one year.

Again, it is New Year's Eve...

One year ago tonight, I started this little project. And here I am...in front of the computer...with a wet head from a much needed shower...listening to the buzz of Delaney's monitor...while Clay lounges on the couch. Only this year Emme has been granted the glory of staying up past her bed time to hang out with her daddy on his last night of "vacation".

The past year has been full of many, many changes and challenges - yada, yada, yada. I'm not even going to go there. In a nutshell, 2012 was pretty darn awesome for our little family of four. We're here. We're living & loving. And, of course, finding new ways to drive each other mad.

There were so many ideas I had for this one year post. But now, sitting here with the smooth plastic keys at my fingertips, the answer is simple. I started this project for my girls. So, girls, this evening your dad & I raise a frosty beer mug to you and thank you for keeping life unpredictable enough. Cheers!

1,2,3...

Delaney's 1st birthday has come & gone and Emme's 4th is only days away.

The big girl has increasingly become more & more independent and the little one has taken notice. The little things Emme used to call on me to help her with, she now completes with ease (or without reminder). A pit stop during play, no problem. Brushing her teeth morning & night, she's got it covered. Seasonally appropriate attire, she gets it (although refuses to agree with it for fashion sake every now & again). I watch her with pride and a little pout - time has just slipped away. But with Emme's new found independence comes new lessons for the momma to learn.

The latest lesson, how to discipline a four year old who thinks she is 9 years old. Luckily, the counting method has proven to be pretty effective. 1,2,3 - you're out. Lord knows how many times a day I count. A handful? A couple dozen? Who knows. All I know is that if things are turning sour, the numbers begin to roll off my tongue.

This evening, Delaney was "helping" me clean up the kitchen after dinner. With Delaney perched on my hip, I pushed the chairs back under the kitchen table. Delaney's loveys (blankets) were draped over the back of her chair. I picked one up and tossed it over my shoulder, counting, "One." I picked up the second lovey and before I could speak, Delaney's squeaky little voice piped up, "Two!"

So, maybe it's more than a couple dozen...

personalities.

It happened. Delaney is now one year old.

It was fun. We threw a party. I over-exhausted myself on Pintrest party projects. Homemade invites. Homemade birthday decor. Homemade cupcakes & smash cake. This list goes on and on. Now that I think of it, I really am just a bit off my rocker. But that's another story.

Anyway...all that effort and the little lassie didn't even touch her smash cake. In fact, we attempted the cake twice (once for party go-ers & once for our little family) and the kid just wouldn't have it. She even slept through the first half of her party! Oh well, so goes the life of the hopeful mom. You can dream, but you just can't predict what kids have up their tiny sleeves.

Which leads me to the goings-on in our little abode. With D's first birthday under wraps, personalities are popping in this household. Delaney is on the move & jabbering "like a monkey in a tree". Depending on the big sister's mood, this may or may not sit well with Miss Emmersen.

Emme is a very good big sister. For the most part, she wants to be with Delaney. I can already see they are going to be great pals someday. But as sisterhood goes, we love to hate our sister. Emme is watching TV, Delaney turns it off. Emme is brushing a doll's hair, Delaney crawls over and grabs the brush. Emme's munching on Goldfish crackers, Delaney upsets the bowl trying to get in on the snack. All day long I hear the big sister cry, "Maaam! Delaney's doing (X,Y or Z)! Get her!!!" It's my own personal show of cat & mouse. I really can't help but snicker at the whole situation.

Emme is a "leader" as her teachers have labeled her. In layman's terms it means she is just plain bossy. She demands a lot from folks, especially the ones who love her most. My own mom gets a kick out of this and tells me my big girl is my "pay back".

Yes, Emme & I are two of a kind. Delaney, on the other hand, is so mellow I sometimes wonder how I gave birth to her. For the most part she is content as long as she has company. However, I have begun to notice that Delaney may have a sneaky side to her. She is starting to realize that certain things will get a rise out of her big sis and she does not hesitate to act. Today she took advantage of Emme's open closet and pulled the majority of Emme's hair bows off of the organizer on the closet door. I swear steam came out of Emme's ears. Delaney just sat on the floor and smiled at Emme then giggled and moved onto a new activity.

Sisters. XO my little buddies.

you never can tell.

It's the little, day to day things:

Waking to Delaney calling "Ma?" and shaking the side of her crib. Emme's bedhead & frilly Tinker Bell nightgown. Scurrying to make the coffee, let the dog out, warm the big girl's apple juice, feed the dog, nurse the babe, make breakfast, all bodies dressed & clean and out the door by 8:30am.

Emme serenaded me during our morning run with a song about pooping and picking your nose. Delaney says, "Wawa" and points to her water cup. Watched Emme crab-walk along the sidewalk collecting "are-corns" (acorns). Deep breaths through Emme's first tantrum of the day - Delaney figured out how to turn the TV off and on while Emme's watching it.

Enjoying a bit of peace while rocking the babe before laying her in her crib to snooze. Trying to accomplish way too much during nap time.

Gymnastics in the basement. Emme completes a cart wheel. Delaney tumbles out of her squishy, monogrammed Pottery Barn chair. Too much laundry. Too many dishes. Too many unfinished projects.

A ride in the car to test out new car seats. A visit to Nan Nan & Pop Pop's. Emme demonstrates more gymnastics...in a dress...going commando.

Delaney's hearty appetite leads to her diaper stinkin' up the entire house. Two little naked bodies in a bubble bath. Naked dancing post bath.

Bed time. The scent of Johnson's baby wash when I kiss Delaney's forehead. The quiet sound of Emme's breathing as I kiss her cheek.

Walking around the house to survey the damage of the day. Sit down at the kitchen table and feel grateful because, well, you never can tell.

let it grow.

In two weeks my baby girl will be a year old. I watch her welcome each day with a wide, toothy grin. Her excitement discovering how the world works is astonishing. Her spirit has not yet been jaded by society.

This cloud over my head is all too familiar. If memory serves me, this storm brewed about the same time three years ago. Emme was about to turn one. I had survived my first year of motherhood with only a few "scars". I vowed I would not repeat the same rocky steps the next time. I vowed I'd be a more balanced mom. I vowed I'd not only make my kids the priority, but my self & my relationships a priority as well. I vowed I wouldn't let my desire for mommy perfection take me over. And yet I find my self stumbling, again. Damn.

I began this blog for my girls. I wanted to journal all the good, all the funny, all the crazy, all the little moments that would have been left to a fuzzy memory (if luck was on my side). I wanted something I could hand to them when they are older, perhaps on the brink of becoming a mom them self. I wanted something they could read through and shake their heads and say, "Did I really do that?!" I know how much my sisters & I laugh over stories of our childhood. I wanted to guarantee my girls have the same belly laughs. I want to have the same look of pride & contentment I see on my own mom's face after she has revealed a little treasure of the past and my sisters & I are roaring, tears streaming down our cheeks.

But the more I write, the more I am compelled to write all the stories- good, bad, even ugly. So here it is my sweet girls...it's not easy. I want to be everything to my daughters - protector, teacher, adviser, playmate, role model, friend. I want my girls to reminisce about their childhood and say, "Yeah, mom got it right." But it  takes time. It takes stumbling to get things right. I'm still very much a novice at this whole motherhood shin-dig.

However, through the stumbling and fumbling and grumbling don't lose sight of yourself. Don't lose sight of what's truly important - human nature. It is our nature to love & be loved. Forget the trivial. A house will never be perfect, people will let you down, making ends meet is never easy - but don't use these things as excuses. Trusting yourself is one thing, finding trust in others is a must. I'm learning to accept that it does "take a village" to raise a child. I'm learning that being hard only hurts your heart, it doesn't keep you strong. I'm learning to open doors, let folks in. Grow.

"Time is getting shorter and there's much for you to do.
Only ask and you will get what you are needing,
The rest is up to you.
Plant your love and let it grow...
...Love is lovely, let it grow."
-Eric Clapton

in a flash.

Post bath, Delaney is wrapped in an orange & yellow hooded bath towel and cradled in my arms. I kiss any stray water drops on her cheeks and blow a raspberry on her neck just to get a giggle from her. An open-mouth belly-laugh reveals four teeth (two on top, two on bottom) and three specks of teeth threatening to surface. As we head out of the bathroom I catch a glimpse of the two of us in the bathroom mirror. Her feet dangle out of the towel, her legs have grown too long to stay completely covered. Suddenly, she looks much bigger. She will be a year old in a few weeks.

