tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-142811652024-03-23T13:58:28.244-04:00Interrupted WanderlustThoughts from a writer-girl's journeyKristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.comBlogger813125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-72134947511478993592011-07-12T14:37:00.005-04:002011-07-12T16:40:33.355-04:00Moving ForwardThank you so much for your outpouring of support following Louie's passing. The emails, Facebook messages, and comments here helped ease the pain.<br /><br />I still miss him terribly. His photo sits on the ledge over my kitchen sink, right beside the clay mold of his paw prints, which the emergency vet's office took of him following his passing.<br /><br />At times, I still think I see him walking around the house, until I do a double-take and realize it's either Chubbie or Claudia, one of my two other cats.<br /><br />His death has left a giant hole in my heart.<br /><br />I bought this stone for his grave in our backyard. I had the kids paint rocks to place around it. Several times a week, I sit in the chair I've placed nearby and remember him.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628564674652840082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi3u7YKMRWbgMcQY8D3J_ismhFmqqXmyQ9hneQC5rRs1ldgIMiQpENvv1oQk3NKYJz-MmKToKgsuQLw1QaHTBX8vUvjajkTtLgNNRxrFUHgIWwcTsznoracyPnteGcEppwE9A/s320/DSC01468.JPG" />.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628492982150932834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhIVP4GOwyjrTpRiOP_A25xqqgJ521t15UX45FQDteuWkvAsVmInkMlZDNJVjeJJmUvEsG2RkE-eLVxujPlk7ug3lF1UuAFsy86g9ky2RzJaSJuqAeVoDQgrmfzzKMoWF8Ynz/s320/stone.JPG" /><br /><br />Those who say, "He was just a pet" have obviously never loved an animal.<br /><br />**************************************************************************<br />This blog celebrated its 6th anniversary on July 5th. I hardly feel like it's worth noting this past year, since posting has been so sporadic. But there are a handful of you who have been reading here for many years, and that's something worthy of recognition.<br /><br />Thank you for reading. Thank you for sticking around here when my posts have been few and far between. One day I'll start writing with greater regularity again. I miss writing here.<br /><br />**************************************************************************<br />So, what's been going on?<br /><br /><p>Well, these two are *this close* to being potty-trained, at least during the day. Luci is ahead of Nicholas in the "waking up dry" category. Potty-training 2 two-and-a-half-year-olds has not been the complete nightmare I thought it would be (although this is probably because the hubs has taken the reins on the majority of the training, as he did with Isabella). </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2oLZijf3dfq4iq2AOul3Kub60GwOrtLpxSuSqs5OxHVY89Df6EUgOGN9EEF2yN0ers-Nq5ff-zUaqG1lgC8VpC3k5-cgxDAmyBx9UAFRdNFnaAidbMs0Tl0Rwxn6viwSG8EYq/s1600/potty.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628564261297572658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2oLZijf3dfq4iq2AOul3Kub60GwOrtLpxSuSqs5OxHVY89Df6EUgOGN9EEF2yN0ers-Nq5ff-zUaqG1lgC8VpC3k5-cgxDAmyBx9UAFRdNFnaAidbMs0Tl0Rwxn6viwSG8EYq/s320/potty.jpg" /></a>Yes, there are times when I am awash in bodily fluids (and solids, sorry) and it is chaotic shuffling between the two of them and who needs to go and who prefers the potty chair to the potty seat fitted over the toilet in the bathroom, and Oh My God, do NOT stand up mid-stream, but we're getting there.<br /><br /><p>This one is *this close* to swimming. After two weeks of swimming lessons, she now jumps in on her own, goes underwater on her own, and even "swims" underwater on her own. No floaty life jacket needed all summer long. She still needs help on stroke technique and proper breathing, but after some private lessons later this summer (she took group lessons at my gym's pool), I'm hopeful she'll be very close to independent and actual swimming.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcxgUbocePHqD-CBhxtbEv2NLhGj_5jbTmtgZxZdaqVmQF0k84hLAoJteG3T5X5PARGHgFv-joetwnMQxAXOwVwGgFRTC7OpKaoPRboa8mZtBH_eOgz-JY7zPLLjroqy2n4kF/s1600/kids5.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628499583382679858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcxgUbocePHqD-CBhxtbEv2NLhGj_5jbTmtgZxZdaqVmQF0k84hLAoJteG3T5X5PARGHgFv-joetwnMQxAXOwVwGgFRTC7OpKaoPRboa8mZtBH_eOgz-JY7zPLLjroqy2n4kF/s320/kids5.JPG" /></a><br />All three of the kids were in my cousin's wedding over 4th of July weekend. Surprisingly, no one ran screaming down the aisle. They performed like little trained monkeys, making me question who swapped out my Twinsanity for two robots kids.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIxJqS7oq1r2n1TAJJmoNUuttFhqW6rqTi2SL-v44N4-_OAgixJJcYDv3n7WIKfxzU7FLvUxuEA0N4Ng4SEZL-6kSFfqVlshlFSoZl_hkZxpJwMAZbFY5x54h1ibvHvyuHldV/s1600/L+and+N.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628565151599407906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIxJqS7oq1r2n1TAJJmoNUuttFhqW6rqTi2SL-v44N4-_OAgixJJcYDv3n7WIKfxzU7FLvUxuEA0N4Ng4SEZL-6kSFfqVlshlFSoZl_hkZxpJwMAZbFY5x54h1ibvHvyuHldV/s320/L+and+N.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-FplMiaRnOOOeUY1ZbZokSDqVCxDoO44AxhQ-4S_RMX7O5R_hHLGtruqSWn5ItEzQ1jZzL3mSX7TJNonlMwFGR09zPXE0srHoI1lPt7L-wJ5harYnYN7XmgaKFXfbHl3fV-u/s1600/DSC01606.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628565870864958034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-FplMiaRnOOOeUY1ZbZokSDqVCxDoO44AxhQ-4S_RMX7O5R_hHLGtruqSWn5ItEzQ1jZzL3mSX7TJNonlMwFGR09zPXE0srHoI1lPt7L-wJ5harYnYN7XmgaKFXfbHl3fV-u/s320/DSC01606.JPG" /></a> And I donned a fancy dress, and posed with my sister for posterity, because the last time I was <em>this</em> dressed up, I was getting married, 10 years ago.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_xM-UZ4U6wlGVo4Ft6dR-MYOXTlIJy5XvgRuuPinnUmk0apMI6ahls8y4Qjo-WisnLsd3UyFPBW3lGnj8Bpu0IooQFjP3oapdx-uifjhfbRfZsr75wfGmjTNbMb8nZhdnaRF/s1600/KK.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628564917560380306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_xM-UZ4U6wlGVo4Ft6dR-MYOXTlIJy5XvgRuuPinnUmk0apMI6ahls8y4Qjo-WisnLsd3UyFPBW3lGnj8Bpu0IooQFjP3oapdx-uifjhfbRfZsr75wfGmjTNbMb8nZhdnaRF/s320/KK.jpg" /></a> My job is going well. For the past 6 weeks, I've been working on copy for my health club's new website (launching Friday), instead of working on the social media strategy and training for the social media managers at each of the clubs. But the site launches Friday, and soon I'll return to doing my "real" job. I'm heading back to Chicago in August to train 10 social media managers on the new strategy. <a href="http://www.stickyfeet2.com/">Jaime </a>and <a href="http://tracey-justanothermommyblog.blogspot.com/">Tracey</a>: what are you doing the 3rd week in August???<br /><br /><p>And that's about it. The summer schedule is in effect here, with Isabella in camps most of the summer (this week, it's "Discovering Plants" at our science museum, followed by Jazz Camp at a music school next week). Luci and Nicholas are even going to a week of camp with the hubs the last week in July. I love, love, love our science museum's summer camps. </p><br /><br /><p>We have no summer vacation plans, but maybe you do. Allow me to live vicariously through you.</p><br /><br /><p>Where are you headed?</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-34702769416766876772011-06-12T16:48:00.023-04:002011-06-12T19:52:33.628-04:00Louie 4/30/98 - 6/12/11This afternoon, I kissed my sweet Louie on his soft head over and over. I told him what a sweet kitty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1UTSKR1Qm38j5TOZ952f5RvIt4a71IExpoxBB0kSjFz7h7NCIASLXmDMdFnar4LyIIY3wkJ_JzVohIEXGB663ZXN5Rpk8dGYmT2ztOQf__0YNBPZQnf_JXOonwVFAHzrKL5h/s1600/Louie6.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 152px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617438431016402354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1UTSKR1Qm38j5TOZ952f5RvIt4a71IExpoxBB0kSjFz7h7NCIASLXmDMdFnar4LyIIY3wkJ_JzVohIEXGB663ZXN5Rpk8dGYmT2ztOQf__0YNBPZQnf_JXOonwVFAHzrKL5h/s200/Louie6.JPG" /></a> he was. How I will never forget him. How thankful I was to have had him for 13 years.<br /><br />And as a veterinarian in the emergency vet's office, a place I had promised him I would never take him again, after his <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/01/inoperable.html">inoperable </a>diagnosis on New Year's Eve, pushed the medicine to send Louie to kitty heaven into his vein, I whispered in his ear over and over, "I will love you forever. I will love you forever."<br /><br />In a matter of seconds, he was gone.<br /><br />It has been a long goodbye.<br /><br />Since his diagnosis of vaccine-associated fibrosarcoma in <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2010/12/louie.html">November</a> until early May, Louie's decline was slow. The tumor on the scruff of his neck was growing, but his behavior was unchanged.<br /><br />It opened up at times. Small, nickel-sized pockets in the center of the beast that would claim his life, but two weeks of antibiotics would clear up the open wound and the underlying infection. He was eating. He was drinking. He was snuggling with his mama, Chubbie, just as he did every day, on the ottoman in my office.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617438626304158418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-C61ynFdpkXQyK-QamEmvKiKfVkxp8Ci6cHk4U9fK5takJiVHyrJ-ZAdrX2RgJM_QQ7ACXorEad41PsGEoSn0D1_6kHn9ypcx0kc4E5hDHECbH71ZYipWA2GAFtY8x0ZQqF71/s320/Louie5.JPG" /><br /><br />In early May, things started to change. His tumor began to spread rapidly. It began to open up much larger than it had before. It was draining and had an odor. And Louie, a kitty who had never been very sociable, and who only emerged from hiding after the kids had gone to bed for the night, suddenly was around all the time.<br /><br /><p>He began sleeping in strange spots, places in the house he never visited before. He developed a slight limp, a sign that the tendrils of the tumor were wrapping themselves around the scapula bone of his shoulder. He had difficulty climbing down the stairs.</p><br /><br />And yet his appetite was good. Excellent even. He was eating all the time, from the feeding stations I set up around the house for him, so he never had to be too far from his food or water.<br /><br />By the end of May, he had begun coming into our bedroom in the middle of the night, usually around 4am, and meowing. I began getting up, going downstairs, and giving him some tuna I had been buying for him. From that point on, every single night, he would come into our room somewhere between 2am and 4am meowing loudly. I would give him the tuna, and yet 30-45 minutes later, he would be back up meowing again. I would go downstairs, he would follow me, and I'd spend time with him on the kitchen floor. Brushing him, petting him, talking to him. I think he was lonely. Chubbie had stopped cuddling with him suddenly a few weeks prior.<br /><br />Eventually, he would head to the adjoining dining room, curl up on his blanket I'd placed there once I saw that he had picked the location as one of his new favorite spots to sleep, and he'd take a nap. By this time, I was wide awake. It was 5am, and sometimes earlier. I rarely went back to sleep.<br /><br />Two weeks ago, he started another round of antibiotics to see if the medication could get the infected tumor under control. At that point, I knew our goodbye would be soon.