Frogs & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails

Who pooped in the community swimming pool yesterday? Picks his nose and gives the result to the baby? Finds mud, bugs and pulling his sister's hair totally irresistible? Who announces every burp, fart and stomach growl with glee?

Yup. He's all mine.

The Clock is Ticking

Two hours left until I'm officially a "thirty-something."
When did that happen?

In the tradition of her father, Lily just couldn't wait to present me with her birthday card. It is, by far, the best card I've ever received. I love the new style of noses she's going with, and the hair is cracking me up. The girl's got a gift, I tell ya.

3 Little Monkeys Taking a Bath

The way it was supposed to be...

For the record, I had really high hopes for this post. We are in Pennsylvania for the week spending time with family. The kids are having a blast with their super cool cousins and I'm thrilled to have help not strangling entertaining them. We all went out to a strawberry patch yesterday. I was really excited-- I hadn't been in years. It was a glorious day and the kids love strawberries. To top it off, the blog potential (are you sensing an addiction?) was huge. A winning combination, no?

I had the scene set out in my head: They'd happily pick the berries, their faces shining in the bright sun. Then, grinning ear to ear, they'd plop down on the grass, scarf down the sweet berries and be the picture perfect little red faced cherubs. The sky was blue. The fields were a vibrant green. The kids looked adorable in their matching polo shirts. Oh, the things I could write! The pictures I could share! It would be perfect!

Keep dreaming, Jill. Ben didn't crack a smile the whole time. He scowled and whined and refused to move unless carried. Lily insisted on de-stemming every berry before plucking them into the basket, thus ruining the gorgeous red/green contrast nature provided. Despite each adoring strawberries (and later that night stuffing their faces) neither kid wanted to taste a single one at the patch. I begged. I pleaded. I stuffed my face. No luck.

Not to fear, dear readers, I have a solution. I present you with "Stock Baby," my imaginary child for the day. Unlike my own, he cooperates for the camera. He is quiet, clean and costs a mere $250. He doesn't complain or need changing or bite his siblings. He is the perfect subject.

I'm thinking of leaving my camera at home today--I'm sure Stock Baby smiled more at the zoo than my kids will! So, get used to him; I think he's a keeper.

Broken Promises

Before I had kids, I vowed that my children would never wear Crocs. They're ugly, overpriced, and trendy. I was going to resist.
That was the end of that. Period.

I didn't make it too far. When Lily was two and a half, she started complaining that she was the only girl at school who didn't have "those" shoes; "Everybody has them but me." Already, I thought? Shit. I had flashbacks of being the only one without cool denim in junior high. Without the rhinestone studded shoes. Without the pierced ears.
Could I be the parent who scars my offspring? Could I choose reason above my daughter's wishes?

Clearly, as illustrated above, the answer was no. Much to my (and Jeff's) chagrin, off to the mall we went. She was fitted with her first little purple pair. And much to my surprise, they looked pretty darn cute. I liked them. When Ben was big enough to wear them, we bought him a pair too. Their little feet looked adorable swinging together in those so-ugly-they-are-cute shoes. Life was good.

And then, there were Jibbitz. Some stay at home mom's goldmine. I refused to buy them. Three bucks for a stupid little plastic charm? I think not. I put my foot down. But, soon after I made that promise, her little Crocs looked naked to her. Why did all of her friends have the fun "thingies" and she didn't? Puh-leeease? I had a moment of weakness, and caved. A purple flower. I told myself that was it-- just one. But it wasn't. It was just the beginning. She now has flowers, characters, food... her brother has a colorful collection of marine life.

I am ashamed to admit that we are now a Croc wearing family. A hideous, flexible, holed, and bejeweled plastic footwear wearing family. Even Evan has a pair. I have 2 larger pairs waiting in the closet for when the kid's feet grow to the next size. I have a stash of Jibbitz for good behavior. I am pathetic.

The experience did come with a lesson though: First of all, I am a total sucker. And, second of all, pretty much anything can look cute when it's on the little feet you love.