Clay & I had always hoped for two kiddos. We were lucky, our wishes came true. Two healthy, vibrant little girls. Our family is balanced, full. We have been blessed. So, I find myself feeling a bit guilty. I am wishing for more. Now I wish time would slow down. My babies are quickly growing-up, too quick. And I am caught off-guard with a bit of heart ache. When did I become a mom of a four-year-old & a one-year-old? Two little girls. Screaming & laughing. Making messes. Hugging & kissing. Struggling to share. And they love each other. They love me.


I am with them everyday - dress their little bodies, brush their teeth, feed them, play, talk, hold them in my arms. But once in a while, my selfish wish is granted and time slows for a split second. Only then do I actually "see" them. How they have changed, how they have grown. I realize Emme has my lips. Delaney has my hands. Emme has a little scar on her cheek from a milk pimple when she was a few months old. Delaney's right ear lobe has an extra little dip (like a indiscreet ruffle). Emme's hair color is beginning to resemble mine when I was her age. Delaney's eyes remind me of my mom's mom. It's the little discoveries that pacify my heart when it begins to ache. And the realization that no matter how much they grow, these two little girls will always belong to me.

neighbors.

It was our usual evening roundy-round to get big sis to comply with the bedtime must-dos. Clay was whooped. I was whooped. Delaney sounded her final warning cry that we were about to miss that go-to-sleep-without-struggle window. Then Emme wandered into Delaney's room just as D & I were about to cozy up in the rocker.

I thought Emme moseyed in for a goodnight smooch. Instead she leaned in close to Delaney and whispered in her ear, "Hey little sis. It's time for night-night. You'll be just fine. I live right next door. If you need anything at all, you just holler. Remember, I live next door. See you in the morning."


It's reassuring to know your neighbor's got your back :)

a bigger car.

We got a call earlier this week from my father-in-law. "The Pilot has landed," he said.

When the girls & I pulled up at Grandpa & Gran-D's house this evening, a perfectly polished, black Honda Pilot was parked in the garage. I mentioned to Emme, "Check out Grandpa's new ride." Emme says, "The big one? Whoa, that's a nice car!" The kid loves big cars. Big, "fancy" cars as she refers to them. DVD player, rear camera, plentiful seating, moon roof...the works. My car has na-da. 

Grandpa happily gave Emme a tour of his new set of wheels. She sat confidently in the front passenger seat as Grandpa showed her all the bells & whistles the automobile had to offer. Her grin stretched from ear to ear as she was granted permission to crawl over the generous console and into the roomy back seat. She told Grandpa he need a booster seat to take her for a spin. 

As we drove home Emme says to me, "Mom, we need a bigger car. Like, Grandpa's." I tell her it would be nice but explain bigger cars cost more money. Then my precious 3 1/2 year old girl says to me, "Then mom you need to go back to your store (I used to work in retail) and get some more money. Can you work on that, mom? Come on, mom, can you just figure it out?" 

I guess I need to explain about not putting the cart before the horse, next.

karate.

Emme's temper is quick & short. Lord knows where she picked that up from...yeah.

With dinner in the oven & Delaney conked out for a late afternoon snooze, Emme & I were stealing a little big girl/mommy time outside. The plan was to swing. Emme does the swinging, I push. But the little lady's ears detected the sound of the mailman's truck coming up our street. We headed out front. We grabbed the mail. Then she wanted to water the flowers.

I fetched our watering cans from the garage. My big, ugly, moss green, plastic can & Emme's hot pink, plastic elephant can (the trunk spouts water) were filled and lugged to the front of the house to water the potted plants. However, once I reached the front porch, I noticed Emme wasn't with me. She was standing in the driveway watering her feet. Here is where the afternoon gets ugly.

I proceed to water the pots, Emme now has an empty can. "Mommy! I don't have any more water!" Her bottom lip begins to shake in a perfect quiver (I swear she must practice this move) and some tears are squeezed out. In an attempt to avoid a public meltdown, I grab her can a begin to empty my can into hers. I hand it back and return to watering. "I don't have enough water! It's just a little bit! MOOOOMMMM!" As we make our way around back once more to refill the cans, I hear Delaney pipe up over the monitor.

The following is a blur as my big girl becomes possessed by a combination of Jackie Chan & Naomi Campbell...

I am in Delaney's room changing her diaper, Emme is running through the house, screeching. She doesn't want Delaney to be up yet. She is running from room to room, slamming doors, screaming, opening doors, kicking & punching into the air, "Hi-ya!"I ignore her. The show intensifies. She karate kicks & hops her way down the hall to her room. Another door slammed. I pop my head in and tell her she needs to calm her body down. She needs to stay in her room until she is calm to talk. She is pissed. More "Hi-yas!" and a "thump". A few more "thumps". Clay walks in the door and stops dead in his tracks. I am standing at the stove, calmly stirring some sauteing broccoli. Delaney is perched on my hip. Clay looks at me, bewildered. I shrug my shoulders and tell him to go change, dinner will be ready soon.

Emme must have heard Clay because her bedroom door cracks open and she "hi-ya's" her way to the kitchen. She stares Clay & I down. I smile at her. She throws a quarter at us and runs back to her room.

After everyone's plates are prepared, I head to Emme's room. Things have quieted down. Upon opening the door, I find her bed has been completely stripped. Ahh, the "thumps". Emme is standing in the middle of her tantrum aftermath. She looks at me with sad eyes, "I'm sorry I teared up my bed. I was really mad."

procrastination.

It's been over a week since my last post. Truth is, I've just been plain lazy...

Funny when nothing's on the calendar, your life seems to feel busier. Between finishing unfinished home improvements, a teething 9 1/2 month old, a moody 3 1/2 year old, and a very sick pooch I seriously had to look at the calendar each morning to remind my brain what day it was. So, forgive me, if the past couple of nights all I wanted to do was to sit on the couch and have a big ol' bowl of ice cream instead of pecking away at the keyboard.

A few Emme one liners for your enjoyment:

- Driving to get ice cream after dinner last weekend, "Mom, are we going to that place? What's it called? Oh yeah, Beauty Queen?" Of course she was referring to Dairy Queen, but we were humored.

-Watching the Great Muppet Caper, "Mom, see Miss Piggy? That lady got her necklace stolen and she thinks Miss Piggy is the 'beef"." I clarified that Miss Piggy was suspected to be the "thief". And come to think of it, wouldn't she be the "pork"? Ha ha. Yeah, I know, I'm not funny. Sorry.

- Sitting on the couch, wiggling back and forth, patting her crotch. I ask, "Emme, do you have to go potty?" She replies, "No." I ask, "Well, why are you patting your pee pee?" Emme answers with a dreamy smile, "Because I luuuuuvvvv it." Oh man. Power to you, sister, I guess.

- Tonight, in the car, going to pick up our pup from the vet. I point out a restaurant I think might be an easy place for Clay & I to steal some kid-free time and actually go on a date (last one was when I was 9 mos pregnant last August). Emme pipes up in the back seat, "Yeah, Mom & Dad, you guys really do need to have a date. You should just go and I will take care of Delaney and you should just go have a nice time!" Thanks, kiddo, for the vote of confidence. XO

she's leaving.

Perched on her pink and white, Huffy bicycle, Emme waited at the top of our driveway. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows scrunched together and she was staring me down with the pout of the century. "I'm leaving, " she declared. She was mad.

Minutes earlier I had put a stop to her game of "pretend mommy".  We were on the swings and "pretend mommy" was pushing both Delaney and myself. Well, Delaney's swing was pushed a little too aggressively and she was done. I hopped up from my swing and fetched Delaney from her swing. All the while I am explaining to  Emme why she cannot try to catapult a baby's swing 10 feet in the air. Emme wasn't having it. She stomped into the garage, grabbed her bike and headed for the gate by the driveway.

She waited there until I inquired where she was going. She said she was leaving. She wasn't staying at our house any longer. She decided she was running away via bicycle and headed to Nan Nan & Pop Pop's. I told her we sure would miss her, but if she really did intend to leave I would like to raise her bike seat. I mentioned her legs had grown too long and she could pedal much easier if her seat were higher. She agreed to the minor set back in her plans and she handed over her bike.

After her bike seat was raised to a more suitable height, Emme declared she was leaving, again, and she began to pedal. "Mom, this rides awesome!" she said. I said I was glad it was easier to ride and reminded her that we sure would miss her but she better get going to Nan Nan & Pop Pop's. She stopped pedaling, looked at me with a crooked smile and said, "Mom, I'm not really leaving. I think I'm going to stay here with you guys, okay?" Okay, pal.

