom Boom". I let her try it and she pulled back, made a little face and said, "taste", "taste" while shaking her head. She tried it again with the same reaction. Then, she hopped off my lap and got a book to read.

A little while later, Ryan picked her up for bed. She said, "boom boom?" so I offered it up. She looked at me for a moment and, apparently remembering her previous attempt, changed her mind. She said "no" kissed me good night and went off to bed.

And then, I cried.

Disney World Part I: Rose-Colored (Mouse-Eared) Glasses

Planning any vacation takes considerable thought and it pays to consider your company whilst plotting your journey. My husband is the family concierge - the fungineer - and he is fabulous.

We've had this trip to Disney World planned for months. Grandma Freeman has a conference in Orlando, so we built our vacation around it. I can tell you with full confidence that she, like my husband, imagined an ideal Disney experience.

Here's how the fantasy version goes: The plane gently touches down in Orlando as the kids rouse and rub their eyes after sleeping the entire way. We exit the airport into an arid, 75 degree atmosphere as the rental car magically appears at the curb to greet us. We swiftly make our way to the resort, get the early check in and head to our fully updated suites.

We enjoy the pool, make dinner and get to bed early for the next day at Magic Kingdom. We get from the hotel to the Kingdom gate in no more than 15 minutes and are immediately greeted by Minnie, Mickey and a throng of Princesses to kick off our day free from hunger, heat, humidity and waiting in any line of any kind.

It's so great, we don't even need a plan - we can just wander around aimlessly and the fun will find us. Oh ... and no one ever needs to eat or drink anything or potty or have her diaper changed. We're just perfectly sated and hydrated the whooooooole time.

And no one ever has a temper tantrum. Especially not an almost three year-old.

Oh hell no. THAT IS SO NOT how it went down.

But we pulled it off - even better than I had imagined.

We rocked Magic Kingdom, met princesses and princes, napped in mom and dad's sweaty arms while in line to meet said royalty. We ate boobie dish waiting for shows to start, waited for rides we were too afraid to ride and rode the stroller all over the world - literally (Epcot).

We pulled out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches grandpa had stashed and mish mash and juice and bottled water while we made our way through the points on the map. 

We acquired baby Tinkerbelle and Rapunzel, a dress for breakfast with the Princesses (that we never wore because the arm elastic was "ITCHEEEEEEEEE"), an Ariel jewelry box for our new Cinderella necklace, pjs for both girls, crayons and coloring books. I'd say we did a decent job sticking to my "We're not buying ANYTHING at Disey World rule."

We ate and drank and laughed and cried and watched and listened and took pictures and blew kisses and had a fantastic time.

I would do it again starting right now. If anyone other than Bill Gates and Oprah could afford it and if Leighton hadn't told me that Disney World is "for special occasions" only.

And for all of the waiting and whining and sweating and pouting ... the laughter and the fun is what we will remember.

Pin It

Date With Leighton

Leighton needed some mommy time. Okay, fine. Maybe it's the other way around, but no matter. Lei happily accepted my offer to take her to her very first movie in the "thee-ay-ter".

The Muppets.

It's playing at Northbrook, so we decided that Ryan and Mairin would mill around the mall while we went to the movies. We would regroup afterwords for dinner at California Pizza Kitchen.

Sidebar: I love CPK. The food is consistent. Prices are reasonable. There are plenty of healthy options for kids and grownups and they serve alcohol. Perfect. Did I mention that they serve alcohol?

Leighton carefully readied herself for our date in a way that let me know she understood just how important the outing was for me. I haven't spent a large chunk of time with just Lei for a while now and was looking forward to some bonding.

My peanut picked out some textured tights, pink corduroy skirt and a white top with tulle at the collar - a good look for a two-and-a-half year-old to be sure.

We sang and danced to Let's Go To the Movies from Annie while we dressed.

Lei then took it several steps further and accessorized herself with sparkly shoes, a hair bow clip, a necklace and one of my purses from I couldn't even tell you when.