B is for Brave

Ever since Benji got his big boy bed a few months ago, Lily has been pestering us to have a "sleepover." Now that the days are long and lazy, with no reason to rush up in the morning, we agreed and have tucked them in together the last couple of nights. The site of them curled up sleeping next to each other is really heartwarming. Although they do bicker, pinch, punch, bite and scream, they really have a sweet little relationship (especially when we're not looking.)

Despite being the first born, Lily is a bit of a p*u*s*s*y. Sorry to use the word, but she is. Ben is the one who will dunk his head under the water. He's the one who will get the first twirl around the room. Or try to tackle the jungle gym. Or step into a dark room. Whenever the notion of sleeping at grandma's house comes up, it's always followed by, "Is Ben going to come too?"

Earlier in the week, Lily needed something in the basement and asked Ben to go with her (ok, "Ily!" he replied) Why can't you just go alone, babe, I asked? Her Response: Because I'm scared of the basement and Ben makes me brave.

And he does. She is willing to do so much more with him by her side. And, as their mom, it's pretty cool to see.

A week, in summary.

What did we learn this week?
• That a little boy should not play outside near a hose.
• That dancing in the rain is is a great way to kill a half hour.
• That old friends with new babies are a really good thing.
• That Ben is capable of throwing a 45 minute tantrum over a cereal bar.
• That a rainbow is the perfect way to end a too long day.
(but you could have told all me that, right?)

Is it September yet?

Clearly, Evan is as thrilled as I am to have the kids home all day long. For the next 3 months (why did I not enroll them in camp? Why, why, why?) We colored, danced, played, read, build a fort, and swam.
And then it was 10:30.

I'm going to be waltzing my way into school come fall.

The Birds and the Bees

Lily: Who was the boy in Bima's tummy?
Uncle Matt, I reply.
Lily: Was he the only boy in her tummy?
Yes, Sweets, just me and Uncle Matt.
Lily: But Papa was inside of Bima too, right?
Oy.
Honey, let's just go play outside.

Life as a Third Child

Lily's first food: Peas
Ben's first food: Sweet potatoes
Evan's first food: Book
(This should answer the question: What is the baby doing while I blog?)

Reunited (and it feel so good)

Dear Readers, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the fabulous Miss Emerald, the first Barbie Doll I've purchased for myself Lily. I am so excited for her arrival. I cannot wait. For my daughter's sake, I mean.
Of course.

I love Barbie. Always have, always will. My oldest friend, Jess, and I played with our Barbie dolls for years longer than any other girls we knew. It was our dirty little secret, but we simply could not part with them. Mine (Kate,) had the minivan and the salon and the family with twins. Jess had the basement sink that we transformed into a spa, the tree with berries the girls dined on and all the best dresses. She'd drive me crazy mixing her Barbie (Courtney Whales,) with "Little People" furniture and Lego's (Hello? They are totally different scales! Duh!) And I'd drive her nuts decorating houses whose furniture outlined the rooms. But, we loved it and would play with them for hours.

I have always found Barbie backlash amusing. My Barbie lived on a farm (?) and jetted into the city to work as an ad executive. She had a booming career, a hot husband and drove a functional, yet pink, minivan. So, her dimensions were 36-18-38, an obviously unattainable ideal. She was also a doll. Did the Smurfs make me want to turn blue? Did I aspire to grow a "snork" when watching the Snorkles? Did I want to dress up as a Strawberry and draw black dots on my nose? No. She was a doll who brought me countess hours of entertainment. Never for a second did I want to be her.

Jess kept hers neat and pristine (and I'm willing to bet they are still in her basement.) Mine all had Mohawks and one arm by the time we sold them in our driveway for fifty cents. I've always regretted getting rid of them and welcome the opportunity to relive my youth through my daughter. I hope they bring her as much joy as they brought me. I hope she listens when I tell her that their hair will not grow back once it's cut. I hope she doesn't attempt to shorten the skirts, give perma-blush with a pink Sharpies and use push pins as earrings. None are a good idea, and I speak from experience.