<br /><br />It became clear about a week ago that the antibiotics were not working this time.<br /><br />He had begun having accidents around the house. He was meowing at me constantly. He would sit and stare into space. He seemed restless and unable to get comfortable.<br /><br />Last week, I called his vet and told him the antibiotics weren't working. He said he could prescribe a stronger one, but because Louie's cancer was incurable, it would maybe buy him a few more weeks. I thought about what to do for a day, and then called his vet and told him it was Louie's time to go. I didn't want to put him through another round of antibiotics, especially when getting him to take his medicine was so difficult for him. I could sense a more rapid decline this time.<br /><br />I was waiting for Louie to tell me it was time. I think his cries, his plaintive meowing, were telling me to help him. On Wednesday, his vet was to come to our house and euthanize him.<br /><br />This morning, I awoke at 6:30am and knew something was not right. Louie hadn't come into our room in the middle of the night, as he had been doing every night for weeks. I went downstairs and discovered he'd had an accident on his blanket. He was sleeping next to it. I gave him some tuna. He ate a few bites, and laid down in the spot where his blanket was (I had put it in the washing machine).<br /><br />Once the kids got up, he headed upstairs. About half hour later, I heard the horrific sound of his small body tumbling halfway down the stairs. He tried to stand, and couldn't. He would take a few steps, and lay down. I felt his limbs and moved them, and he didn't react. Nothing seemed broken. I placed him on his blanket. My friend was knocking at the door to pick me up for a planned breakfast out.<br /><br />I hesitated in my decision to leave. And then I did.<br /><br />The text from home came about an hour later, telling me that Louie's limbs were twitching and to come home soon. We left the restaurant immediately. He was on the blanket where I had left him. Louie lifted his head to greet me. It was clear something was very wrong, and when the hubs came in from outside, where he'd had the kids playing so they wouldn't bother Louie, I told him we needed to get Louie to the vet. <br /><br />He brought in Isabella. I was a mess, and together the hubs and I told her what she already knew. That Louie was sick. His body wasn't working. And then we told her that after right now, she wouldn't see him anymore because he was going to heaven. She was confused, but stroked his fur on his back one last time, and told him she loved him. Then the hubs packed up the kids and took them to my grandma's for the day.<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617438837462793842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQyyyI1xC5eWdK-w5UlxepUZeWhIBZInC4PcAptSc0UvoSUJm07rsw7WQPurIvbprXpgmDghKU_r4L9r5EKf3AulZtKojf-nnw_jaKi8JVfd1xvg_mSk-O2ZAIoz_CCL0BgG6/s320/Louie+and+Isabella.jpg" /></p><br /><br />I spent the next 15 minutes gently petting his head and body. He purred loudly. He was with me, responding to me, reacting to my touch.<br /><br />And then all of a sudden, he wasn't.<br /><br />His eyes turned glassy. His breathing was labored. His body was on the blanket, but Louie was gone.<br /><br />His limbs went through spastic movements every few minutes. I was alone. And I was hysterical. I was losing him.<br /><br />I called his vet's, which was closed. I then called the emergency veterinary office and told them we needed to bring Louie in.<br /><br />It was time.<br /><br />When the hubs came home, I wrapped Louie in his special purple blanket, and held him in my arms for half the car ride to the vet's, my tears coating his soft, gray fur. Midway there, we had to transfer him to his cage because he was agitated. Once there, we entered the same room I had been in when Louie received his inoperable cancer diagnosis. It had come full-circle.<br /><br />The end wasn't supposed to come this way. I promised Louie I would never take him back there. He hated going, and our vet has made house calls for over 10 years for the cats' annual house calls because Louie hated making the trip. I wanted his end to come at home, where he felt loved and safe.<br /><br />And yet in the end, we had to give him the gift of an end to his suffering in a place not of our choosing. I've heard from my sister and my friends in the past week how euthanasia is truly a gift. Our beloved animal companions needn't suffer. <br /><br />This agony is part of sharing life with animals. Their lives, when compared to ours, are tragically short. And yet knowing this does not make the end any easier.<br /><br />I know Louie had a wonderful life. He was able to spend each day of his 13 years with his mama, Chubbie, whom he adored, and his sister, Claudia. And while he was a skittish kitty, did not like loud noises and men, and only sought attention (until he got sick) when the kids were in bed for the night, and then only from me, never the hubs, he was given love and attention whenever he sought it.<br /><br />And while he was never a lap cat, or even a socialable kitty, over the last two months, he was. This awful, horrible, pharmaceutical company-manufactured cancer, which Louie got from his rabies vaccine, took his life, but it also lowered his inhibitions. He became so much more of our daily lives because he spent his days on the main floor of our house, eating in the kitchen, sleeping in the dining room, and visiting the family room, instead of hiding upstairs until the house was quiet. The kids got to know him better. They talked to him. They pet him. They loved him.<br /><br />And he loved them.<br /><br />We took Louie home with us, and buried him in the backyard. The hubs bought a beautiful Japanese tree and planted it beside the grave. It is Louie's tree. The vet's office gave us a clay mold of Louie's pawprints. I have it sitting on the counter in my kitchen.<br /><br />My heart is broken. I feel in so many ways that I let him down. I am full of rage over the how and the why of how he came to have cancer.<br /><br />But these feelings won't bring him back. Instead, I take comfort in knowing he's no longer suffering, that he's in a body that's whole and not broken, and that he's scampering through heaven with my childhood cat, Cheena, and my mom's beloved dog, <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2007/03/chelsea-march-31-1992-march-8-2007.html">Chelsea</a>.<br /><br />I love you, sweet Louie. You will live in my heart forever.<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617438297829765570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5iyPKWsX-aaDly0HuvG0OQ0dovIjezTj1524k-L15GAmzu0KdLC0NranlSvG-BP5eYI_SrBzgRNpTxnjCpsw3yQAljxY-nyCToaUh7yfVb43aHN81_PaMMZMbdwo-9h0RgRjn/s320/Louie.jpg" /></p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-62952848579400123242011-06-07T13:23:00.003-04:002011-06-07T16:58:06.407-04:00The GraduateIt's been more than a month since I've posted.<br /><br />There's been loads of <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/03/hitting-surface.html">work stuff </a>(all good, though, since I am loving my job).<br /><br />There's been kid stuff, and trying to juggle the kid stuff with the work stuff.<br /><br />There's been running stuff (my new exercise schedule includes runs 4 times a week at 5:30am, before the hubs leaves for work).<br /><br />And there's been <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/01/inoperable.html">Louie </a>stuff. He is not doing well. Our goodbye is near, and this affects me so deeply that I cannot even write about it here. Not yet, anyway.<br /><br />So today, I'm writing about my graduate.<br /><br />Today was Isabella's last day of preschool.<br /><br />She was so excited on her first day last September:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615576647045584978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpqewwqxphZ59gLhSaVRWL6yvTlUQBmyYiscSSPMvQJCaCr_OjHmtpoS7_fzs6_ncD9DOW_EEFTJwD6x1YraQpukjFnO7c832L1eH7UDo-UDckqoi1qPRSQaLORc1evjYpsul/s320/DSC07393.JPG" /><br /><br />And today, this little girl headed off to the big K in the fall, is still as excited about school as she was when the year began:<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615578210375552114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_oH5zsMQyai0j79cTwWmKLuMCIX07gVblw7UiWFZwMR1bpu3sUrLA6EdFH9pam862I0rtibmrAMh3jLXhfsDXk-yangC9Id0MoVSk5KHSDUyh6TabhJ1YC3P4TIp8O_EtaLr/s320/DSC01286.JPG" />Her end-of-the-year picnic took place this afternoon. She'll see a bunch of her preschool peeps in the school's summer camp, which runs three mornings a week next week and the week after. And of course, many of them live in our school district, so she'll see them at Kindergarten. </p>At the end-of-the-year picnic last year, I found myself much more emotional than I was this year (and she was headed back to the same preschool at the start of the school year). Isabella had had such a wonderful first year experience, she loved school, and had made many friends, so I felt a certain loss for her. I was worried that maybe her second year wouldn't be as great. That she wouldn't love it quite as much.<br /><br />But she simply thrived this year too, and matured in many ways.<br /><br />I constantly think how lucky I am to have a child who loves learning and the structure of the school environment.<br /><br />In September, she'll head to half-day Kindergarten. She'll ride the bus. She'll have much more structure, more routine, and higher expectations than she's experienced to this point.<br /><br />And I think she's going to rock it.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhFtJJVOQdOkWt8zdgloNZyBAwL5qxVkJ-eY_ZKHMOTZhrV1ht1QcPgi2zJr12NwFQK6npivamRVnG78eBNVpZ9722PJQmXbKqTYicJv63Vez2YOpYFJFzZmTev-W1jzy2ROc/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615580358046299426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhFtJJVOQdOkWt8zdgloNZyBAwL5qxVkJ-eY_ZKHMOTZhrV1ht1QcPgi2zJr12NwFQK6npivamRVnG78eBNVpZ9722PJQmXbKqTYicJv63Vez2YOpYFJFzZmTev-W1jzy2ROc/s320/photo.JPG" /></a>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-10007461543541415262011-04-30T13:30:00.005-04:002011-05-01T09:54:11.132-04:00Luci and Nicholas at 2.5Wow. I think this is officially the longest I've gone without posting. I'd like to say things are going to change now, but that's just not true. My new(ish) job, the kids' schedules, and the insanity of life in general are eating up even the tiny bits of time I once had to devote to this blog once or twice a week.<br /><br />And I also must confess that I've found microblogging a lot easier and more time-efficient. I can share a news story or an opinion on Facebook and quickly and easily talk about it with friends. I still want to continue this blog (which will celebrate its 6th birthday in July), but until I have a more regular schedule (ha), updates won't be frequent.<br /><br />Now, on to the Dynamic Duo, who turned 2.5 two weeks ago.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601434511278648498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHgmpl7StGdJwsmn5XPmbEj0BQlO1qO8XP4DS4dtjzpj73okF7Kp5CsPZd7XNv4HiMXYQUHdyRPZpn60KdGDh8XOUb-Teu6Kzw7xRppd5TMF-JSSIZ2xh9Cr95jbIA852TtYK/s320/L+and+N.jpg" /> We have officially entered the Land of Why.<br /><br /><br /><div><em>"Nicholas, get your coat on."</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>"Whyyyyy?"</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>"Because we need to take Isabella to preschool."