I think "embellishment" is one of her favorite words. In fact, I'm certain of this.

As we walked through the mall, Lei turned heads with her confident little gait. "What a girly girl." "She's so cute." "Look at those shoes."

She was oblivious to the attention, which pleased me immensely. She was only going about her business, after all.

We left Mairin and daddy at the entrance to the theater, picked up our tickets and headed straight for the snack counters. Out of all the candy, crap and junk food she could have chosen, Leighton settled on fruit snacks.

God bless her.

So I talked her into ordering a white cherry ICEE to wash them down. She later admitted that it was a smart decision.

She was mildly irritated by the previews, but loved the Toy Story short film and Muppets feature. She bounced around during the musical numbers and clapped at the end.

We saw a two-hour kids version of The Nutcracker last month and she got antsy half-way through. But for these Muppets, she made a little camp in her seat, ate her snacks and gingerly sipped her ICEE - taking it in and out of the cupholder a thousand intriguing times.

For the undisputed littlest ticketholder in the thee-ay-ter, she behaved perfectly.

We had a lovely dinner, fish tacos for mom, bbq chicken salad for dad, banana and avocado for Mairin and grilled chicken and broccoli for Leighton. She cleaned her plate and we made our way home.

We stopped at Walgreens on the way home to get more kid toothpaste (mint is too "spicy") and Lei said she couldn't wait to brush her teeth. She went straight upstairs and did just that when we arrived home. And put on her PJs and went to sleep.

Thank you my sweet little Leighton for the absolute best date EVER.

Resolve Part I: Whooping It Up

I love January first. I love it every single year.

Sweeping glitter into a pile whilst sipping a mimosa sets me up for the catharsis I will soon experience - making my list of resolutions and updating our financial spreadsheet.

Ahh bliss.

January first offers a clean start - one that is best savored when we've fully and completely whooped it up the previous evening.

In anticipation of said "whooping" I spent an hour on friday looting Party City for hats, noisemakers, horns, balloons and tiaras - color coordinated with plastic table cloths, cups, plates and champagne flutes - for our new year's bash. To attend: me, Ryan, Leighton, Mairin, Luella, Uncle Pete and Auntie Leah. 

Leighton was understandably excited when I unloaded the Balloon Time helium kit from the car.

I would have left it outside until it was time to decorate, but I was worried that tank pressure would suffer in the cold (and my sadistic side was clearly in the mood to torture a wee child) so I brought it in.

Lei asked me to blow up the balloons no less than one billion times over the course of the next twenty-four hours.

Once Pete and Leah arrived and we kicked our kid new year into high gear, the inflation began.

We got 45 big balloons out of the deal, and I am happy to report that Leighton didn't let go of them all night. Several popped over the course of the evening's balloon abuse, but by kid midnight 9pm, Lei still had a respectable handful of ribbons to clutch.

        
We let go of those balloons over and over and over yelling "Happy New Year" as we danced and sang and talked and laughed and spilled our way into 2012.

The exhausted kids went down around 9:45 and for the first night in a long while, both slept for a solid five or six hours without so much as a peep.

The grown-ups (if you could characterize us as such by this point) talked and laughed and drank and spilled on into the wee hours, squeezing every last drop of fun out of 2011.

It was a fabulous end to a fabulous year.

Bad Dog Ma

Luella, my four pound Yorkshire Terrier, is our first baby.

She has a full wardrobe, gets her chicken treats in the morning and sleeps in our bed at night.  

She is allowed up on the furniture, uses the outdoor "facilities" during the day and has a potty paper upstairs to use at her discretion in the evenings.

Lue is going to be eight years young this year. Although, we have found her to be a bit of an old soul from the start. If Luella were a human, she'd play bridge, drink dirty martinis, curse like a long shoreman and (quite possibly) smoke.

She has her vices.