Mostly, I hope that she is smart enough to hang on to hers, long after she thinks she should. Because, as I've learned, a girl never really outgrows her Barbie.

Edited on 6-18-2008 to add:
"Annabel Lena" arrived today. And Lily is mixing her with the plastic Disney characters. Breathe, Jill, breathe.

Fudgesicle + 95 degree heat =

A very presidential little boy. (And an enormous mess for Mommy)

And so it begins...

At four and a half, she's already begun the eye-roll and the sing-songy three syllable "Mo-o-om."

I've said it before and I'll say it again; I live in fear of her teenage years. (And, for the record, I had the audacity to ask her to take off her wet bathing suit so she didn't track water inside. I am so annoying.)

Emotional Scarring & Home Sweet Home

It's always so much fun when you can foresee years of future therapy before your very eyes. Twenty years from now, when Lily is battling claustrophobia and abandonment issues, at least we'll know the root. How wonderful.

Yesterday was our last day in Chicago, thank God. Jeff was working so Allison (our babysitter) and I had to get to the lobby with all of the kids/strollers/suitcases/carry-ons/dolls/bears/etc. We piled the unbelievable amount of crap onto a dolly. Allison tackled it while I carried Evan and pushed an overtired and fussy Ben in his stroller.
Lily walked ahead and pushed the elevator button for us. She hopped on as we maneuvered the uncooperative dolly. As we turned it to get it through the doors, they began to shut. These were not friendly, accommodating doors that react to an arm trying to stop them. They were pissed off and disgruntled; They ignored our prying hands and angrily snapped shut with Lily screaming inside.

We could hear her crying fading as the elevator began it's decent down 50 floors. We watched as the elevator stopped. 44...39...37...34...
Visions of Lily getting off at a random floor and wandering around terrified us. If she got off, how would we go about finding her? I booked it down to the lobby, in the hopes that she would arrive there. The alternative was just too overwhelming to consider. 8 long minutes later, she arrived. Red, tear stained, and hysterical, but all in one (physical) piece.
My poor little girl.

The fabulous day continued with pouring rain at the outdoor zoo, a hell-ish airport with the most lay-off deserving United workers ever, flight delays, an hour long taxi on the runway, the clear development
of pink eye, tonsillitis and coughs all around.

But, we're back. We slept in our own beds (for 3.5 hours, but who's counting,) got to see Penelope and have all the comforts of home. It's going to hit 105 today. We're off to the doctor's and have food shopping, unpacking and laundry to do. But that's ok. I'll take it.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
There's no place like home!

My Day of Public Service

Picture this:
• Michigan Avenue, Chicago
(we all tagged along on Jeff's week long business trip.
Great idea, in theory. In theory.)
• Thunder, lightening and pouring rain
(what happened to the 80 degree sunny forecast?)
• Me, frizzy haired and exhausted
(thanks to 3 kids up and ready at 3:57 am.
Damn humidity and damn central time zone)
• Evan strapped on me in the Baby Bjorn
(dribbling slobber and spit up all over me)
• My one hand pushing Ben's stroller
(and swerving all over, because it really needs to be pushed with 2 hands)
• My other hand and grasping Lily's hand as she tries to run away
(because an hour and a half in American Doll store just isn't enough)

I fully expect the city of Chicago to see a drop in unplanned births
next March due to the sight of us.

Why can't fat be cute forever?

Even as a baby, Lily was quite svelte. No rolls, no dimpled hands, no skin folds, no double chin. In comparison, Ben was a pretty hefty kid, or so I thought. I was so, so wrong.

Evan has redefined the term "chubby baby" for me. He bears a striking resemblance to the Michelin Man, and is impossible to carry comfortably for more than ten minutes. He weighs as much as 80 sticks of butter. As much as four large bags of sugar. As much as a turkey big enough to serve 22 people.