</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>"But, whyyyy?"</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>"Because if we don't leave right now, she's going to be late."</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div>(Pensive look. Perhaps it's finally sunk in)<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>"Why? I don't want to go!"</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Oy. This boy.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593921566157180498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMGJAiRfNp8dlealAJdpt31V1Gky4X-Eo2kCmgXy5kKqAkoJKCcPjuvYIUw0orBAH2V0HIH34JrZUeZQ79uZZn2lkPW7EIO2nW8oVQd4l4WI6dcTafnHH4bzO5FsWG7sFLt1T/s320/DSC00505.JPG" /></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Both Luci and Nicholas love asking "why?" as a response to just about everything I ask them to do now. It's cute for awhile. After all, I'm a big "why" girl. I need to know why, so it makes sense that as my children, they do too. But it's "why?" times two, which means I am constantly (and I mean, constantly), talking to them.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Every dream Nicholas had came true a few weeks ago when we bought the boy a pair of <a href="http://www.striderite.com/store/SiteController/striderite/productdetails?catId=cat1530402SR&productId=8-125651&skuId=***8*******ST35411A*M050&stockNumber=ST35411A&showDefaultOption=true">red shoes</a>. And of course, true to form, he is obsessed with them, and pitches epic fits when we try to get him to wear the more traditional pair of shoes we also got him, for those less-than-red-worthy occasions.<br /><br /><br /><br />Nicholas creates elaborate bedtime story plots for me to tell him while I'm rocking him. Isabella also started to do this when she was about 2.5. His story de jour revolves around our neighbor, "Miss Kim," who takes Nicholas for a bike ride, then inside her house for a snack. He also asks for a story about a baby crab who is lost on the beach and looking for his mommy.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpk6tfT72tIPhvcYABn3Dc-FNlFA4a1aYhsJTl4que_ZDShUtn0RmFF2A5_HGBEM8eE3l7F2FlYcexWEZEYijsAnGBtvGVkJ1BWVaHrvhM-Sa-745-kqn2j4lLAdmftmeOrON/s1600/Nick.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601435890009096962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYpk6tfT72tIPhvcYABn3Dc-FNlFA4a1aYhsJTl4que_ZDShUtn0RmFF2A5_HGBEM8eE3l7F2FlYcexWEZEYijsAnGBtvGVkJ1BWVaHrvhM-Sa-745-kqn2j4lLAdmftmeOrON/s320/Nick.JPG" /></a> This one's got a vivid imagination.<br /><br /><br /><br />He is still not napping well (he averages maybe two a week). I put him in his crib at naptime each day, though. He spends most of it yelling,<em> "I'm tired!!!!!"</em><br /><br /><br /><br />He absolutely loves to tell anyone and everyone who will listen about the grave injustices his twin sister imparts on him and others.<br /><br /><em>"Luci bit me on my arm, and pulled my hair."</em><br /><br /><em>"Luci hit Alyssa!"</em> (Their babysitter.)<br /><br /><br /><em>"Luci said, "Shut up!"</em> (a lovely bit of language they picked up from watching <em>Annie</em>.)<br /><br /><br />Are you noticing a theme here?<br /><br /><br />This one (who looks like the living embodiment of sunshine and sweetness) has tiny little horns tucked under her mass of curls.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40Y4PjkHp9ZiqT2J773O8jLSYMh_rs8J6SbvUGR5WiKc9eMSlQgmNcagGUXa8YEBlgALkx6Y_zG4xOMc0Hh4tqjLBKTd-KlkcpzEkfwKlcicPW3RbShDFbIu1Z2-L7OLZKUU-/s1600/luci4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601437012492872082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40Y4PjkHp9ZiqT2J773O8jLSYMh_rs8J6SbvUGR5WiKc9eMSlQgmNcagGUXa8YEBlgALkx6Y_zG4xOMc0Hh4tqjLBKTd-KlkcpzEkfwKlcicPW3RbShDFbIu1Z2-L7OLZKUU-/s320/luci4.jpg" /></a><br />She is a button-pusher, or what my family likes to call "a scorch" (definition <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/01/luci-and-nicholas-at-27-months.html">here</a>).<br /><br /><br />Luci is not only fearless (she has begun to scale her highchair like a rock wall and plop herself into her seat with zero assistance from me), but she is stubborn, obstinate, and enjoys giving all authority figures in her life a symbolic "F-you." I see skull tattoo and obscure piercings, prison, or a CEO position in her future.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0Hb1Omh1dhxaQYEvbIbdgSlJIFduaPaDYDW3n4XR5T-XQ9tQ8SlzJua65nM5I2DIkOSZm4IEFqtohvjPL7J-bTfAkoBeU8WUPICtooANZVQWFZdz1nz8E8CsUrcnJ0czU1FA/s1600/L.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601437610959791138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0Hb1Omh1dhxaQYEvbIbdgSlJIFduaPaDYDW3n4XR5T-XQ9tQ8SlzJua65nM5I2DIkOSZm4IEFqtohvjPL7J-bTfAkoBeU8WUPICtooANZVQWFZdz1nz8E8CsUrcnJ0czU1FA/s320/L.JPG" /></a><br /><br />She is also the most physically aggressive of the three kids, which is something we're working on curbing.<br /><br /><br />Her bond with Isabella continues to tighten. She tells Isabella almost every day as she leaves for preschool, "I'm gonna miss you." The bottom lip comes out. There are tearful hugs. It is quite cute.<br /><br /><br />Potty training was attempted for approximately one day back in the beginning of the month. The hubs, who for the most part managed Isabella's transition to underwear, tried with Luci and Nicholas, but quit the next day. They will both go if you place them on the toilet. Sometimes, Nicholas will tell you he has to go, and will do so. But for the most part, neither tells us in advance that he or she has to use the facilities. The hubs declared them "not ready" and so we've kept the potty out and available, but it's not being used on a regular basis.<br /><br /><br />They must be trained by September, once preschool begins. Other than that, I'm not in too much of a hurry.<br /><br /><br /><br />While these two are still high-needs, scream a lot, and fight like the Sharks and the Jets, times, they are a'changing. The number of moments during the day when I want to throw myself off a bridge because I can't take one more minute of their constant whining and crying are fewer. Whether that's a change within myself or as a result of their changing behavior, I haven't yet determined.<br /><br /><br /><br />The older child, twin toddler mix is interesting. When Isabella is taken out of the picture (when she's at school or elsewhere), Luci and Nicholas are better behaved. When she's around, she tends to instigate them (and they, her), and sometimes all three argue over the most insignificant events.<br /><br /><br /><br />That said, she also occupies them, directs them in some very fun games, and helps them get dressed, etc. And they absolutely idolize her too.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601435256544628498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGsCZe82I4D6K9qTwBSMe447nvKiXoCaTy3Fdjz04E7BOtjAgoX33eSheR85X_r-jzg9QzKevtZapz1Wh_5ahRMctQf60WNYqnZwNPEq87Uj90IBkcmQ480XmJHe2wS6LDdlP/s320/DSC00565.JPG" /> <strong>Luci</strong><br /><br />Current Likes: Her dinosaur stuffed animal, whom she named "Monster,"<br /><br /><br /><br />Current Dislikes: Eating without a battle<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Nicholas</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />Current Likes: Quinoa, finishing Luci's copious leftovers<br /><br /><br /><br />Current Dislikes: Routine disruptionsKristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-39186476021061240572011-03-30T00:00:00.002-04:002011-03-30T16:51:21.034-04:00Just Round to 40The hubs is 4.5 years older than I am, and has taken great delight the past few weeks in taunting me with the fact that 35, my current age as of today, rounds up to 40. <em>"Hey! When I turn 40 in September, we'll be the same age!"</em> Not that there's anything wrong with 40, of course. I know many fabulous men and women in the 40+ category. Hell, my gym is full of over 40 women who look half their age. And I've never been one to sweat birthdays. What's one more year? Birthdays have ceased to be occasions for giant celebrations. I didn't even go out for dinner on or near my birthday for the last two years, although this year, the hubs and I were able to go out on Saturday for a pre-birthday dinner because mamacita was in town and babysat for us. I'm not a big celebration kind of gal anyway. So this year, I'm slipping into 35 quietly. I've moved into another race age group (35-39), which gives me better odds of placing in races since I'm at the younger end of the category rather than the older. My mother bought me wickedly expensive anti-aging lotion as part of my birthday gift. Based on the tired-looking hag that greets me in the mirror each morning, I'm thinking I should use it. Liberally. Permanent bags under my eyes notwithstanding, I feel good about where I am this year. My new job is awesome, and even though I am working crazy hours with a less-than-ideal childcare situation, it is exciting to be on the cusp of something innovative and exciting for my company. I'm still tired. I still sometimes feel that motherhood is swallowing me alive. I still need to at least try and achieve a work-life balance. But this year, I've taken a giant step in the right direction. So, 35? Bring it.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-2009193302547527252011-03-24T13:48:00.001-04:002011-03-24T17:11:06.088-04:00Hitting the SurfaceThree-and-a-half years ago, I wrote <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2007/08/dream-not-deferred.html">this post </a>about my decision to quit my full-time job to freelance. Six weeks later, when Isabella was 13 months old, I left the corporate world. I had been working full-time from home since she was about six weeks old, having cut my maternity leave short for my employer, since the person they hired to temporarily fill in for me while I was out turned out to be a flake.<br /><br />I've freelanced (technical, marketing, and social media writing) and taught English and New Media online since then. I have been fortunate that the work has been steady, even in this economy.<br /><br />But as anyone who holds a job and is also the parent to young children knows, it is very difficult to juggle work, family, and personal time. I often felt that I did neither of my "jobs" (motherhood and writing/teaching) very well. One always suffered because the other demanded my time. My office doesn't have a door. I was constantly interrupted. My childcare situation was basically non-existent. I worked 7 days a week, 7pm-midnight, and as much during the day as two sporadically napping toddlers would give me.<br /><br />But beyond the time-management and logistical stresses of freelancing, beyond the fact that I had little-to-no time to run, to read, or just to veg out on the couch watching bad reality tv, was the fact that I was not enjoying my time at home with my kids.<br /><br />The pressures of work existed simultaneously with the ever-present needs of my children. And while in my professional life I thrive on pressure and even enjoy it, I often felt like my kids were swallowing me alive.<br /><br />And if I'm being completely honest (and if you're a long-time reader, you know that here, I always am), the transition from having worked full-time for 10 years to freelancing while staying home with first one, and then three children was really difficult. For me, motherhood is the <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2009/09/is-motherhood-hardest-job-in-world.html">hardest job in the world.</a> I am not a <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2009/09/natural-motherhood.html">natural mother</a>.