Historically, Lue has gone to the fancy vet in the city every year for her checkups. I like this particular vet because they do blood work before dental cleanings to make sure Lue can handle the anesthesia. During the dental, Lue is fully intubated and receiving fluids to quickly flush the drugs out of her teeny system.

Hundreds of dollars later, I have peace of mind and Lulu's teeth are clean.

I have yet to find such a vet in Highland Park - not because one does not exist, but because I keep making appointments in the city and then canceling them because I work and spending four hours taking Lue to the vet isn't feasible.

Here's a tip, I am rarely realistic. Most of the time, I deliver on my overreaching overachieverness. Sometimes ... not so much.

It's a vicious cycle, much like the one my hair is experiencing right now because my colorist is in the city and I actually can't find ANYONE in Highland Park that can highlight me like Tracy. I look like hell.

Happy Holidays.

Luella's last cleaning was shockingly only as recent as May 2010. Unfortunately, I have brushed her little pearls maybe ten to fifteen times since Mairin was born. Her teeth are so dirty and A FEW ON THE BOTTOM ARE LOOSE!

I feel so guilty. I am the worst dog mom ever. I have sacrificed the dental health of my very first baby for lack of time and attention. I have sacrificed Lue's adorable little teeth for my other children.

It's not the only notable difference for Luella from B.K. (before kids) to A.K. (after kids). Lue waits longer than ever between trips outside. She is ignored for a spell during the day and gets bounced around at night when the little sisters meander into our bed.

On the bright side ( and because the prospect of rotting dog teeth should have a silver lining) she islearning to hang with the squad in situations where she should have normally slunk off to bed midday.

For example, visiting my inlaws this past weekend, a friend was first to the party with her six and eight year-old boys. No less than four minutes into the visit, I heard the older boy say, "Look  mom! I finally caught him!" As I turned in movie-slow-motion, I saw a blur of black and tan fur and grey and pink argyle sweater vest (yes, Lue's) leap from the boys arms and tumble to the hardwood floor head first.

I freaked out, snatched up poor Lue and ran out of the room. She was fine, but so scared that she pooped all over me. The only clean shirt I had left was a loungy pyjama top. Out of choices, I sucked it up and rejoined the group as other guests began to arrive.

Lue sucked it up too. She jumped back into the fray immediately, barking at the kids and mingling with with the crowd, hopeful that bits of barbeque would fall from a plate or two down to her domain.

This behavior is atypical for Ms. Luella. Both Ryan and I were proud at her newly-found resilience.

I convinced myself that Yorkie teeth are notoriously bad and that no matter how much I brush, they will become harder to maintain as she ages. I also decided that rehabilitating what was once a painfully shy little dog is more important and that I'm not such a bad dog mom after all.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  

We'll see what our new vet has to say about it.  We have an appointment with the Highland Park vet at noon.

Santa Stalking

This year, Leighton is entirely into Santa.

So far, we've seen Santa at the Highland Park tree lighting and on the Polar Express train ride.  We need to stop at a mall or two for pictures. And, if we're lucky, he'll make a quick stop at my grandma's party on Christmas Eve before embarking on his trip around the world to deliver presents.

This is so much fun!

Mairin is suspicious of the whole giant, bearded elf, clad head to toe in red fur. She peers at him as if to say, "You're no Elmo, buddy." And that's it for her ... most likely until next year.

Still, both girls seem to be enjoying the endless barrage of holiday-themed events, songs, art projects, movies and Christmas list crafting.

A Cloak (like Ella of Frell), pink guitar and doll house are on Leighton's list. She says Marinka Dinka would like teething toys, but Mairin says she would like "whatever Leighton gets."

 Ho! Ho! Ho!

To Frell and Back

We've been obsessed with Ella Enchanted for several weeks now. We stumbled upon it during one particular week of oppressive heat and humidity where taking Mairin outside simply was not feasible.

On our third straight day of ordering Enchanted on demand, our nanny suggested we give Ella a shot.