Three and a half years old and she already threatened to run away. Her teen years should be fun...

it happens.

The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. The air was warm with a gentle breeze. Mother Nature could not have cooked up a better afternoon. 

My littlest lady was down for a mid-day snooze and my big girl was lounging lazily on a swing. All chores were checked off for the day so I headed outside for a little quality time with Emme. I suggested we take a stroll down the driveway to fetch the mail. Usually Emme jumps at the chance to grab the mail to see if anything is addressed to her. But this afternoon, she passed. She seemed too relaxed, dangling legs, swaying on her swing. 

So I headed down the driveway...by myself. It's silly, really, how much I was enjoying my few minutes of solitude. I could not help but think how easy my walk was without a babe perched on my hip or a preschooler pulling at my shirt because she wants to "be the leader". I looked at the remarkably clear sky and took a deep breath, peaceful. I was in the moment, just being. 

As I stood at the mailbox, leafing through the bundle of post, the wind picked-up. I felt something collide with my head. I shook my head, hoping whatever flew into me might take flight away from me. Then I brushed my hand over the top of my head to be sure that the little critter was indeed gone. 

Well, no critter, just a handful of.......bird poop. 

Yep. Great moment of solitude.  

crush.

My big girl is smitten.

Next door lives a little fella four years her senior. Emmersen knows any school bus sightings in the afternoon  mean her little crush will soon be returning home from his day of learning. She waits, patiently, on her swing until he comes to the fence that divides our backyard from his. Emme will sprint to the fence as soon as she sees him. They have a little convo, then I hear the all too familiar whine, "Maaaammmm?! Can Henry come over?!"

But sometimes Henry takes a little too long to show-up at the fence and I (and the rest of our poor neighbors) are subjected to this, "Henry? Heeennnry? Hen-RY? HENRY?!" This sing-songy repetition will go on and on and on until little Henry takes pity on (or gets annoyed with) my little demanding diva and gives into her calls.

Never the less, the two play remarkably well together. Some days they play pirates. Other days, they play wedding. Some days it's baseball & karate. Others, it's gymnastics & bubbles. And despite their age difference, they are very kind to each other. Every once and a while, we will find an envelope or shoe box by the front door. Henry has left Emme drawings, a mini baseball bat, a Squinkie, a water gun and various other little trinkets he deems important enough to share with little Emme. Emme always blushes and says, "Oh, Henry." when she finds the gifted treasure.

As the school year comes to a close, I'll be interested to see how long Emme can keep Henry's attention. Or will the little guy wise up and run for the hills as soon as summer break begins :)

Should make for an interesting summer boys & girls.

lucky.

The calm after the storm. After last week's heavy-heart, pickle of a time, today was exactly what the doctor (or in this case, momma) ordered. A lovely, sunny Saturday filled with ordinary, weekend to-dos. What made the day so lovely was the soundtrack - little girl giggles, belly laughs & squeals of joy accompanied by a stronger laugh, a Dad's laugh.

My girls + their daddy = lucky, lucky me.

focus.

I am afraid I have begun to lose focus.

Now, don't get me wrong, I focus plenty on my kiddos - 24/7.  As a SAHM, all I do is focus on my two little ladies, it's what I am fortunate enough to be able to do. But that fortune comes by way of my other half who wakes five mornings a week, shuffles to the kitchen to feed the dog and pour a cup of coffee. Then shuffles back to the bedroom to get dressed and heads out the door to work for the next 9 or 10 hours. But the man never leaves the house until he brings me a cup of coffee while I am still in bed & kisses me goodbye. For that split moment of my day, I savor that uninterrupted smooch & few seconds shared between us. Then my focus turns to the kids.

I love being a SAHM. It's the coolest, most unpredictable job I've ever occupied. But I am a micro-manager. Not a good combo. Most of the time, this leaves poor ol' dad waiting in the wings. Even if he tries to help out, I am too quick to shoot him down because, well, dare I say it, momma does it better?

I know. I know. I'm a fool. Many days, I forget that I  have my little loves because a boy was gullible enough to fall for my antics 17 years ago, and stayed gullible enough to "pop the question" 10 years ago and didn't truly realize what he had signed up for until the deal was sealed at the alter 8 years ago. But it is his mellow soul that brings my determined/control-freak soul to neutral ground. I lost focus of that.

Instead, I focus on my girls. I focus on my doubt that I can parent the right way, as if there really is a "right" way. I focus on our home. I focus on my tasks. I focus on keeping everything in our world balanced, except for my loving fella. I take for granted that he knows I think he is a fantastic dad. I mean the man has had his nails painted, hair clipped into barrettes, plays dress-up, Barbies, prince & princess, has dance parties and still manages to be a master of the BBQ grill & keep a well manicured lawn. But people can't read minds. And I don't tell him enough.

So, while he sleeps, I type. I should be sleeping next to him instead. Good night.

quick wit.

We've had a not so easy week. The little lady, Delaney, was under the weather and I, of course, had a five mile long "to-do" list. By Friday night, I was feeling a bit run down my self.

Sad that we would have to miss out on some fun with friends, my spirit was a tad crushed before I even got out of bed this morning. Luckily, Emme's brain was loaded with little nuggets of humor to keep my frown turned upside-down. Thank goodness she has her Pop's quick wit!

Emme's response to going with Kimmy (my sister) to the nail salon-

     Emme: "Kimmy, I don't want to go to the nail salon."

     Kim: "Why?"

     Emme: "I'm getting really tired of that place."

This was funny not only because of the whiny way she said it, but because she & Kim have a standing date every other Saturday morning to get their nails done. I guess you can get too much of a good thing?

*************************

At the start of dinner tonight-
     Emme: "Guys! We need to toast! Cheers to mom's real birthday tomorrow!"
Then she asked if she could blow into my & Clay's beer bottles to make a "toot" noise. Yes, Clay taught her that trick.

*************************

Waiting for me to assist her on the toilet after a #2-
     Emme: "Mom, I'm done and my poopy's not brown!"
     Me: "It's not?" (a little concerned)
     Emme: "Nope, it's not brown!"
     Me: "Well, what color is it?"
     Emme: "It's...blonde!"
The excitement in her voice confirmed that, maybe blondes are more fun. Even "blonde" poopies.

Sorry for the last one, but it was too funny not to mention. Maybe it was a you-had-to-be-there kind of moment, but funny none the less.

Now, tomorrow is a new week. Delaney's fever has finally broken. And I will be another year older. Cheers!

compliments.

This evening, we were in the car headed to an event that called for me to be dressed in something nicer than my staple running shorts, baseball cap & tank. Emme had already commented that I "looked really nice" before we had even left the house. Especially sweet compliment from a 3 1/2 year old. But once in the car, Emme's compliments took a different tone:

Emme: "Mom, you look pretty."
Me: "Thanks, babe. You look nice, too."
Emme: "Mommy, you look like a younger girl."

Clay immediately began to laugh. My mouth dropped open.

Clay (giggling): "Because mom usually looks older?"
Emme: "Yeah, mom, you usually look real old."

Out of the mouths of babes.

repeat.

My mom gave Emme a new treasure. A key chain with a little, blue phone dangling from it. This lovely little trinket comes equipped with a "record" button...

A hundred laughs echoed from my mom's house, during the car ride home, and did not cease until she drifted off to sleep tonight. I hope she got her fill of the word "fart" for a while. 

just one.

With Delaney snug in her crib, Emme & I bid toot-a-loo to Clay and hopped in the car for a late night spin through DQ's drive thru. I couldn't help but notice a little extra bounce in Emme's steps as she and I headed to  the car. I have to admit, I was a bit excited, too. To see the smile spread across her face when I told her it would just be her & I going to get ice cream made my heart overjoyed and slightly sad at the same time.

Since becoming a big sister, Emme has had her fair share of challenges. Mainly, sharing my affection with another little person. But for the most part, she has really stepped up to the plate and is my little helper and one terrific big sis. Often times, I forget that it was her world that was drastically changed when Delaney joined our gang.

So tonight, as we were driving, I heard Emme's sleepy voice peep up from the back seat-

    Emme: "Mom, it's just Mom and Emme in the car. You and me!"
    Me: "Yep, buddy, you and me."
    Emme: "This is pretty special."
    Me: "It sure is, kiddo."

Thank goodness for the cover of night, I teared-up. Just going to get ice cream without little sis in tow was such a big deal to Emme.

Back at the house, Emme plopped in the middle of the couch, between Clay & I. We were eating our ice cream when Emme said, "You know what, guys? It's just Mom & Dad and one kid, me!" Clay smiled and gave me a knowing look over the top of Emme's head, "Yep, buddy, just you."

growed-up.