<br /><br />Building endless block towers, changing endless diapers, and meeting endless needs are part of motherhood, but I had spent the 10 years prior to having Isabella working jobs that while not perfect, provided me with a sense of accomplishment and achievement. There are no accolades for a job well done in the motherhood. And while spontaneous kisses and hugs, cuddles, and stories told under warm blankets are awesome, I needed more than those could give me. Even though I freelanced and taught, I lacked that professional adult communication I needed. I lacked the feeling that I was contributing to something greater than a perfect peanut butter sandwich. I had abandoned a huge part of my pre-motherhood life, thinking that it was the right choice for me and for my family when perhaps it really wasn't.<br /><br />Which leads me to this:<br /><br />One of my freelance gigs is writing the <a href="http://meetme-atmidtown.com/">blog </a>for my health club and maintaining their Facebook page. They wanted to further develop their social media programs and asked me for a quote. A few weeks ago, they offered me a full-time job as the Social Media Director for the parent company that owns my health club and 10 others (9 in the U.S. and one in Montreal). It is an incredible opportunity about which I am ridiculously excited. There is some travel involved. I went to Montreal for one day a few weeks ago. In April, I'm headed to Chicago. I am engaging on a regular basis with really smart and educated people, who are eager to learn how social media can help their clubs. I'm at the start of something great that will hopefully change the way business and marketing is done in the clubs. The job marries my loves of fitness, writing, and new media. It's as close to perfect right now as it could get.<br /><br />The job is remote, which means I can continue to work from home. They bought me an iPhone and an ultra-fast business-class laptop is on its way. I've <em>finally</em>, after so many years of winging it, hired a babysitter who comes in the afternoons, Monday-Friday. In the mornings, I either take the kids to my health club and work (or sometimes work out) there, or one of my relatives comes over so I can work. I still work many hours at night. It's not an ideal situation yet. I need more childcare help, and will hopefully figure out a better schedule soon, which will of course change again in the summer and again in the fall once school begins for the kids, but it's a start.<br /><br />It's early days still. There are kinks to straighten out and adjustments to be made.<br /><br />But I've long felt I would be a better mother if I worked full-time.<br /><br />After several years of feeling like I'm drowning, I finally feel like I'm hitting the surface.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-10190383957376033622011-03-17T14:34:00.002-04:002011-03-17T17:30:22.857-04:00Isabella at 4 and a HalfNot a week goes by without someone commenting on how much Isabella looks like me.<br /><br />We have the same facial shape, the same eyes, the same (unfortunately thin and limp) hair, and until I recently chopped mine off, a similar hairstyle.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585152094762987250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0mfCe5po1HlvU2m-71_Tnz3QMoeGEzWaHmO5LxC4e4YS202GJNYnn42oUrLPPQPg396OI2MJK3vvSnkAkpiGJsr8kyI-znXetjYIDEiMTSEWD_nMsYZZhyphenhyphen0mV75xp-BJ6Dg-/s320/Isabella.jpg" /><br />The older she gets, the more apparent the similarities are becoming.<br /><br />And the older she gets, the more I enjoy motherhood. Of course, all ages have their special qualities (just please don't ask me to name any special qualities about the age of two right now), but (dare I say it), parenting Isabella right now is fairly easy.<br /><br />The kid loves her routine. Take away her morning viewing of The Fresh Beat Band or her <a href="http://www.wegmans.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?productId=669439&storeId=10052&langId=-1">CocoPop </a>after dinner and her head is likely to spin around while vomit spews forth from her lips, but in general, I can reason with her. She is (mostly) kind and gentle with her brother and sister. She says sweet things like, "I love you to the moon and back" and "Thank you for making this delicious dinner, mommy."<br /><br />I have no problem admitting that I enjoy parenting her much more at this age than I did when she was younger. Some people are baby people.<br /><br />I am not baby people.<br /><br />Shocking, to those who regularly read here. I know.<br /><br />Isabella has developed some new interests. After 4.5 years of having zero interest in her clothes, she now wants to pick them out every day. And every day, she wants to wear a skirt or a dress, which coming from a little girl who is not girly, I find this new passion disconcerting.<br /><br />Having recently finished <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl/dp/0061711527">Cinderella Ate My Daughter</a>, I am now more aware than ever about her developing self-image, and I've asked her why she wants to wear just skirts and dresses. Her reply, "Because I look pretty in them."<br /><br /><em>(Head hits desk.)</em><br /><br />I have made it a point to tell her that she looks beautiful or pretty no matter what she wears. In her pjs. In jeans and a tshirt. Covered with paint from one of her many ongoing art projects. I do not want her to believe that beauty is only tied to what she wears or looks like.<br /><br />And I'm wondering where her belief that it is even came from. She does not watch commercial tv. She hasn't had exposure to the Disney princesses. So, where?<br /><br />She recently finished her 10-week "Clay Play" class at my city's art gallery, which she adored. This summer, she wants to take a drawing class there, and I plan on enrolling her. Her summer schedule will hopefully be a busy one again this year, as she'll take more mini camps at our science museum, swimming lessons, a two-week camp at her preschool, and possibly one more camp, which focuses on multiculturalism.<br /><br />Speaking of the science museum, we visited an awesome new dinosaur exhibit there a few weeks ago. Gigantic, animatronic, roaring dinosaurs, and (Isabella's favorite), dinosaur babies hatching from eggs. She was in her glory.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585151584167629762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwWNQRUZFlwh87dihK26aWXtdkRHmtMxYU9vxUC_jN5UMVhN1r1zEt0XNjMjn8aU1VDxMVyvCzmqfADEchHhoH7_QXwQZimQFwzFAL1J_8AHo7Ye9WRtqofv77HRgxRMSNJZV/s320/DSC00264.JPG" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585159221439889346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Bpm7xDLmINMnRFuK-L4BJON134ur6JIh_m7xmvJ8dtrFNTGGBFFQM68f7yFTkQ-W3gdcfxE5isRFNmryRwIWSrHBg7OO7h6a-PwZZw-EZRnxYIQ1X_fRtQGR4feLQ3jZrJDm/s320/DSC00369.JPG" /><br /><div>Next week, I'll register her for Kindergarten, and I'm wondering if at some point I'll begin to feel those pangs most mothers feel about their oldest going off to real school. But right now, I am so excited for her. I am very lucky to have a child who loves school. I think she will thrive in her new environment and I don't feel sad that she won't be around as much as she is right now (although since it's half-day Kindergarten, she'll only be in school 30 minutes more a week than she's in preschool each week now, but the bus ride will add extra time to her day) because where she's headed is going to be so much more fun than what I can do for her at home.</div><div></div><div>Hopefully, they'll allow her to build drag queen snowmen with glittered and painted rocks during recess. </div><div></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585150625963602258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiEKdd_W3JpV_nqWQHfleK1j3kiXEuDfcbCQrocRJVqX-i7w2JFDDPXGYYl-A6wpZsH-E5xxrkCB3ihC7FeOQbxeiD21cZyT5kP5MrZntgUm6nGaX9lgk7pty4sKDazEnQsBY/s320/DSC00215.JPG" /></div><div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585150413826524466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDc5NhpyF7WClS1qU5jY8_m8FXZIY9sIDUl4l8XsKWj3_ZjAAcg2kvBTey7q4EwDSUYeI2_Jv8NTsp6DFxDulFgnnwW7jg_pGPdya7kfc_4AF4HvbI5eC9dCGvzTqiNw-srU0_/s320/DSC00189.JPG" /><br /><br />Current Likes: Twin coercion, fashion, and building forts in the living room </div><div></div><div><br />Current Dislikes: Sleeping past 6:30am.</div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-59405666919624522282011-03-04T14:50:00.001-05:002011-03-04T14:53:19.996-05:00Luci and Nicholas at 28 MonthsIn many ways, these two are changing on a daily basis.<br /><br />We're working on saying "please" and "thank you" (Luci is the more polite of the two). Potty training has begun (led by the hubs, who successfully trained Isabella while I had two infants attached to me 24/7) and both are regularly using the toilet when he puts them on it. And both are chattering up a storm and using complete sentences (although Nicholas is still ahead of Luci in this area).<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580311804294189698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcyfTN8SK1UyPmzInV7PhCRkMuJytOFpz_TbCV7tkDFff-fZbV3hZhqPvTRAhD_9TPF2KCy4hu4ApsKh4NUNsGPK7PuYfI889SHQu_wo8mJ9WpPzBv-uKrPgMOi0QFW8ci9kIC/s320/DSC00395.JPG" /><br />But in other ways, we're still treading water. Nicholas is still a high-needs grenade who needs careful handling or else he will explode into an epic tantrum from which he cannot be consoled. Luci is still obstinate and an instigator. They fight each other every five minutes, and the screaming is still there. The screaming that is Dante's 10th Circle of Hell. The screaming that I can still hear long after they've gone to sleep for the night.<br /><br />Luci and Isabella have developed a sweet relationship. Of course, the older sister uses the younger as her personal pack mule and maid-servant, but overall, the two play very well together. Favorite games include "cats," where they crawl around on the ground meowing, and then the variation, "Cat Mama," when Isabella is the mother cat and Luci is the baby cat who needs care and attention. They hold hands in the car and love to dance with eachother.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580310367480328626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i2kgpTBOawg30PlWo38B0CVzwB55gDn5nLZkpihCmo75DuulBLnhf2f2PiwApjt7tquNf0GuyZF20dPcAJtWpuK46ex89Hy-wGl0mwm2tIguziyacpruvmM_yCnNVZrGK7S3/s320/dancing.jpg" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580310685075295234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5r4l3ZKk5ZY9VtQQMYYLUvjMtTeGiTP8u2REzUJq67A_5uSIB4LUmK4ldaG-9V2fyJN0TCYXyhzGHZzj4v_oa91RMKVsZQdTEkaeS3dSV0a2KafejNyVRZvT79J5bHr_lDEg/s320/dancing+L.jpg" /> They also sit together on the oversized chair in the living room after dinner for their TV time and snuggle under a blanket. Luci wants to do whatever her sister is doing, which sometimes works, but often does not, especially when Isabella's much-loved art supplies are involved. </p>Luci is a good listener. When I'm trying to hustle the four of us out the door to the gym or preschool, she will do as I ask and wait for me where I ask her to. Her brother does not.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580312654811790658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO4aiR-z9kTaNIN_8MYm26snPLNeaaAaJ5Jra7PN8vez4OSY0_0_e2axN4Hb7HICMyM8Ku8HbClLOYk-8LOc3lk6nre_GNqdYJY3Sy-yHgGCWEH1FoD-ErMHufw6aur-ntGa_K/s320/DSC00344.JPG" /> She loves to say, "This is delicious!" and to tattle on her brother ("Nickey eating off the floor!" "Put Nicky in TIME OUT!").