We haven't returned to our original choice since. Sorry Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey and the cute guy from X-Men. We do love you so.

I never imagined that a two year-old would be so enamored with all things Medieval and Renaissance-y, but she most definitely is.

I'm ordering this cloak from Magic Cabin because I am frustrated with the daily ritual of gingerly tying every blanket we own around her shoulders as a sad substitute for an ill-fitting cape.

So where do you take a little girl whose dream (this week anyway) is to surround herself with elves, ogres, giants and fairies and meet the beloved Prince Charmont? You take her to the Bristol Renaissance Faire, of course.

Situated on the Wisconsin-Illinois border, it's conveniently located 30 minutes from our house in Highland Park.

We had a blast and packed a billion bits of fun into the three hours we spent walking the acreage of elaborately designed fantasy.

Petting farm, face painting, soft pretzels and ale, potty break, forest sprite sneak-ups, stage shows, shopping, cookies and boobie dish for Dinkie, potty break, butterfly ride yes ... no ... yes ... refund (too nervous), flower garland, Lei feigning nap on stone bench, turkey leg and ale, potty break, home.

 
 
 
 
 

Today was the last day of the faire this year, so be sure to check it out next July if you are in the hood. We highly recommend it.

Fussworthy Tip: Wear clothes that can get dusty or dirty and bring plenty of cash. There are a few ATMs on site, but all vendors accept cash only - including preferred parking ($3).

Big Girl Shoes

She begged me to let her try on my shoes.

I said, "no". And she asked, "why?" And I told her, "I don't want you to ruin them before I even get to wear them."

And she asked, "why?"

I didn't have the time to explain that I felt I deserved to wear them for the first time - damage free.

And, I didn't have the heart to tell her that with those sparkly Badgley Mischkas comes much more responsibility than she could possibly understand.

I would have to tell her that those shoes come with a job ... nay ... a career attached to them.

I would say that I must drive to and from meetings in the city, in my minivan on conference calls while pumping and doing my makeup so I can wear those shoes.

I would explain how desperately I try to wrap up my work work day by 5:30 so I can send the nanny home and be truly present while getting the little ones fed and bathed, so daddy can get some quality time in before putting Lei to bed.

Those shoes come with a tremendous amount of concern over bumps, bruises, choking, cavities, sunburns and bug bites and excessive fear of the day my kids will be old enough to drive a car.

Those shoes come with mortgages and retirement accounts and a roof that needs fixing and a garage that needs rebuilding and condo tenants in need of a brand new dishwasher because they somehow managed to break the one we have.

Those shoes ignore my husband sometimes and that isn't fair. 

I suppose I could have couched my denial of her request in terms that she'd somewhat understand - such as, "Those shoes are worth a thousand poopy diaper changes and hundreds of 2 a.m. feedings." But it wouldn't have mattered. She really really wanted to try them on.

Admittedly, tied to those shoes is a strong desire to be more fashionable than I actually am at this phase of my mommy life. The shoes do help that cause. I swear.

I still need to lose the baby weight I packed on with Mairin and those five inch heels make me look two pounds thinner than my four inch heels. Somehow, five minus four equals two in this instance.

I need those shoes.

And they need me.

And I promise you, those are the ridiculous things that went through my mind when she begged and pleaded and whined until I let her try them on.

She struggled a few smiling, shuffling steps on her tippy toes in those shoes and then gingerly stepped out.

She assured me, "These are too hard mama. These are your shoes."

I smiled and nodded and said "no shit" to myself. Someday I will explain the whole thing to her.

Someday.

Happy Birthday Grandma

When you want a kid to do something (i.e. sing Happy Birthday on camera, they may or may not do it just the way you'd like. It's likely spontaneous and if it happens then "great" if it doesn't "oh well".

When you really really want a kid to do something, there is a chance that you may have been discussing it for several days previous.

There is a distinct possibility that the kid will sense the importance of the aforementioned task and start to act like a nut and/or total weirdo. What would have been a fun and simple task now involves rehearsal, bribery, cajoling and wrangling.