Sitting at the dinner table a few nights ago, Emme was very interested in the idea of when she is a "growed-up". Typically, when this topic arises, Emme will focus on the ideas that as a grown-up she will get married or drive a car or use a sharp knife to cut her own food. Obviously these are all things she sees good ol' mom & dad modeling.
During this particular conversation Emme sits up in her chair, gesturing with one hand and says, "Mom & Dad, when I'm a growed-up I am going to drink beer." Clay & I share a smile and I giggle a little as a beer sits in front of both our dinner plates. I acknowledge her statement and reassure her that, yes, she may drink beer when she is 21. Then Emme says, "And, Mom & Dad, when I'm a growed-up I'm going to say, 'sh*t'."

I guess mom & dad need to model a better language filter. Oops.

come clean.

It was lunch time. Delaney was hanging in her entertainment center, gnawing on one of her many teethers, while I was scrounging to make a last minute meal. Emme had wandered to her room to change clothes because she was "just too hot!" I opened the fridge and noticed the pineapple I bought on Saturday that still needed to be cut.
I was avoiding the pineapple like the plague. Don't get me wrong, I love fresh cut pineapple. But I love it when I don't have to cut up the darn thing, it's time consuming! And anything that diverts my attention from the girls for more than five minutes means I am playing with fire. However, I still grabbed the stinkin' pineapple and decided to cut it or risk having it go bad. As I hacked into the thing, I kept an eye on Delaney and an ear toward Emme's room. It was too quiet. I call for the big girl, "Emme! What are you doing? Come see mommy, please." No answer. I call again, "Emme! It's almost time for lunch. Come to the kitchen, please." Nope, no response.
I grab Delaney and we haul off toward Emme's room. As I round the corner, I see two of Emme's pillows on her floor by her bed. There are five or six dolls laying on them. Her Cabbage Patch Kid is laying on a smaller pillow wearing a pair of my sunglasses. As I come to her doorway, I see her clothes scattered about the floor, undies & all. Then there's Emme. She has emptied the toy box that houses her dolls and is sitting in it - naked. I spot her water bottle sitting on the floor next to the toy box. Then I see a towel. A closer look reveals that Emme has emptied her water into the toy box and is taking a "bath". And of course the dolls are laying out to dry because they got a "bath" too.
I couldn't get mad, she was just too proud of the entire scene. She even offered to give Delaney a bath, too :)

Katy Perry.

Nearly every Saturday morning Clay & Emme have a standing playdate. The morning begins with a shuffle to the kitchen for Clay's cup of coffee and Emme's cup of warm apple juice. Then they shuffle back to Em's room to set-up camp.

I'll hear Emme's closet doors pop open and the pink treasure chest of Barbie gear is dumped on the floor. Emme will choose the Barbie(s) she wants to play with then directs Clay to the Barbie(s) she recommends he play with. Usually Clay ends up with a Barbie donning a wedding gown and "Ken Metro" (Emme's new -age Ken doll with actual hair and skinny jeans).


Side note- Clay has taken it upon himself to name two of the four male dolls Emme has in her doll collection. One would be "Ken Metro" and another, smaller doll house sized one is "Stinky Don". Emme respectfully refers to these two dolls by their given names.

Anyway, for some reason, Clay's dolls are always getting married and Emme's dolls are the entertainment or guests at the wedding. On this particular Saturday morning, Clay's Barbie's were getting married and Emme's Barbie was Katy Perry. Luckily, I was in Delaney's room next door to hear the scenario play out. First I hear the directions from Emme. She tells Clay where his Barbies have to stand and what they need to say. Then Emme's Barbie chimes in, "Baby, you're a firework! Baby, you're a firework!" Ken Metro cheers for Katy Perry. Emme stops singing. She tells Clay that "Ken Metro" is not supposed to talk when Katy Perry is singing, he is just supposed to dance. Clay apologizes and Emme begins Katy Perry's song again. Clay remains silent. When Emme finishes the song, Clay does not make a sound. I can almost hear the shrug in Emme's shoulders as she says, "Dad, Ken Metro is supposed to cheer now!" Clay follows direction and shouts, "Whoo hoo! Katy Perry!" Emme is pleased and Clay is off the hook...at least for a little while.

For a fella that is stuck in a house full of estrogen, Clay sure is a great sport and one very fantastic dad! XO

thanks.

Today was the kind of day that makes the difficult ones fade from memory. Clay had a house full of buddies to kickoff March Madness so the girls and I made ourselves scarce and headed outdoors to enjoy the unseasonably gorgeous, summer-like weather.

Delaney & I fetched Emme from school around noon, but hung around the school playground to get in a little more time with Emme's friends before Spring Break. I had the pleasure of chatting with some of her classmate's moms and joked about some of the stories the kiddos bring home from school each day. Then we headed to the Transportation Museum to explore the train yard and have a picnic lunch. We lucked out and got a personal "VIP" tour of a new addition of the museum and a little ride on the museum shuttle. The grin on Emme's face stretched from ear to ear as the shuttle puttered around the park. Delaney's feet dangled and kicked in excitement while she was strapped to me in the Baby Bjorn. We just had a good time. No melt downs. No power struggles.

After our house emptied out for the night and Clay had gone to bed (over-served himself during his get together!), I got the girls in their pj's. Emme then settled on the couch to watch a movie while I put Delaney to bed. Delaney's little fingers wrapped around my thumb as she dozed off, nursing. I savored the moment, feeling her belly inhale & exhale against mine. After Delaney was nestled in her crib, I returned to the "big girl". She climbed into my lap the minute I sat down. I could not help but press my nose onto the back of her head and breath in the smell of outside that still clung to her hair. So sweet, so pure.

Finally, it was time to close up shop for the day and Emme & I shuffled to her bedroom. I didn't even get midway through her latest Pinkalicious book before I felt her body go limp in my arms. Sound asleep. I tucked her in and laid one last kiss on her forehead.

Tonight, when I pray, I will be thankful for today. Amen.

car facts.

It is always surprising what a little small talk with Emme can produce. Sitting on the couch Friday night, Emme turns to me and says she thinks I should get a new car. Oh, really? She thinks I should get a mini van. That's a fair suggestion since three quarters of her friend's moms drive a mini van and I did (for a blink of an eye) consider trading in my little SUV for the convenience of a power tailgate & power sliding doors.

So, a mini van, eh? But Emme's suggestions didn't stop there. She suggested we get a pink mini van. When I inquired where one might find a pink mini van, Emme looked at me like, I had three eyes. "At Sweet & Sassy, Mom. Duh!" Silly me, of course the overly glitzy, pink, sparkly salon for little girls that are too young to be worrying about their coif in the first place would also sell a pink mini van. Emme then told me that Barbie, herself, would help me buy one.

Hmmm, Barbie, the car sales woman. Mattel, I think we may have your next hot seller :)

lip smacker.

We didn't see it coming. It was a usual, busy Saturday afternoon. Clay was loading the car with the loot for our friends' baby shower as I attempted to get dressed, brush my teeth, pack the diaper bag and wrangle the troops (all at the same time). Emme was stationed in our bathroom with her eyes fixed on my make-up bag.

Emme: "Mom, can I have the lip stuff you got from Santa? The one with the little brush?"
Mom: "Emme, I know you like the lip gloss. If you can be patient and wait until we are in the car, I'll let you put some on."
Emme: "But I just need to put on some lip stuff for the party because I want to be fancy."
Mom: "Emme, I understand. I said if you can be patient, you can have some when you are buckled in the car. Please be a good listener."
Emme (beginning tear up): "But I want to have some lip stuff. Please."
Mom (starting to tense up): "Honey, I promise you as soon as we are in the car you can have it. We're running late. Please try to go potty before we leave."
Emme (falls to her knees with her head in her hands): "NOOOOO, MOMMY, NO! NO, MOMMY, NO! NO, MOMMY, NO!.........."

The tantrum of the century had taken over my little girl's body. It was as if she was possessed. We had never seen anything like it. Emme continued her protesting rant, "No, Mommy, No!" in an almost sing-songy way for the next 20 minutes. Her face was red and streaked with tears. She was trying so hard to force a cry that we were afraid she was going to make herself sick. She ran from room to room, screaming at the top of her lungs. Delaney just laughed each time Emme'e frenzy ran by. I am quite confident the neighbors heard this activity going on since the back door was wide open as Clay loaded the car. I won't be surprised if they act a bit cautious the next time I call out a neighborly, "Hello!" as I fetch my mail.