<br /><br />And she's mellowed. I can reason with her now, and while she still has an explosive personality when triggered, she does not spend the majority of the day crying anymore (unless she and Nicholas are fighting).<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579690601510909122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEiXD4VaJiyxNd27x9q4wITNlf0GHb-U8Zfh21hfvCV69fgvkwtU40vzUbrZREBTrPkX5lSNG9oST3jRAGXsr_7rTjcXkkdSEW09TPkdXIeqaDRQqCi1h_pAfnEwF8epu33S2/s320/DSC00024.JPG" /><br /><br /><p>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is another story.</p><p>Nicholas is very smart, as Isabella was at his age. He can identify every letter of the alphabet, and knows the sound each letter makes. He speaks in complex sentences, sometimes 10 or more words long. He has a gigantic vocabulary. And he remembers events that happened months ago, and brings them up with no prompting on my part.<br /><br />But he is so temperamental. Usually within 10 minutes of getting up in the morning, he's screaming. The shirt I picked out for him to wear isn't red. His breakfast isn't ready. His breakfast is not what he wanted. He doesn't want his diaper changed. He wants the brown shoes and not the blue.</p><p>His needs are crisises. All of them.</p><p>I feel like I am constantly walking on eggshells with him, scared that if I say or do something to tip the apple cart in his brain, he will explode into another of his tantrums, and I won't be able to stop the screaming. </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW21yTTEJgrFtIMSYPOMznUuJuqwoWEHlMDMHUS3J8Fi0nlDZZ4soHdynPhU-vEsVeB7INGEsv_S24lIFGgRrhX4uhQIgCD6Pj9s8V7gEEQfKaD5YLERrDgotjeGMY02xxoTpX/s1600/DSC00218.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580313678006002114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW21yTTEJgrFtIMSYPOMznUuJuqwoWEHlMDMHUS3J8Fi0nlDZZ4soHdynPhU-vEsVeB7INGEsv_S24lIFGgRrhX4uhQIgCD6Pj9s8V7gEEQfKaD5YLERrDgotjeGMY02xxoTpX/s320/DSC00218.JPG" /></a>And yet he is so sweet when he's not miserable. Multiple times a day, he will run at me, huge grin on his face, arms outstretched, and bear-hug my legs, saying, "I love you, mommy!" He gives spontaneous kisses (with more "I love you, mommy!"s) all the time. He tells me, "You look so cute!" and "I like your shoes." He charms the pants out of everyone he meets.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6jjo_cuRu70kKa4Kvv3xDbnqxXoy-4L2nAsnPXvdo9I6fU4Rt9ta7dyBQIKEY1TLDFZieTl55-KFsBposJGeJd_4HCYou6luS-mtb9B6u_iMp7I9rRbDuo3r5efy_Sl_PVPp/s1600/DSC00260.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580313164378303186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6jjo_cuRu70kKa4Kvv3xDbnqxXoy-4L2nAsnPXvdo9I6fU4Rt9ta7dyBQIKEY1TLDFZieTl55-KFsBposJGeJd_4HCYou6luS-mtb9B6u_iMp7I9rRbDuo3r5efy_Sl_PVPp/s320/DSC00260.JPG" /></a> I'm hoping for an evening out of his personality very soon.<br /><p>Nicholas is currently wearing 24 month clothes and some 2T. Luci still wears some 18-month clothes, but mainly 24 months. It feels (and I've been told) that there is a huge weight difference between the two. Nicholas is solid. When I lift him, it feels like I'm heaving a cement block. I can actually pick up Isabella easier than I can Nicholas (although she obviously weighs more), simply because the weight is distributed across a bigger frame. Luci is petite and practically weightless in comparison to her brother. </p><p><strong>Luci</strong><br /></p><br /><p>Current Likes: Wearing headbands, dancing, drawing</p><p>Current Dislikes: Bedtime and naptime</p><p><strong>Nicholas</strong><br /></p><br /><p>Current Likes: Bringing me play-food meals while singing "Happy Birthday," building block towers</p><p>Current Dislikes: Following directions, peace, calm, and quiet</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-85464413407871557202011-02-21T14:17:00.010-05:002011-02-21T15:06:43.388-05:00Oh, The HumanityI promise I didn't write that <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/02/mothers-day.html">last post </a>with the intention of not posting again for almost two weeks.<br /><br />The day after that post, I woke Nicholas up from his nap (the mere fact that he did nap instead of singing show tunes in his crib for an hour should have been my first clue that something was up) to discover the poor baby covered in massive amounts of vomit. 20 minutes after I woke him, I was due to pick up Isabella from preschool. I quickly changed his clothes, picked chunks of puke out of his hair, woke up Luci, got them into their winter gear, loaded them into their carseats and drove with the window down in 20-degree weather because the smell, <em>OMGTheSmell</em>, was so awful, to preschool.<br /><br />Nicholas bounced back pretty quickly. The rest of us were not as lucky. Late Friday night, I came down with the stomach flu. The next day, Isabella and Luci were down too. And on Monday of last week, the hubs got it too. My flu lasted the longest. I was out of commission, and basically too weak to even walk across the room until Tuesday. The hubs had to take two days off of work, because I literally could not even stand up without feeling as if I was going to pass out.<br /><br />The hubs and I spent Valentine's Day taking turns sleeping in our bed, while the other laid on the couch playing kid shows off our DVR for the Triple Threat and praying not to die. For once, I was glad that 80% of the space is taken up by the likes of Sesame Street, Olivia, and Little Bear.<br /><br />Relatives, terrified to catch the flu, dropped off food on our porch, and then ran like the wind back to their cars, lest some disease-ridden air particles from the inside of our house seep under the door and into their nostrils. I can't say I blamed them. Our entire house was a festering mess of vomit-stained clothes, dirty dishes, and toys that had not been cleaned up in days.<br /><br />Mamacita started her visit early, and thankfully came into town last Wednesday (instead of Sunday) to help me once the hubs went back to work. I was better, but still really weak, and there was no way I could have handled the kids in my condition.<br /><br />We are all better now, thankfully, but I never, <em>ever</em>, want to repeat those five days again.<br /><br /><em>Anyway...</em><br /><br />I thought the comments on my last post were really interesting, and I glad so many of you decided to take the time to leave one, especially you long-time lurkers (hi, <a href="http://www.niusblongmitufala.typepad.com/">Kendra</a>! I <em>have</em> always wondered about those visits from Vanuatu!). And I am always glad when I hear about someone finding my blog and completely identifying with what I write here. It makes me feel like this blog might actually help someone, instead of just serving as my misery-laden sounding board, so I'm glad you found your way here, Suzanne.<br /><br />The bottom line is this: All mothers are just trying to do the best job they possibly can. Some of us are better at it than others and some of us find it comes much more naturally to them than it does to others. I've said it here before and I'll say it again, a lot of times, motherhood for me is akin to being a customer service rep at a high-volume call center where the people on the other line have a continual stream of demands and complaints that never, ever stop no matter what you do, say, or promise them.<br /><br />Motherhood is Hard (with a capital H) for me. Juggling a career, a social life that barely exists, a marriage, and a house that's perpetually filthy along with motherhood and attempting to keep my sanity is always going to be a challenge. And when I know through reading your blogs or talking to you on the phone or emailing you that it's hard for you too, (maybe not as difficult as it is for me, but hard all the same), then I know that this is a struggle we all (well, apparently not all of us) share, it makes the burden not as heavy.<br /><br />Please don't be afraid to share these feelings if you have them, and I know most of you do to varying degrees. It doesn't make you a bad mother.<br /><br />It makes you a human one.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLclVKJBmrZbmaohsna29IQL1cOAlqPEW03kGcPcsftLgxNlq31YC53NGUnmloFT91eEKgOG8R6dshNYdm7znWrvlDttSgsC0ClW0MRfwXgKEP7Yf6W3hOs5WNjEWVdsSSNXwW/s1600/DSC09901.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576235616026735266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLclVKJBmrZbmaohsna29IQL1cOAlqPEW03kGcPcsftLgxNlq31YC53NGUnmloFT91eEKgOG8R6dshNYdm7znWrvlDttSgsC0ClW0MRfwXgKEP7Yf6W3hOs5WNjEWVdsSSNXwW/s320/DSC09901.JPG" /></a>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-13324703228733274942011-02-09T20:50:00.004-05:002011-02-10T14:27:43.602-05:00A Mother's Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG994__xeRGD6mKS1y0fqwfN_PGDLWkKXee8fdt7-sKlQoLfFnGvJM459akpi2PguH35MnVKA3gUUmfl1hhPtZuBAWY7BbPgRkRgGZ5DlYIn7qD3fJdwW2Lc8Q7bF1P6gMPlC8/s1600/DSC00129.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571877000106506290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG994__xeRGD6mKS1y0fqwfN_PGDLWkKXee8fdt7-sKlQoLfFnGvJM459akpi2PguH35MnVKA3gUUmfl1hhPtZuBAWY7BbPgRkRgGZ5DlYIn7qD3fJdwW2Lc8Q7bF1P6gMPlC8/s320/DSC00129.JPG" /></a>A few months ago, during one of my mom's visits, she handed me four handwritten tablet-size pieces of paper.<br /><br /><div>On December 14th, 1977, when my mom was 27 years old, she took the time to write out, minute by minute, a day in her life as a young mother. I was 20.5 months old. My younger sister was 7.5 weeks old.<br /></div><div>The day sounds very familiar. She was up during the night with my sister several times (my mom often wrote, <em>"Karrie screaming in crib. Karrie throwing up. Karrie being very fussy"-</em>my mom has always said that my sister spent a great deal of her early years crying), I was up for the day at 6:30am, and from that point on, other than a brief 15-minute rest time from 3:15-3:30pm, when my sister and I were still sleeping, my mom was constantly tending to the needs of an infant and a toddler.<br /></div><div>At 9:30am, my mom writes <em>"still burping Karrie (fussy and spitting up). Kristi reading books, playing dolls, watching Sesame Street-living room floor littered with 10 dolls, Cookie Monster, books, and toys all over the floor-Mommy can't stand looking at the mess!"</em><br /></div><div><em>From 10-10:20am, she washes my sister's clothes, washes her hair (she never has time to dry it), and cleans the bathroom.</em><br /></div><div><em>At 12:10pm, she writes, "Mommy nursing Karrie and feeding Kristi mini sandwiches, cutting cheese, and reading a story, all at the same time."</em><br /></div><div><em>At 12:25pm: "Change Karrie's diaper while Kristi gets into everything possible in Mommy's room-many tears and spankings. Mommy feels frustrated because Kristi just wants a little attention too."</em><br /><br /></div><div><em>At 12:45: "Mommy getting tired of two whining kids both needing attention and love. Mommy getting frazzled!"</em><br /><br /></div><div><em>At 2:50pm: "Make a cup of coffee-don't know whether to collapse or go downstairs and get clothes out of dryer."</em></div><br /><div><em>At 9:35pm: "Mommy polishing Kristi's shoes."</em> (WTF?)</div><br /><div><em>At 9:45pm: "Mommy collapses in bed to wait for Karrie to wake up."</em></div><br /><div>It is a multi-page description of the life of most mothers of very young children. </div><br /><div>I love having this snapshot of my mother's life in which she confessed that yeah, parenting small kids is frustrating, soul-sucking, and mentally and physically exhausting sometimes, because to talk to her now, her early years of motherhood were filled with nothing but puppies, rainbows, and galloping unicorns.