Yup, a whopping 20 pounds and not even 6 months. I think he carries it quite well, though. The skin folds are very useful for catching slobber. And those hands are so yummy to chomp on. The feet are pretty delicious, too.

It just works for him. And it works for me too; I love finally having a little pudge ball.

(And, yes, It has been noted that he has more cleavage than I do. Thanks.)

Overheard: A conversation between 4 year olds

(While playing naked in the sprinkler)
Grant: I have to go potty.
Lily: Just go on the grass. I just did.
Grant: Oh, ok. {Crouches over and begins to poop in the grass}

I think I speak for both his mother and myself when I say;
We are so very proud.

Dance Party USA!

I don't dance. Or rather, I can't dance. Never have, never will. I don't have an ounce of rhythm in me. And really, dancing is just glorified exercise, which I'm none too fond of.

On the few occasions when I've consume enough liquor to loosen up, my moves have been likened to Elaine's at the office party on Seinfeld. Or even worse, my college roommate and now husband named a particular intoxicated performance of mine "The Terradactyl." I'll spare you the play by play, but just keep in mind that this dinosaur has wings. Not a pretty sight on the dance floor. (And, as a side note, this name referred to my dancing, nothing else. I didn't want you to get the wrong impression should you look it up on Urban Dictionary. But, hey, you learned something new today, right?!)

Which is why I found this video of Ben so amusing. Granted, Lily isn't such a dancing queen here herself, but she looks like a natural compared to him. You'll see that Ben actually roars mid-dance, taking "The Terradactyl" to a whole new level. Poor kid; He really is all mine.

I suppose all I can do is just hope he's cool enough to carry these moves off. Who knows, maybe 15 years from now that will be the new hot dance. And you can say you knew him when...

The sweetest little ballerina

Ever since Lily was a about a year old, she has had two distinct personalities. There is the public Lily and the private Lily. At home she has always needed to be the center of everything. She's spunky, fun, loud, bossy and tireless. In public she's usually timid and awkward. I remember the first time her pre-school teacher, Allison, babysat and barely recognized the wild child she thought she knew so well. It's always made me sad that the outside world doesn't get to see the Lily we know and love.

Yesterday, Lily's semester of ballet culminated in her first dance recital. For weeks we've been asking her to show us her routine. She would awkwardly raise a leg, do a half turn and that was it. Suffice it to say, my expectations of her performance were pretty low. I had a pit in my stomach as she walked on to the stage, with visions of awkward nail biting and silly expressions floating in my head.

I was totally unprepared for what I saw... She was absolutely wonderful. She jumped and twirled and danced the best way a 4 year old possibly can. She was graceful and sweet and best of all, had a smile on her face the whole entire time. It was so thrilling to see her act like that on stage, without any insecurities or anxiousness. I'm sure she'll continue to act shy and goofy in public at times, but hopefully yesterday was indicative of days to come.

Get ready, world. The real Lily is coming out... And she's amazing.

A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

There are two camps of people, the cheek kissers and the lip kissers.
I'm not talking about romantic, open mouthed kisses, but simple pecks between close family and friends. I was raised a cheek kisser. My Aunt Sis was always a lip kisser and I remember thinking it seemed more loving than cheek kisses. I've always kissed my children on their sweet little lips, and been quite happy with my choice.

Until yesterday. Yesterday I was playing a little game where I kiss the baby on the lips and pull away to form an "O" with my mouth. He laughs hysterically and we do this for probably a total of an hour a day.
It's an easy way to get a laugh- I started it with my first born, and
it's worked for all of them.

I think this little game is over. Yesterday, just as I was forming my "O" and expecting a great belly laugh, he decided to spit up most of the contents of his bottle. Into my mouth. And it wasn't a bottle he'd just eaten, it was over an hour old. It was curdled. It was revolting. My response was to gag and spit it all over my shirt, which resulted in him laughing even harder than usual. Which was the outcome I was hoping for, but not at my stomach's expense.

Ick. Maybe cheek kissing is the way to go after all.