Clay & I used our only defense, we ignored her. We went about loading the car and finished gathering our belongings as Emme and her cosmetic crisis tore through the house. When all was said and done and Delaney was snug in her car seat, I went to search out my deprived diva. I found her sitting in her closet. She had regained control of her body & mind and was ready to be my buddy again. We successfully made our final pit-stop then hopped in the car.

Just as we were pulling out of the driveway Emme's little voice pipes up, "Mom, so can I have the lip stuff now?"

treasure.

Today I lived the life of a single parent. Clay had a work trip. Lucky for me, he doesn't flee the coop often, but that does leave me ill prepared to man the troops for more 12 hours alone.  I, of course, rattled my brain for every possible opportunity or activity to occupy my kiddos hoping to stretch my sanity through bed time.

Our day went smoothly. Emme had school until noon, so I was able to get a few must-dos crossed off the list while Delaney snoozed in her car seat. After school, we made a pit stop at home to fill our bellies then headed out to the library. When we returned home, I guiltily admit I parked Emme in front of the TV and stationed Delaney in her Jumperoo while I desperately hit the sewing machine for a project due this Saturday. Delaney bounced until she could bounce no more then gave a loud, protesting shriek that could have translated into, "Get me outta this thing!" We headed to the TV room where we found Emme almost literally glued to the TV. She was so close to the screen I am not even sure she knew what she was watching. A half dozen attempts to gain her attention, Emme finally joined us on the floor to roll around with Delaney for a while.

As promised, we had breakfast for dinner (Emme's new favorite) and were about to shimmy into our jammies when Emme decided we needed to call Nan Nan. I should have known where that phone call would lead us. Instead of down shifting our day, we piled into the car and headed over to Nan Nan & Pop Pop's for a "short" visit. I thought, would could it hurt? One last activity would get us that much closer to bed time!

Nan Nan did her usual best to wind Emme up, feeding her pumpkin bread & ice cream and letting her jump around on the furniture. My dad & I pleaded with my mom to calm down (funny that I have to reprimand my mom & my daughter) so Emme would calm down. Well, my mom got one of her fabulous "ah-ha" ideas and told Emme she had some treasures for her.  Nan Nan fetched something from the kitchen and returned to where Emme sat waiting patiently. My mom placed a small, wooden Lane box in front of Emme and opened it up. Inside was my entire jewelry collection circa 1989. One can only imagine what this collection looked like- large, dangling earrings with frogs and cats, graduated pink, blue & silver star earrings, handmade beaded chokers, charm necklaces and various tacky bracelets are only a few of the prized pieces Emme discovered. Emme loved the dangling earrings but was frustrated when she couldn't wear them, no holes. Nan Nan lovingly offered her ears for Emme to decorate.

It was time to go home. As I shuffled my girls out of Nan Nan & Pop Pop's and into our car, Nan Nan stood watch from the garage. She looked positively smashing wearing one triple dangle star earring, one multi-beaded dangle earring, and about five leather cord necklaces with various charms and beads, plus the handmade beaded choker. Emme shouted from her car seat, "I love you Nan Nan! Thanks for having us!" I'm sure the pleasure was all hers.

the mother load.

Oh, what a day. What a day. Armed with an endless "to-do" list, I pounce on Thursdays like a rabid dog. After dropping Emme at school in the morning, I burn through tasks like wildfire. For two and a half hours I get more accomplished than I can in an entire day with Emme in tow.  But today...today I have been quarantined in our home with my kiddos due to the lovely, snotty cold that is floating around these parts. Tissues are strategically placed throughout our house, never out of arms reach, and yet my girls insist on decorating my shirt sleeves with shiny, sticky boogies. Refusing to let my spirit be crushed, I trudge forth, and try to embrace the day I have been given.

Surprisingly, we have a pretty awesome day, despite the continually ooze flowing from my kiddos nostrils. We play Barbies, break-out the Play Dough Ice Cream Sunday Shop, watch a little PBS, laugh at Delaney as she practices sitting (and toppling over) on my bed, make a quick (but necessary) stop at Hobby Lobby, and I even squeeze in an afternoon run with a promised detour at a neighborhood playground. As five o'clock rolls around, I am feeling pretty confident I avoided any mommy freak-out that could have accompanied this kind of  unplanned day.

And then the bomb dropped...

Delaney was cranky, yet somehow, did not feel the need to doze off while I got dinner going. Okay. I drug the activity center thing-a-ma-jig up the basement stairs and plopped it in the middle of the kitchen floor. I pre-heat the oven for the marinated pork tenderloin I pulled from the freezer that morning. Grabbed a pan for the meat and was ready to prep the meal. Crap, the tenderloin was still frozen! Think, Nikki, think. Opened the freezer and spotted a batch of chicken enchiladas. That should do the trick. I turned up the heat on oven and tossed the enchiladas in. The tenderloin will have to wait for the weekend.

While dinner cooked, I tackled the overflowing dirty dishes in my sink as I sang the theme song to Sid the Science Kid for Emme & recovered any overboard toys tossed from Delaney's activity center. Delaney started to turn up the crank volume again so I swooped her up to perch on my hip. Oh no. I felt the warm, wet sensation of a full diaper pressed against me. I abandon the dirty dishes to see what surprise awaits me in Delaney's diaper. Explosive poop. Well, it was about time to change her into her pj's anyway. Opened the  pj drawer, no pj's. Then I recall laundry was on the docket for this morning. Seriously?

Delaney chilled in her crib as I fumbled in the basement through Emme's old clothes for the Space Bag labeled 12 months. I had to have something clean for the kid to wear to bed. I heard D start to cry so I hauled two giant Space Bags up the basement stairs and returned to Delaney's room. Frantically, I dug through those two bags and could not find one pair of footie pj's! At this point, the kitchen timer is going off, Delaney is wailing, Emme is now singing at the top of her lungs, I can't locate suitably clean pj's for the baby and I suddenly remember the dog still has to be fed.

I grabbed Delaney and headed back to the kitchen. Delaney hung in her activity center long enough for me to get Bella some dog food and take the enchiladas out of the oven. For the love of Pete, the enchiladas were still frozen!!! I threw the pan back in the oven and amped up the oven temperature and returned to the pj hunt. I located a two piece jammie set and began to dress Delaney, all the while talking to myself (in a Rain Man sort of way) that "Mommy really goofed up. She needs to pull her act together." Then Clay's head peeked around the corner, "Babe, everything okay in here?" God bless him, he kept a smile on his face and remained calm as my unplanned day, mommy freak-out moment unfolded.

When we sat down for dinner (at 7 o'clock) Clay placed a beer in front of me and patted my shoulders. Then he asked Emme about her day...

yesterday.

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic tonight. My baby is six months old today. Delaney is now closer to her first birthday than she is a newborn. During dinner she fumbles with a sippy cup and gums purred peas. She babbles at me. Babbles at Clay. Tosses her head back with a belly laugh at her big sis. She objects when things aren't going her way. She now plays an active roll in our estrogen-laden family (poor Clay).

As I lay on the floor in Emmersen's room tonight, waiting for her to doze off, I stared at the glow-in-the dark stars plastered to the ceiling above her bed. I recall the afternoon I stuck them there. My pregnant belly was still just a bump. I was at the pregnant stage where people still thought my belly was "cute" and my ankles had not begun to expand. Delaney wasn't due for another four months, but Emme's big girl room needed to be ready. Emme was still my baby. She was two & a half years old. And I was moving her out of the nursery to a room down the hall. I was nervous.

Now, tonight, as I looked around her room aglow with blue light from her LED night-light I can't help but smile at my old twin bed she sleeps in. Her little body already half as long as the mattress and only a bed rail to keep her safe. Nestled under her pink quilt, her head cradled in her pillow she just looks so...big. With Delaney's monitor in hand, I head out to the computer.

I've been working on a little home-improvement project (aka, get some family pictures on the walls). Scanning through file after file of old pictures, I am pulled deeper and deeper into another day, another life. I come across pictures of our first house, our city house. The red brick bungalow, a shade over 1000 square feet. I loved that house. I cried when I closed the door for the last time. I remember sitting on the bare wood floor of Emme's empty room, sobbing, and writing a letter to the new owner about our history with the 85+ year old house. I asked her to love the house because we were leaving a lot of love in it. I have driven by that house only two times in the past year and a half. Both times, the house looked lonely. I can't drive by it anymore.

So, where do all these scattered thoughts cross? I guess I am just yearning for a moment, a blink of time, that I can stop - for just a second. Breath in the life chance has given me, letting it fill me up, and then move on for more.