<br /></div><div>Interestingly, this is something I hear on a regular basis from acquaintances and a few friends. A girl I went to high school with repeatedly posts joyous updates (and only joyous updates) about her family on Facebook. Granted, this girl is one of those perpetually upbeat, sweet, kind, and glass half-full kind of people (obviously, we have nothing in common), so I can cut her a bit of slack, but Dear God, doesn't ANYTHING ever go wrong in her life? If so, <em>I want to read about it</em>, if for no other reason than to make me feel, for just a moment, that my life sucks less than hers. </div><p>I've long believed that mothers who paint a perpetually rosy picture of motherhood, who never complain, who stress that waking up 12 times in the middle of the night with a screeching, colicky newborn isn't robbing them of their will to live, who are able to somehow escape from their child's terrible twos unscathed, who say they don't miss their former, pre-child life even a little bit, are both terrible liars and doing new mothers a grave injustice. </p><p>I entered into motherhood with a very unrealistic idea of what it would be like. Granted, I had spent the two years prior to Isabella's birth bargaining with God that if he would just give me a baby, I would gladly devote my entire existence to the raising of this child.</p><p><em>Just give me a baby!</em><br /></p><p>Once I got that baby (and two others), motherhood turned out to be a lot different than the pasture of grazing ponies I once imagined it to be. I wanted for myself more than motherhood could give me. I wanted to work. I wanted to run. I wanted to see my friends and read books and stay current on issues of importance to me. </p><p>I love my kids, but raising them while attempting to keep some semblance of myself intact is by far the hardest thing I've ever done. And I've worked my damnedest to be honest about how difficult it is for me. I am a downer at times. I know this, and I also know that this blog sometimes reads like a desperate cry for pharmaceutical intervention. </p><p>But I can't think of living my life pretending like it's something other than it is. And I love reading your blogs when you tell it like it really is too. </p><p>A lot of times, life with young children is awesome and funny and adorable, and posts that celebrate this are great to read.</p><p>But sometimes, like the 27-year-old version of my mother wrote one December in 1977, <em>"Mommy needs a pair of roller skates and 8 hours sleep to keep up with these 2 little "angels?"...and even thought they are adorable, they have a lot of miserable moments."</em><br /></p><p>Reading about your misery makes me feel less like I'm alone on Bad Mommy Island somewhere in the South Pacific. </p><div></div>My favorite posts of yours are those where you tell it like it really is.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-12923003077478137442011-02-03T23:15:00.000-05:002011-02-03T23:24:13.224-05:00Isabella at 4 Years, 5 MonthsIt's been a pretty good month in Isabella Land.<br /><br />She is loving her Saturday morning Clay Class at the art gallery, and so far, she's made a bird's nest, a fish, and a monster. Last week, the class glazed.<br /><br />Saturday mornings are hectic, but so far, she's doing well with the packed schedule. Clay class ends at 10:45 and her tennis lessons begin at 11:30am. Her coach says she's become a "class leader," and always asks to do specific drills. I think we'll keep her in lessons until she decides she doesn't want to continue, if that point ever comes. Tennis is an interesting sport, and one I know very little about, so it's been fun learning about it through Isabella.<br /><br />Out of the blue, she's begun searching for words that rhyme: At least once or twice a day, she'll say, "Hey, "cat" and "sat" rhyme, don't they?" as if she's made this great discovery. I bought her <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bob-Books-Set-Beginning-Readers/dp/0439845009/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1296791081&sr=1-1">these books </a>for Christmas, and the hubs and are working on them at night with her. I have to say I was skeptical of them at first, but she's actually been able to read the first few books all on her own. The stories are hardly interesting, but I suppose that's not the point with early-reading books.<br /><br />Art projects are still her thing, and I've just given up cleaning off our dining room table every night. It is overflowing with her creations, markers, crayons, glue, and supplies. We have no place else to put them and have them accessible to her, yet out of the reach of L and N.<br /><br />Of course, sometimes they're drawing right along side her.<br /><div></div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569672957612613474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5os89M0Ty5LfXqSpB5MOTs-UpQSBRaWyPO2yxaaGklkCKj7laax1PGJC-lZlfi4jTzU_Pu4nDVhyphenhypheno4nVSapNg1w-4OXh8yY4DAh7Jiw4sAqTWnwspCvbRgqyQdvTwH2tRkMOk/s320/DSC09916.JPG" /><br /><div>Interestingly, at her preschool conference, her teacher mentioned that she has trouble cutting complex shapes with a scissors. Given all the time she spends on craft projects, this was a surprise. Apparently, she keeps popping her thumb off the handle. Isabella is left-handed, so I'm not sure if that has anything to do with it.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div>However, that was the only issue brought up in her conference. Her teacher says she loves school, loves to learn, has many friends, and is developmentally on-target or beyond where she's expected to be in all other skill areas.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div>We had her Kindergarten Orientation (Kindergarten!) last week. We toured the school and the Kindergarten classrooms, which were huge, and so cool (smart boards, reading areas with window seats, Plan Toys dollhouses, and enough art supplies to make her head spin). Registration is in March, at which point I will have to write a letter asking for morning Kindergarten (it's only a half-day program, unfortunately) because the twins will be in preschool 3 mornings a week (cue the choir), and I need that time to work. Apparently, everyone in my district wants morning Kindergarten, and those who request it need to submit their reasons in writing.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div>Isabella has been very excited lately because Chubbie (our oldest cat and mother of Louie and Claudia) has been coming into her room and sleeping on her bed. </div><div><br /> </div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568200000688284818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0gNJxEHyyuYR_cbZn6jC9D8my4W1Bn82tqFDli3fCRsu6I8n6R9w6-nXGRkHZH2yO6buxFaL1QYGMbzh3xYDDiXPNiAd-Lhs8rM5_jvWNqE-xDqkSsa2nRmTWvVLJm8IFUGuCw/s320/DSC09926.JPG" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569672611913934498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZlQRsL_Fbw4Sc6Pzqk9EX-iB3BJvRIzbX0h7ABUZNhF5XyBt4jrrL3pSkyEmm5CsrPFWN3awrnhRkGGnC_XWwYzyyJntg_kDwALTBDv3OJyZQ9tjTIH1POkc_UXa2kf9v77r/s320/DSC09932.JPG" /><br />She's asked me to leave a food bowl and a water bowl in her room in case Chubbie needs refreshments while visiting.</div><div> </div><div></div><div><em>(Thank you to those of you who have emailed me asking about Louie. He continues to do as well as can be expected. He is eating and drinking and acting normally. He still cuddles with Chubbie every night in my office on the ottoman in front of the big chair where I work. But the mass on his shoulder is growing. What that means internally, I don't know.)</em></div><em></em><br /><p>I read in one of the silly parenting magazines that I still subscribe to despite the ridiculousness of their articles and the utter laughability of their "healthy snacks" or "healthy dinner" articles placed on opposite pages to ads for Pop-Tarts that kids don't begin to feel empathy until around age 6. That until that age, kids are 100% focused on their own needs and desires, and basically don't give a rat's arse about anyone else.</p><p>But what I've realized lately is that I have a really empathetic kid. When Isabella sees me melting over the twins' often abhorrent behavior (and shamefully, she does a lot), she will say things like, "Mommy, let's go in your office and read a book" or she'll try and distract L and N so they'll stop screaming. I've been sick this week, and she's brought me a blanket, unprompted, while I was lying on the couch. When I say I'm tired, she'll say, "Mommy, someday you can stay in bed ALL DAY, and I'll bring you breakfast in bed, and you won't have to do anything."<br /><br />Sometimes it is the Isabella show. Sometimes she's just as loony as her brother and sister, and sometimes her behavior is just as bad.</p><p>But most of the time, this kid thinks about others' feelings and needs a lot. </p><p>And this makes me feel like one lucky mom indeed.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568199679251230050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TfKDh0-QHyDDmxPpqHHlV6VHq101uMf_I1mjm9CMbz7MsgxD1YcWon9SFXYZ-F2tq2hocabjkmm-pgrSpJnDzb9HBIC0FGceIMGKeoCu6EkaGKafJc1CCgBhc06OngpUQ0uvmg/s320/new+outfit.jpg" /><br /><p><br />Current Likes: Snuggling with the cats, eating frozen-as in, not yet cooked-peas </p><p>Current Dislikes: Being rushed</p><p>***********************************************************************</p><p>I was recently profiled by a new blog in my city. Check out my Q&A <a href="http://www.momsofrochester.com/2011/01/q-with-kristi-gaylord.html">here</a>. </p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-75872260966799795332011-01-25T14:59:00.002-05:002011-01-25T15:01:44.531-05:00About a QuiltWhen you have a daughter whose favorite color is red (as opposed to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">ubiquitous</span> pink and purple most other little girls love), it is challenging to find not only clothes, but also bed linens, rugs, and other decorating <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">accessories</span> that meet her color preferences.<br /><br /><div>I have been searching for a quilt for Isabella since she transitioned from her toddler bed to her full bed last year. Her room is red and white. Quilts with red in them that look appropriate for a little girl's room, as opposed to an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">adult's</span> room, are pretty much non-existent. </div><p>To this point, she's had a small (as in, lap blanket small) purple and white quilt on her bed. It didn't go with her room, but she was attached to it, so it stayed.</p><p>And then I met up with Allison, an old friend and former co-worker, at another friend's daughter's birthday party. Allison had made the birthday girl a gorgeous quilt. I was instantly in love, and an idea was born.