This song for grandma involved many takes, all of which were fun to record and funny to witness. In hindsight, I shouldn't have built it up to be the be-all-end-all of birthday wishes because Leighton was ten kinds of crazy by the time we started recording.

We opened with a "Dear You Grandma" on the blanket. 

 

Once we started to smother little sis, we moved to the couch for another non-traditional rendition where we used little sis as a shyness shield. 

 

Apparently, "sing with enthusiasm" means "sing as loudly as possible".

 

I wanted "one more take" and at this point, Leighton felt she had already delivered several worthy of a Grammy nomination. I told her that Mairin was happy to oblige and that Lei's services were no longer needed. 

 

After thirty seconds of little sis in the spotlight, Lei was ready to give her finale performance. Poor Dinkie, she was not so eager for Lei's return. I will admit, there is a cookie involved as incentive for Leighton, but she would have given it one last go anyway ... for grandma. (She assured me that she was not doing this for my benefit).

 

I had the opportunity to interview my little starlet after her series of tapings.

DF: What did you do this weekend?

LEI: I was at Grandma's house.

DF: What did you do there?

LEI: I don't know. Played with princesses. Got presents.

DF: What does Grandma say about "I don't know."

LEI: Not to say it.

DF: So what did you do with Grandma?

LEI: I don't ... I did the beads. I wasn't good doing beads so I didn't finish the other beads. I played with princesses and princes. I went outside.

DF: What is your favorite thing to do outside?

LEI: Grandma puts my cozy on the swing and I lay on it!

DF: Is that your favorite thing?

LEI: Uh huh. Yes. It is. I love it.

DF: Did you play in the pool?

LEI: Mmm hmm. Yes. There is a water baby there! And we do walkabout.

DF: Did you watch any movies?

LEI: No. Kit Kitteredge didn't work. I had apple juice.

LEI: I want to go back to Grandmas today.

DF: Why do you want to go back?

LEI: Because I love her.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA!

Happy Birthday Grandma!

 

Love,

The Girls

Polite Conversation

As a mother of a five month-old and a two year-old, I am definitely in a place in my life where many of my daily conversations revolve around boobs and poop.

I'm sure one day, Ryan and I will be sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine, and one of us will say, "Wow. We haven't talked about boobs and poop in such a long time. I really miss having little kids."

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy having wee ones. I absolutely do. I'm simply commenting on the frequency with which I say those words - "boobs" and "poop" on a daily basis. It's stunning really.

The whole "boobs" talk has everything to do with breastfeeding. They're either sore or exploding or Leighton just jumped on my lap and kneed me in one of them or they don't fit in my shirt or I need to pump while driving my minivan to the city for a meeting while taking a conference call and putting on my makeup. Kidding, of course.

The "boobs" talk will terminate when Mairin turns one year old. I will cry like a baby on that day and I can't really go there mentally, so right now I refuse to take the "boobs" talk for granted. Mairin eats like a champ and has since the day she was born. Many moms and babies struggle with breastfeeding and we don't. So yay for small victories and yay for boobs.

As for the "poop" talk, Leighton has been completely and totally potty trained for a while now. Still, most of the time, she tells us what she's doing on the potty when she's about to do it, is doing it or has already done it.

Lei has no idea that the running commentary on her business is not polite conversation. It's so normal for her to announce to everyone in the room, "I have to poop" - mostly because we've been making such a big deal out of it for some time now. And, because we have no less than eleven books on the subject. When she first started using the potty, we would cheer and clap and call grandmas and grandpas and tell anyone who would listen "Did you know Leighton poops on the potty?"

So yes, of course she believes that our neighbors and friends want to hear about it. They do, or they should, because the fact that my twenty-seven month-old poops on the potty every day without fail is AMAZING.

I am a proud mama. I celebrate the simplest things and tiniest victories - several of which involve poop and boobs today.