"Snow" what?

We waited all day for it. The 2-4 inches (or 1-3 inches, depending on what news station you watch) of snow finally made it's appearance in the late afternoon. Emme & I watched out the window as big, fluffy flakes drifted to the ground covering the backyard in a blanket of white. She asked me if it was time for Delaney's nap yet. Darn it. Emme remembered I told her if there was enough snow by the time Delaney went down for her afternoon snooze, I'd take her outside. Not one to break a promise, as soon as Delaney nodded off, the snow suits were on.

After twenty minutes of suiting up, I handed the baby monitor over to Clay and Emme & I trudged out the door. Emme was enthralled by the snow. Immediately, she wandered into the middle of the backyard, stretched her arms out and began to spin. All I could do was laugh and smile at her. My big girl, not so little anymore. I shook off any guilt I had for not using D's nap to tend to the baskets of unfolded laundry and tossed a snow ball at Emme. She giggled and tried to gather enough snow between her over sized thermal mittens to fire back at me. We ran around for a while. She tried to copy my foot prints left on the driveway, she threw snow at Bella (who chomped at the snow like it was a dog treat), she plopped down and made a family of snow angels, she tried to make more snow balls, she rolled in the snow. Then she decided to taste it.

At first, Emme simply stuck out her tongue and let the snow flakes fall into her mouth. She got a bit more curious and tasted the snow that was stuck on her mittens. Then she did a full face plant in the snow and took a big bite. Before I objected, I reminded my self that I, too, did this as a kid (many times) and I lived to tell the story. I let her carry on.

As the sun gave it's last light (and I could no longer feel my fingers), the two of us headed inside. Clay had graciously laid towels on the dining room floor for Emme & I to shed our snow attire. Emme sat down, took off her boots, her socks, hat, mittens, and coat. She also decided to lose her pink turtle neck and under shirt, too. Wearing nothing but black leggings, she walked over to the basement door and insisted she needed something. Now, the only thing I could think of on the other side of the door is an organizer that houses some spices and canned goods. I opened the door and she pointed at a dust pan & brush hanging under the shelves. Oh, okay. Have at it, kid. She sat down on the towel with our boots and began to brush the snow off them. I was thinking, "Gosh, buddy, that's really nice of you to clean-up for mommy." Then she turned her boots over and began brushing the snow on the bottom. Still cleaning, very cute, right? Not so fast.

Emme put the brush down and began picking at the jammed snow with her finger. Clay & I insisted she didn't need to worry about the bottom of her boots, the snow would melt away. She gave us a very confused look then began licking her finger. She was eating the snow off the bottom of her boots! I shivered thinking of Bella doing her business under that lovely, white snow. Clay must have been thinking the very same thing as we both yelled, "NO!" Emme flashed us a clueless expression, "Whhaaat?"

Come to think of it, I had a dog when I was Emme's age :)

little, big girl.

I keep thinking about things I need to write about. Like, when Clay came home from work one night last week to find the girls & I playing in the basement. Emme was directing a game of "pretend I'm the princess talking on my cell phone to the prince I'm gonna marry and you (mom) are the wicked pretend mother (Tangled inspired) who needs to go the grocery store". This is always a fun game until I make a wrong move, like talking to the pretend prince on my cell phone, not a good idea. Emme has a mini breakdown and I am no longer permitted to play.

On this particular night, I was recently fired from my pretend play position when I heard Clay walk in the house and head down stairs to check out the scene. I thought Barbie herself had walked down the stairs with how excited Emme got to see her dad. She gives Clay a big hug and says in her sweet talker voice, "Do you want to play, Dad?" I remind her that Dad might want to get changed first and she shoots me a look that could catch fire, I swear. Then she says to me, "Can I just borrow him for a little bit?" Seriously? Borrow him? I remind Emme, again, that Daddy just got home. Let the man change and grab a beer, will ya? Another sparky glare from the 40 inch tall queen of the house. Her hands land on her hips and she says to me, "I'm gonna borrow him for a minute, alright? We have a wedding!" As you wish.

         ****************************************************************

Another Emme moment was inspired by her recent fascination with being a mommy. Emme has baby dolls scattered all through our house. Truly, in every room you can find a baby. Even tonight, as I was making my last rounds before punching out for the day, I found two babies on the fireplace hearth, a baby sitting in a dining  room chair, three baby dolls on my bedroom dresser, and a baby chillin' in Delaney's highchair. Heaven knows what they are doing in these places, even more what Emme was imagining when she put them there.

What I do know is Emme handles these babies dolls like they are real living babies. She changes diapers, gives bottles, rocks them, bounces them, shushes them, kisses them and even lugs a baby in a doll-sized infant car seat when we run errands. Last Friday afternoon, Emme was playing with her babies when I had to excuse myself to go feed Delaney (D is an extremely distracted nurser and Emme can be a pretty big distraction). Just as Delaney & I were settled in the glider Emme rounds the corner with three babies in tow. I quietly remind her that Delaney needs to eat and she needs to play quietly until D is done. Emme quickly nods her head  and shrugs her little shoulders then holds up one little finger- wait a minute. She grabs a baby doll, lifts up her shirt and presses the baby against her while making a "slurping" sound. She tosses that baby to the ground and grabs another. Slurp. Second baby is on the ground and grabs the third. Slurp. Emme smiles at me and says, "I'm already done." Show-off.

food critic

Emmersen has a pretty adventurous appetite. Most occasions, she is not opposed to trying new things. Luckily that leaves me (the cook) with options come dinner time. Rather than being stuck preparing the typical, kid-friendly mac n' cheese & chicken nuggets, she usually consumes whatever it is Clay and I are having. However, sometimes her food flexibility takes five and the meal that I place in front of her is a no-go.

Last night, was meatloaf night. In my defense, this is Kitchen Sink Meatloaf, not your grandmother's meatloaf. This meatloaf is made for the sweet tooth - cranberries, maple syrup, pistachios & some cheddar cheese. I've made it many times before and usually no arguments, just full mouths. Well, to accompany this little meal, I made green beans & sauteed new potatoes. Again, the basics. I call Emme to the table and confidently place her plate in front of her. I sit down and dig in.

Emme is just sitting there, elbow propped on the table with her cheek cupped in her little hand. Her other hand pushing her fork around her plate. Her expression would have made you think she was contemplating some heavy problem, like how to convince me she should have chocolate before bedtime :) So I said, "Buddy, what's up? Have a bite of your dinner." She looked up from her plate, head still leaning against her hand and said, "I don't want this. It smells like armpit." Well... okay then.

I feel pretty, oh, so pretty

Sometimes I wish I had a pad lock on Emmersen's closet. The sound of her closet doors popping open makes me cringe. That sound indicates a stand-off between mother and daughter is about to commence. And it won't be pretty.

My darling, Emme, is a three-year-old fashionista who is obsessed with dresses. The girl has a closet FULL of clothes that even I am jealous of. From her Mini Boden skinny jeans to her Crewcuts vintage cardigans to the coveted Burberry kilt with matching polo top, her wardrobe is crazy cute. Emme even got to "shop" on line with me before the start of the school year to pick out some fun, yet, suitable tops & leggings she would be proud to wear. But somewhere between Disney Princesses & Barbie, Emme got it in her little head that girls only wear dresses. When I asked her why only dresses, she responded she needs to feel "pretty". Insert my grumble here.

I am a stereotypical SAHM who runs around in yoga pants, hoodie and a baseball hat. When Emme catches me wearing make-up she assumes I am going somewhere very special and usually comments on how "pretty" I look and undoubtedly asks if I will be wearing a dress. Just the other night, I was freshly showered and Emme commented that she liked my pj's. She rubbed my arm and said she liked my soft skin. Then she said she liked my hair. Sweet, right? And then my darling daughter looks at me and says, "Mom, we can get you some make-up and I can help you get a dress so you can be pretty." Excuse me?

Well, this morning started out like most. Emme & I have a little one-on-one time before Delaney wakes up. We have our morning coffee (me) and warm apple juice (Emme) and talk about our plans for the day. Then it comes time to get dressed. It's 30 degrees outside and I suggest some leggings and a coordinating top. Emme's brow scrunches together, arms crossed over her chest..."But I want a dress!" Too worried about waking Delaney, I compromise and hand her a long sleeved dress and leggings. No takers. She wants a sleeveless number. Fine, long sleeved t-shirt underneath. Nope, she doesn't want the t-shirt because she won't look "pretty".  After some arguing, Emme is sporting a striped sleeveless dress (with a long sleeved shirt underneath), polka dot tights and pink Uggs. Great! A win/win situation. I go to tend to Delaney in the next room. Not two minutes after I leave the room, I hear Emme's closet doors pop open.