</p><p>Last Friday, Isabella received her new quilt</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566212025858129522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJrINzn8mQCgDuSgtOc2DNYmyKtv8KDeH2gylvpkVc8Y71gmNVw6mMPwG6DZ7oJzYKXBRwu_NdfoF9hbBBpSmrE032GDLmU5XQ9WkZBLXLvjhVtMO7HTBASbpOyG4F7uEoz4vAA/s320/DSC00036.JPG" /> Allison found the fabric collections, and I chose the ones I liked. There are dogs and birds and polka dots and strawberries, all favorites of Isabella's. <p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566213310964985106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNjDk4JqxTTR6T6IN2bH_A3Z5_H6LAq-xKpPz4UwUUK5lyDimRQVWQl_SNqlFh-tEcuKWC_flvvJD-13QxgrsTpPLTmC-bCix8tMgKf37phDgq0VHQMn6mhw5AS_lZBlNukLoaA/s320/IMG_4004.jpg" /></p>And when you turn it over, this is what you'll see:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566213879982181154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycVyexF3nTFKCW6qLvrlh9oAJZyoo8lErDDIIRowIpfZs5JilbseUJ9QvQPYvP-KApelUcvoEhUc_XFAxyltqAwC4tR4nvUqhSIhZ4kplHwnQ9wwkVjG_2iiA6Ucw3MWEYjn62g/s320/DSC00061.JPG" /><br />I think she likes it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18xdfChboMkNZtG1BRe4e0QOezpdqTQ_AGVyRdaTekgCRLvpZOJ_GYZiiMr02cK3GAb9ne0sGG2oM7gr02zC1mipjTF_A6iWJZI7eTTDSNhxuta5diyUCX7wU3SPvh4bi_Eqyxw/s1600/quilt.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566213037596141778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18xdfChboMkNZtG1BRe4e0QOezpdqTQ_AGVyRdaTekgCRLvpZOJ_GYZiiMr02cK3GAb9ne0sGG2oM7gr02zC1mipjTF_A6iWJZI7eTTDSNhxuta5diyUCX7wU3SPvh4bi_Eqyxw/s320/quilt.jpg" /></a><br />I love it too. It's made incredibly well, and it's something she'll be able to use for years. Thank you, Allison!<br /><br />Allison has her own <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/akphandmade"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Etsy</span> shop</a>, and she makes some truly beautiful things. Check it out!Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-78128316176118163452011-01-18T19:43:00.001-05:002011-01-18T20:29:14.902-05:00Luci and Nicholas at 27 MonthsIt's been a month of increased violence and unrest in Casa de Crazy.<br /><br />The twins are turning on eachother.<br /><br />Every 30 seconds, one or both of them is screaming (which is nothing new, of course). What is new is the cause. When just a few months ago, the screaming and crying often had no discernable source, that source is now clearly identified.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562626559755933746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhtyL7bMWUFmpxHtFDg5GaJRLPO7eoI7lF1gdpx7ZTYaWxu72qGQ8-HUR4A108SybHESApj67atN4CDhfxmpU-YVA92zlVtQsg2XFYhtvNGwxgy9DGXEkdu0Yw3vCgvUJpNrxbA/s320/DSC09634.JPG" /><br /><br /><em>(Please ignore my disgusting and stained carpet. Once the twins get a little older, some new </em><a href="http://www.allmodern.com/Rugs-C389600.html"><em>modern rugs</em></a><em>-dark ones-are in my future.)<br /></em><br />They're turned highly competitive and combative. We have a house overflowing with toys and yet they will fight over one broken, wrapper-peeled crayon. They are biting and tackling eachother, and the least wounded will run screeching to me to tattle on the other ("Luci bite me!" "Nickey push Luci!"). And what I give one of them (from sippy cup to toothbrush to book in the car), I need to give the other, or I will immediately hear about it.<br /><br />Ah, life with 2 two-year-olds. It doesn't get much better.<br /><br />Of course, it's not a complete house of horrors.<br /><br />For Christmas, I <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2010/10/boys-and-toys.html">finally </a>got the boy (and his sisters) some actual dress-up clothes.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562625253099238962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNQVeTr9uznWh7TdssBYNvBoW-D9cZFQ_4diaZ9zo5YxXljXRDgOVj_JUs9FylPnIBlP8fmlRF2q3LSp_Sbi7ruuQXJzRaq16jn92h3Y867C69h4Fo09vJQ5fzBJOn0eEZQ-S1xg/s320/DSC09649.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562625464697676290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-iQc72EptZ2JC1lBXyQqIWMbobonw8KKrSZ3yZqEc3LhiLR0U4nbeI7RnK1oyu75qCbBjc2gf6jSseFheAFBPy5Io13mK5-2uIHShIvEcNpz4ZzIF17eArLBgaiYznkVQXArqw/s320/doctor.jpg" /><br />Of course, every chance he gets, he's still taking off his shoes and putting on mine or Isabella's.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562624687121362626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99jlnZUh05yH8QDIMd-m7pzEaAb7j4tfLmUyAB9lWZzUCvZGTZmoZ36BLfnpwy_zqL5guANXWFKXD_YtEAIhU5DKSysHpbvhMKoVDwnHDemJCpaVgxPPR44oqUrYaXaKju7n38Q/s320/DSC09942.JPG" /><br />Nicholas is also turning into a comedian. He loves saying, "You're a crab!" and then waiting for the inevitable faux-horrified reaction. I think he means an actual crab, since he plays with a crab squirter toy in the bathtub all the time, but of course few are privy to that detail, and as a result they think my son is calling them ornery.<br /><br /><p>Much like Isabella was at this age, he is super-verbal and often pulls out words I had no idea he knew. One day after picking up Isabella from preschool, we stopped by a friend's house to pick up her quesadilla maker, which we were borrowing to make dinner that night. Later, the hubs asked Nicholas where he had gone that day, and he said, "We went to Jenny's to get quesadilla maker."</p><p>Okay, then.</p><p>When I'm rocking him before bed each evening, he is still asking me about the next night's meal: "What having for dinner tomorrow?"After I answer, he'll say, "Ohh...I like chicken (or turkey, or peas, or whatever). My favorite!" When sitting in his high chair, I'll place his tray in front of him, and he'll say, "This is delicious!"</p><p>Luci is what I would call a "scorch." I'm not sure if this is an Italian slang term, but I grew up knowing this word to mean one who likes to instigate fights and purposefully incite negative reactions from people. </p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562626446345115074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZw-dDjG-ZKLtdoEamDg6atJaU84mI-HTzLBdLfFnGr4z_i9J8uWNSWJyWcm9dpX2N-ladw2VkY6_hYLRQ2a_HD1Btk-iGvAKC44mGoQy98ldh_F-jYOy08xWlGsrObjHG2LBVA/s320/DSC09622.JPG" /><br />While they are both majorly clued in to the other's buttons and know precisely how to piss off the other, Luci has this process down to a science. Nicholas will spend 10 minutes carefully building a tall block tower. Luci will approach the tower slowly and carefully, look at him, flash a maniacal grin, knock it over, and then stand there watching him scream and cry with a smile on her face.</p><p>She is very physically aggressive and has been spending a lot of minutes in time out lately for throwing toys, and for launching herself off an end table and onto the couch beside it.<br /><br />The gap between her language and Nicholas' is starting to tighten. She is still not as verbal as he is, but her words are coming faster now. One of her favorite things to do is lead the "Patience Brigade."</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIXE7OuWUOsNKnRQoBZjoafTKplONV9AGPm7KtCWTCDdUqehCxelG53c81r9Lxf4qenwUdu4VVjC_JypiEVcjw0QWmHh2ZwPnbkzvJOgx4rfCcBT1WJQcSDqLaqg11sBKHodyOQ/s1600/DSC09947.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563693657148606322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIXE7OuWUOsNKnRQoBZjoafTKplONV9AGPm7KtCWTCDdUqehCxelG53c81r9Lxf4qenwUdu4VVjC_JypiEVcjw0QWmHh2ZwPnbkzvJOgx4rfCcBT1WJQcSDqLaqg11sBKHodyOQ/s320/DSC09947.JPG" /></a> Getting out of the house when I have anywhere time-sensitive to go (gym, preschool, etc.) with these three is utter insanity. Luci and Nicholas just recently stopped fleeing me and then lying on the floor playing dead as I wrestle their coats and hats onto their bodies. So, the hubs developed the "patience" game, where they are supposed to sit quietly by the door with their hands folded, waiting to be called to leave.</p><p>Luci loves being the dictator and yelling: "Nickey! Patience!" and then demonstrating the act. </p><p>Hey-I need a second in command, and I'm more than happy to have her fill the role.<br /></p><strong>Luci</strong><br /><br />Current Likes: The limelight<br />Current Dislikes: Going down for nap or bedtime without a fight, having siblings<br /><br /><strong>Nicholas</strong><br /><br />Current Likes: Shoes and show tunes (Hmmm...)<br />Current Dislikes: InertiaKristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-36497688859023203422011-01-06T19:34:00.003-05:002011-01-06T21:20:13.787-05:00Isabella at 4 Years, 4 MonthsThank you, thank you, thank you for your kindness and support on my <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2011/01/inoperable.html">last post</a>. I am doing better. Not great, but better. Louie is himself. He is eating and drinking and acting normally. He is scarfing up the stinky <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Japanese-Bonito-Flakes-3-52-Ounces/dp/B000UWE0AO">Bonito Flakes </a>my sister sent him. And while I know that this will not last, I am glad he is good now. As a friend said, going through the motions of life has made dealing with this situation a bit easier.<br /><br />In this month that I could not wish away fast enough, Isabella has remained one of the few sources of happiness. She is not perfect by a long stretch. She is prone to epic whining fits and a very strong sense of self-righteousness. She will make a good lawyer one day, because the kid seems to enjoy arguing.<br /><br />But she has been sweet and kind and comforting to me. And she's shown Louie a lot of gentle love and affection, which never ceases to make me tear up while watching.<br /><br />She ran her second kids' race, the "Candy Cane Run" to my Jingle Bell 5K. It was foolishly scheduled 10 minutes after the 5K began, so I didn't get to see her run, but I heard she had a great time.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559242279127976658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rFDAE17zfYK_W_SVLLHTrv7woLoUzMYaBRDDGs1bW6rlJOSRyh_lyMQYqpwa4K_cqYzj0S_OnlTVcpl5lpzRwhrVV8zSCFVZFxlNBf5N5hQHay6_aoZLNHeTwXwBIzZ00BqjJg/s320/DSC09227.JPG" /><br /><br />The arts-and-crafts-projects obsession continues. This was the Christmas of the art supplies, so she was overjoyed when opening this <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Constructive-Playthings-Arts-Crafts-Case/dp/B00286DA0G/ref=sr_1_9?s=toys-and-games&ie=UTF8&qid=1294363115&sr=1-9">box o' crafty bits </a>from Santa.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559247041433995218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZI3oraVyAgGgjf-pEI1sGwVoAcA78hasRMeDzbRwartNz8wqWJKrUTSZL7q9jXf5WuISrUXfTSDrS_9Ldv_m0TScuC6cYPTTlYUjq7sBFc9GgAR2NYWjBn85odrjIMt0ZeAs8A/s320/DSC09744.JPG" /> Appearing tops on her list for Santa was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">bowtie</span> macaroni. Not to eat, of course, but to use in art projects. So, Santa hooked her up with those too.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559248026552198338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN1lUyZjzpcBGQY0S2UrFlxmZmPlCtWASKhvdl49_vKlbHi4aFxNA3Ahyphenhyphenb_PpN4EMHztFPwsDyG14_ELTRCHl4HdbJfFzCgA1KcAb416Zdt11dTHiCq4_0BJo8AKNzBTGHAN2ugA/s320/bowtie.jpg" /><br />I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my kid is really into art. I mean, a lot. Every object she finds has endless possibilities for creative use in her little mind. Given a glue stick, some paint, markers, papers, and found objects, she could entertain herself for hours.<br /><br />I am not artsy. That gene skipped over me (my grandfather, mother, and younger sister are all artists), so having a child who is so involved with something with which I have no expertise is difficult.<br /><br /><br />So all I can do right now is provide her with the space and the supplies and let her do her thing, which she does willingly. It's really awesome to watch her, actually.