After dressing and feeding Delaney, I head back to Emme's room. She has taken off the boots, tights & long sleeved t-shirt. She put the sleeveless dress back on and is now sporting pink flip-flops. She is wearing a Hello Kitty necklace around her neck and a feathery tiara on her head. Yea, not gonna happen, sweetheart. It's a struggle to get her back in the original attire. Finally dressed, we head out the door.

As I am buckling her in her car seat she says to me, "Mom, look at my dress. I do look pretty today." So flustered by all the "pretty" talk I hiss, "You know, it's not so important to be pretty. What about being smart?! And strong?!" and I close the car door. Then I shake my head and remind my self, I am talking to a three-year-old.

Oh, Emmersen, you drive me pretty crazy and can make me pretty mad, but I pretty much can't help loving you. XO, bud.

icing on the cake.

My mom saves everything. I mean, everything. My folks basement could have qualified for the show Clean House up until about a year ago. However, I have come to appreciate her desire to hang on to the things that "just might be worth something some day". For instance, I get to laugh at Emme as she prances around the house in my old dance recital costumes and ballet shoes that are about three sizes too big. Or I got the enjoyment of watching my daughter don cowboy boots with every outfit last summer because my mom saved my boots that I wore obsessively at three years old. My kiddos even get to play with a cookie tin full of McDonalds Happy Meal toys circa 1985-1990. But the latest treasure was discovered in one of my mom's kitchen cabinets.

It was the first real snow of the season and my girls and I were hanging at Nan Nan & Pop Pop's for the afternoon. Of course Emme had full reign of the house and was taking full advantage. "Nan Nan! Nan Nan! Come play with me, " Emme beckoned. After a while I think Nan Nan got tired of climbing up and down the stairs and offered an activity the two of them could do that did not require parading around the house or playing with the dozens of preserved Barbies and Barbie Dream House.

In the kitchen, my mom digs through a rarely used cabinet and uncovers the latest prize. A white box with faded purple letters reading "Wilton" is placed on the kitchen table and Emme's little hands can't open it fast enough. "Oh my goodness! Are they just for me?" Emme exclaims as she pulls out a miniature mixing bowl, a miniature cupcake tray, a miniature cookie sheet and two miniature round cake pans. Then Emme hands a small white packet to my mom and asks what it is. Oh. My. God. Cake mix?

Seriously, the box of child size baking supplies had to be at least 20 years old, probably more. I'm horrified. The mixes have to be way past their expiration date. A closer look at the packet reveals there is no expiration date. Not a good sign. My mom asks my dad what he thinks. "Oh, it should be fine. It's vacuum sealed. We had that kind of stuff in Vietnam. It will be good for 100 years." Two against one, let the baking begin.

Emme has a ball mixing the Devil's Food Cake batter with her miniature whisk. She even helps Nan Nan grease the miniature cake pans. Now, the true test...tasting it. I urge my mom to taste it first. She dips her finger in the dark brown, lumpy batter and gives it a go. With a shrug, she gives it the O.K. Emme dips her little finger in the batter and smiles, "Mmm." Next she wants me to try it. Honestly, it tastes awful. It tastes, well, old. The cakes get baked anyway.

Emme prepares a packet of chocolate frosting that tastes equally disgusting, but is delighted all the same. Once she has the cakes frosted, it's time to eat these creations. She takes a bite and looks less than impressed. I try it. Only one thought comes to mind, moth balls. The cake tastes like moth balls. No expiration date does not mean it's good for a long time. No expiration date means the stuff is too darn old to even require an expiration date in the first place!

So, what became of the remainder of Emme's little cake creations? Nan Nan threw them out back to her beloved squirrels :)

Tu-tu tired.

It's bedtime. I am sitting in the glider in the dark. Delaney is cradled in my arms about to head to the land of nod. All is at peace. Then I hear her.

I glance at the clock, 8:14. Through the wall, I hear the squeak of bed springs then a loud "thud!" In the room next door, Emmersen is on one of her turbo, charged-up, over exhausted, uncontrollable, I'm not going to bed just yet, kicks. Oh man. Clay's muffled voice keeps repeating, "Emme. Emme. EMMERSEN." I count two more flying leaps off Emme's bed. Then her closet doors are slammed followed by a high-pitched, hysterical giggle.

Another glance at the clock, 8:20. I hear Clay begin to count. I say a mental prayer that she eases up on him. Clay counts to three - game over Emme. Her giggles turn into a wail, "Nooooooo! I want mommy!" Clay's muffled voice again. I can tell he is trying to remain calm. Poor guy.

I must have nodded off because the clock now reads 9:01. All is quite except for the rain sound machine in Delaney's room. When I step out into the hallway, I can hear Clay's snoring coming from behind Emme's door. On the floor outside Emme's door is a pool of princess dresses and various dress-up items. Ah-ha, the confiscated items and reason behind Emme's sobs. I gather them in a ball and toss them in our room until Emme can earn them back in the morning. I head back to Emme's room to fetch Clay. He is passed out on the floor next to two doll houses. He stumbles out of the room. I lean over Emme to tuck her in and I see a glimpse of pink sparkle. What the...?

A closer look reveals that my little diva decided to ditch her pajamas for a more suitable bedtime attire - a pink & purple, sparkly leotard complete with attached tu-tu. And that's my girl.

far out

Watching a baby discover her body parts is quite humorous. Delaney is currently fascinated with her hands. She will stare at them, intently, for long periods of time watching her fingers open and shut. I know, I know. This is supposed to be sweet and I am supposed to say, "Awww!" But seriously, all I can do is laugh because her expression kills me! Let me explain.

Delaney will be chillin' in my lap or one of the many baby lounging apparatus' littered about our house when all of a sudden she catches a glimpse of her hand out of the corner of her eye. She's locked in. Pupils are engaged, mouth is soft, she is in a trance. She brings one hand up in front of her face and rotates her wrist from side to side. Whoa. Then her fingers wave back and forth real slow. Cool. Next, she pulls her fingers together and opens and closes them against her thumb, kind of like she is making her hand "talk". Far out.

Two words came to mind when I first experienced Delaney's discovery... acid trip. Awful, I know. But to watch the facinated, dream-like expression on her face when her little fingers move, it really is funny.  Oh, Delaney, so mellow. Here's hoping you remain that way throughout your life, pal. XO

Duck.

Last Monday evening I found myself at wit's end. Emme's energy had sky-rocketed to an  insurmountable level and Delaney was fighting her last nap of the day like a boxing champ. If the three of us were going to survive until dinner time, I needed to act fast. After attempted games of Memory, craft-time, playing Barbie and play-dough, I had played all my cards and was close to losing this round. A last ditch effort,  I stashed the girls in the car and headed to Emme's future elementary school's playground.

Relief. D falls asleep on the car ride and Emme's inner diva seems to have taken five. The unseasonably warm, 50 degree January evening is just what this crazed momma needed to regain her footing. Delaney is as snug as a bug in the stroller, so Em & I start a game of hide n' seek.

Emme climbs the ladder to the top of the twirly slide and beings to count. "1, 2, 3.... Mom are you hiding?" "Yes Emme. Finish counting." The kid already knows how to squint her eyes to pretend they are closed, but are open just enough to still see. Her head follows in my direction as she counts. "4, 5!" Emme slips down the slide and looks around for me. She pretends to be looking for me even though she knows right where I am. After "searching" in a two other possible hiding spots she wanders over to the rock wall and shouts, "Mom, I found you! Your turn to count." I count to five and take my time finding her as she waits crouched under a set of vented steps. When I find her, she giggles and tells me to go hide.

This time she is counting on the ground. I make a beeline for the little tower at the top of the twirly slide. This is where our lovely game of mother/daughter hide n' seek goes very wrong. Emme is counting and I am running full speed to the top of the twirly slide. Not a great move for a 5' 7" adult playing on the kindergarten playground. Well, mom forgets to duck as she enters the little tower made for three foot individuals and WHACK! Yes, that is the sound my head made as it plowed into the plastic tower entrance. I seriously think I saw stars at this point, but tried to collect myself as the school Daisy troop makes their way onto the playground. Emme looks at me horrified. I try to reassure her I am fine as my head is pounding so hard it actually has a pulse. I squeeze my adult rear-end down the twirly slide just as the Daisy troop takes over the playground. Emme decides she is ready to head home.

The next day the weather is just as tempting to head outdoors. I offer to take Emme to the playground if she takes her nap. She gives me a very serious look, the kind someone gives you when they are about to tell you something of great importance. "Mom, that playground didn't really work out for you. I don't think it's a good idea." Point taken, kiddo.

chocolate at bedtime

Sitting in the glider in D's room tonight, I was starting to nod off when Emme's quick little footsteps caught my attention. I looked down at Delaney - passed out mid-nurse. Slight panic, please stay asleep Delaney and Emme, please mind your volume during the "report" you are no doubt coming to deliver. Emme appears in Delaney's doorway with a closed lip grin. She prances over to me and smiles. Chocolate covers her teeth, "Daddy gave me some chocolate. Tob-ler-own-E." Awesome.

Like for most young kiddos, sugar and bedtime are a dangerous combination. Now, I know Clay was just being a good dad (and a sucker) and gave into Emme's plea for a "dessert." But as soon as I saw that creamy, Swiss, brown stuff smeared on Emme's teeth and lips, I knew Clay & I were done for.

Needless to say, I end up swooping in and taking over Em's bedtime when I hear her begin to jump off of her bed and giggle uncontrollably. Poor Clay. The guy tries to do something nice and his quality time with Emme is botched when she goes haywire and I dive in like a hawk on prey. Clay's bewildered expression said enough. Okay girly, momma's here, play ball.

An hour and a half later, I have confiscated a mini flashlight, a recorable Dora microphone, various jewels and baubbles, a light-up singing My Little Pony, and the light bulb to her nightstand lamp. She is finally asleep.

I head to the kitchen for a piece of Toblerone :)

It was a witch.

Thank goodness for Delaney and her bright smile on the mornings when I could really just roll over and go back to bed. Last night's slumber was interrupted a number of times due to both ladies needing momma's attention. Delaney can't help wrestling me awake, the kid's got an empty belly and an appetite. Emmersen, on the other hand, had a more unneccessary, but creative reason.

It all started around 1:30 am. Emme calls out, "Mom!" She is startled and wants to come into our bed. I'm too tired to argue. Clay & I part ways to hang onto the edges of our bed while Emme stretches out in the middle and starts honkin' z's as soon as her head hits my pillow.

4:30 am, after feeding Delaney, I carry Emme's limp little body back to her bed and slump back into mine. 6:30 am, Emme startles us again with a call to "Mom!" and winds up back in our bed to finish out the morning.

Chatting over our morning drinks (me-coffee, Emme-warm apple juice) I inquire what was amiss last night that caused Emme to wind up sleeping with mom & dad. Emme's response was as follows:

Me: "Em, what was going on last night? Were you scared?"
Emme: "Yes."
Me: "What were you scared of?"
Emme: "A witch."
Me: "There was a witch? Where?"
Emme: "She was in my bed."
Me: "Oh. Well, what was she doing in your bed?"
Emme: "She was drinking beers."

she loves me, she loves me not

Oh, my little Emmersen. I still haven't figured you out and I know the answer to your antics lies in me.

You are demanding. I know your Nan Nan would say you are strong. Your Nan Nan also says that I am demanding. So, where does that leave us? Two strong & demanding minds challenging one another to see who comes out on top. Usually, you win. I get tired or have to retreat to tend to Delaney.

Today, you woke up and wanted to love on me. We snuggle. Then, I tell you it is time to get dressed. You run to your room to stall for an hour by emptying most of the contents of your drawers. After you realize I am not entertained by your dilly-dallying, you surrender but need to get dressed BY. MY. SELF....

In the car, you sweeten me up as I buckle your seat belt. "I love you, Mommy (with my face cupped in your hands). And you say so peacefully, "I'm going to be a good listener and take a nap today." Music to my ears, but I know better.

The afternoon changed your mood when I reminded you it was time to rest. "I'm not talking to you right now." And you marched down the hall, away from your bedroom, leaving me with saggy shoulders and a bewildered look on my face. Three hours later, I'm confused, you're annoyed, and still no nap.

You watch Arthur and you love me again. We have a nice dinner where you actually sit in your chair and eat and even take your bath without arguement. Daddy comes home late from work but is still ready to read to you and put you to bed. You're sweet again, "Mommy, I love you. See you in the morning." Until tomorrow, pal. XO

did it leave a mark?

Today started off too well - I should have known better.

After a wonderfully long holiday break, business as usual felt pretty good as I tried to get the girls dressed, fed and out the door by 8:30 am - first sign things were going too well. Surprisingly, we made it to our first desination, Stroller Strides class, on time. This rarely happens - second sign things were going too well. Emme conducted herself in a semi-controlled manner during class, only wandering during cool down when the rest of the kiddos were set loose from their stroller and she even left playtown without an arguement- third strike, you're out.

The rest of the day went down hill from there. Emme lost her "big girl" standing and continued to whine, complain, stick her tounge out and shout "NO" to pretty much any request made to her (I hang my head in exhaustion here). Why, why, why doesn't anyone warn you about the "trying threes" or "three-nagers". The "terrible twos" don't hold a candle to the amazing insanity a three-year-old can drive you to. Pracing around in her new dress-up "bride" dress Nan Nan spoiled her with, any stranger would have deemed her the ruler of the household and looked a tired mom & dad with pity. Delaney just stares at Emme when Emme goes on her power tirade. How I wish I knew what was going through that 4 month old little brain as she observes her big sister defy every household rule with an almost sinister chuckle.

And the day ended with Emme and I having a stand-off at bedtime. An hour and a half later, I woke up on Emme's floor, shuffled over to her bedside to see the aftermath of our bedtime feud. At some point, Emme had set up a little shrine of girly things on her night stand- a clip-on earring, bracelet, hair tie, glittery Tinker Bell lip balm. Curled in ball under her pink quilt, Emme lay sleeping still grasping her mini flash light that, no doubt, helped her organize her nightstand display.

I couldn't help but smile. This little person that tests my patience to the breaking point almost every day can make my heart melt so easily. I kissed her little forehead, whispered "I love you" and tip-toed out of the room. Good night, buddy.

independence

Ahh, those three little words every parent loves to hear when offerring a determined preschooler assistance, "By myself". I do realize that this is, indeed, only two words but when a spoken by a strong-willed preschooler I believe it classifies as three..."By! My! Self!" This lovely triage of words can drive any well meaning parent into a tizzy. I have the pleasure of listening to this phrase over and over throughout the day when Emme is offerred a hand. For instance, this evening I promised Emme a visit to "Mommy's Nail Salon" post bath if she followed all rules when getting dressed and ready for bed. I know, I am a sucker. But a mom's gotta do, what a mom's gotta do to keep peace under her roof (especially at bed time).

So things went smoothly and Emme was ready for her mani/pedi. I told her to pick out two colors of polish and only two. When she went to open the refrigerator (polish keeps longer there) Clay offered his assistance since she was having trouble. You would have thought he called her a dirty name by the look she gave him - eyebrows scrunched together, lips pursed, nosed wrinkled like she smelled bad cheese. Then those three lovely words..."By! My! Self!" Emme then stuck her bottom out as to block Clay from the refrigerator door. Lord, this little girl.

Just as I was getting ready to scold her for being rude to her dad I had to think, she is a determined little lady. And then I smiled to myself because she had to gain that confidence somewhere, right? Instead, I helped her express her need to do things unassisted in a more polite manner, ("No thank you, I can do it.") and carried on as Mommy the nail tech.

Another "to-do"

Another year comes to a close and I thought, why not add another thing to my daily to-do list in the new year?! It's New Year's eve. I'm in my jammies, hair still damp from a much needed shower, the sounds of the girls monitors & hubby snoring on the couch are my background noise and I am starting a blog.

Someone once told me that I was always so happy that she just wanted to slap me. Always happy? I'm glad I have someone fooled. In all seriousness, I do always try to turn my bad attitude around. Being a SAHM of two fantastic kiddos, 3 years and 4 months, my days are far from easy going. I am constantly trying to stay one step ahead of my oldest daughter whose sass is as thick as molasses - (today she actually spanked me!) while nursing and/or entertaining the babe.

Alas, I love my life, I love my family, and even though some days are more trying than others, I wouldn't trade those crazy days for another. Yes, each day I do feel I get served a little "slap in the face" but when I lay my head down each night I can honestly say the crazy days do leave me happy.

So, the point of this blog? A memoir. Motivation. Therapy. The need to remember, the motivation to write it down, and therapy to work through the days when the "slap" becomes a punch.

Me = happy :)