<br /><br />My mom graciously bought her an awesome "Clay Play" art class at our local art gallery, and that starts in a week. She is so excited. Saturdays will be busy for her for awhile. She'll have her clay class, a 45-minute break, and then tennis lessons. All of a sudden, I'm <em>that parent</em> with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">overscheduled</span> kid. But as long as she enjoys her lessons and doesn't resist going to them, I figure it's okay.<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsMLQ43rwrlEbC2elkZ5mS4SLZBotxSsj52f0ng6Rs3s44ZaD7W1INb5qcYi1ZpD0JG-jZug-tPk9hsC1B7FcQaVUfqGLYuugePWl3KD9wzLzi-LxMM3ldS_OmKOPrTuRHsdmKg/s1600/DSC09669.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559250120103985394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsMLQ43rwrlEbC2elkZ5mS4SLZBotxSsj52f0ng6Rs3s44ZaD7W1INb5qcYi1ZpD0JG-jZug-tPk9hsC1B7FcQaVUfqGLYuugePWl3KD9wzLzi-LxMM3ldS_OmKOPrTuRHsdmKg/s320/DSC09669.JPG" /></a><br />Much like me, Isabella is a child who never wants to stay home. Every day she asks me what we're doing both in the morning before preschool and in the afternoon once I've picked her up. She wants scheduled events, and if I don't have anything on the itinerary, she gets upset. This? Is exhausting. Because while I would love to take her to the library after school or to the museum or to a playground or outside to play, doing so with a 1 adult to 3 young children ratio is not easy. </p><p>She's become slightly physically aggressive with Luci and Nicholas. She will push them, grab toys out of their hands, or climb on top of them when they're bugging her. When they start to cry, she immediately launches into maternal mode, hugging them and saying, "It's okay honey. You're fine. You're fine." as if she weren't the cause of their misery. </p><p>It's bizarre. </p><p>There is a Parent Orientation for Kindergarten meeting scheduled on my calendar for the end of the month. Isabella is headed to <em>Kindergarten</em> in 9 short months. And rather than look at this new step for her with longing for her baby days, I cannot wait (and not for the reasons you might think). </p><p>I know she is going to love it. </p><p><strong>Current Likes:</strong> Raw baby carrots for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, taking pictures with her new camera</p><p><strong>Current Dislikes:</strong> Staying home, L&N messing with her stuff</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-58807970252563416542011-01-02T15:24:00.013-05:002011-01-02T19:28:37.118-05:00InoperableLouie did not have surgery on Friday.<br /><br />I dropped him off on Friday morning around 7am. At noon, his surgeon called with the results of the MRI.<br /><br />The cancer that <em>his rabies vaccine</em> gave him is everywhere. It's not only in the mass on his shoulder, it wraps around the scapula bone of his right shoulder. It reaches over to his left scapula. It's around one of his vertebrae.<br /><br />The surgeon said she could amputate his front right leg, and he would learn to walk with a limp on his left front leg, but because the cancer spreads over to that leg, it would mean a prolonged hospitalization and he would be in a lot of pain. And this would not address the fact that the cancer has spread to his vertebrae, that it's highly aggressive, and that it more than likely would return. Radiation (if I had even wanted to do that) would not have been a viable option, because radiologists do not like to radiate near the lungs.<br /><br />She would not be able to achieve good margins for surgery. It is the worst case scenario.<br /><br />Through my tears, I asked what she would do if Louie was hers. She said she would take him home and keep him comfortable until he begins to suffer.<br /><br />And so a few hours later, once he had recovered from the anesthesia, I picked him up.<br /><br />He has weeks to a few months left. I plan to love him and cuddle him as much as he'll let me for every day he has left.<br /><br />My heart is breaking. It has taken me two days to write this post because the news has shattered me. I haven't really been eating. I've been sleeping even less. I haven't run in days. There is nothing I can do to save him.<br /><br />And now I have to think about how to properly explain what's going on to Isabella, who understands that Louie is sick and who is wondering why mommy is crying all the time. I tried explaining it to her yesterday, and both of us ended up in tears. She wanted to know where Louie was going once I told her we wouldn't be able to see him anymore, and I had no answer for her.<br /><br />I need to learn to go about life with Louie on my mind constantly. I need to learn to control my emotions. I need to figure out how to drive to preschool, change diapers, dress kids, and make lunch when all I feel like doing in crawling into bed and stroking his soft fur while he sleeps next to me.<br /><br />And I have absolutely no idea how to do any of this.<br /><br />I do know this. I will not allow Chubbie or Claudia, Louie's mom and his sister, to be vaccinated anymore. I am pro-vaccine for my kids and I was for my cats. However, I've done a lot of research. Vaccine-associated fibrosarcoma is a lot more common than the 1 in 10,000 cats that's reported. Big pharmaceutical companies are making millions of dollars pushing unnecessarily frequent vaccines. They are manufacturing vaccines that <em>they know</em> <em>cause cancer</em>. And pet owners are not being informed of the risks, which are very real. I've also learned that vaccinations should always be given in the leg, because if VAS occurs, the leg can be amputated. None of this information was given to me via my vet. It does not appear anywhere on the vaccinations' warning labels.<br /><br />If you have a cat, please, please do some research before his/her next annual check-up. I would not wish what Louie is going through right now on anyone.<br /><br />Thank you for your comments and your emails. Please continue to keep Louie in your thoughts and prayers.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-70880265712245205792010-12-31T00:00:00.000-05:002010-12-31T00:00:04.837-05:00I Won't Miss YouThank you so much for all of your thoughtful and supportive comments about <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2010/12/louie.html">Louie</a>. To know that some of you have made difficult decisions in the past for your much-loved animal companions gives me a lot of comfort. To know that you are thinking of me and Louie today helps me even more. I am dropping him off at 7am. He'll have the MRI, and then his surgeon will call me to let me know, based on the size and position of the mass, whether going forward with the surgery is advisable.<br /><br />Needless to say, today is going to be rough.<br /><br />I am not sorry to see 2010 end.<br /><br />This year was better than 2009 in a lot of ways. I am no longer parenting three under 3 (and a few months). This is not to say that parenting twin toddlers and a precocious preschooler is any easier, but I now have three kids that sleep through the night.<br /><br />This is huge.<br /><br />In addition to emerging from the twinsanity of sleepless nights, 2010 was the year that I finally started running competitively after 7 years of running purely for fun. I ran six races: four 5Ks and two 10Ks, and ended up grabbing second place in my age division in one 5K and 3rd place in my age division in one 10K. I ran a 23:21 5K, which isn't super-fast, but it's a time I'm really proud of.<br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 178px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556648585537267458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrW9nZq17_ElUIzqbzEcwVDXkMACEEdwxZZhPm0RLRtY2MhHDr1y9jSXKsKfJBDywOvSZ2PQi4Fe1u9nSD6fTVQ01DdeOYJXwvI_4po_SLo45aSnQh-xxCl64NUO1nhDtvVwhqw/s320/Running.jpg" />Of course, I never did run the <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2010/09/over-before-it-begins.html">September half-marathon </a>I trained for all spring and summer. A double calf-strain sustained in August trashed the months of hard work I put in to getting ready. But with some perspective, I'm now able to see the positive in my training. I ran 10 miles twice. I ran 11.5 miles, my last long run before getting injured. One year ago, I <em>never</em> thought it would be possible for me to run that long. And I did it, and at an 8:36 pace. I know I would have run a 1:50 half-marathon. </p><p>On <a href="http://www.flowercitychallenge.com/">May 1st</a>, I hope to prove that I can.</p><p>But 2010 has been tough. I'm now almost 4.5 years into this parenting while working somewhere between part-time, and three-quarters-time, sans childcare, and I still cannot figure it out. I am stressed a lot. I work too late at night, which leaves me cranky and severely lacking in patience the next day. I love my kids but most days, I would give anything for someone to take them out of my house for a few hours every day to give me some peace. I believe I would be a much better mother if I worked a traditional FT job. I am not cut out to be with them all day, every day.</p><p>The work-life balance remains elusive. But in September, when Luci and Nicholas head to preschool three mornings a week <em>thankyouJesus</em>, and hopefully, Isabella is able to begin morning Kindergarten (in my district, you can request AM or PM Kindergarten, but are not guaranteed your choice) I hope some semblance of balance will emerge.</p><p>Thank you for your support, your kindness, and your readership this year. Your comments bolster me in ways you can't even imagine. It hasn't been a sunshine, rainbows, and puppies kind of year here, but perhaps in 2011, a little light might seep in under the door.</p><p>Happy New Year, everyone.</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-6350387271227983362010-12-28T20:37:00.001-05:002010-12-28T20:40:34.960-05:00LouieOn Thanksgiving morning, I came downstairs early before anyone else was up, as I normally do. I went into my office and on the ottoman that sits in front of the big chair on which I do most of my work, one of my 12-year-old cats, Louie, was snuggling with his mama, Chubbie. This is where I usually find the pair in the morning.<br /><br />Usually, Louie runs away as soon as I enter the room. He is, to put it mildly, a very shy and anxious kitty and always has been. That day, though, he didn't, so I seized the opportunity to pet him.<br /><br />And that's when I discovered the lump on his collarbone area, just behind his neck.<br /><br />Louie is a long-haired cat. His fur is very soft and dark gray. To look at him, you would not see the lump. But under my hand, it felt huge.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555818966935844226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRY8gnZ07_PGe-zJLUVKq-r7K4coiNlpGh1vV-Anem_-jvBspYTXS8UIymEioiS-EGnPpA0DEJmVIh-lnNf7S-0KqvILfOKbIs20F6kXFpZUTd9VM7I3OfvILfvUb97oMb8p27Kw/s320/Louie.jpg" /> Our vet's office was closed for the holiday until Monday. The hubs and I made an appointment for Louie on Monday morning and saw our vet's partner that evening. Louie had not been in our vet's office for over seven years. He so loathed his visits that after a horrible episode during his yearly checkup in which he was literally screaming and jumping up the walls to try and escape, I vowed to never again put him through that. Our vet has made annual house calls for all my cats' yearly checkups from that point on.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555820451922714802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ep0Ck7e-ZvuHQuutm3-qoTE73QttcJ98keJzdDXfzMgQQlPsKERRCEHMukZWGFjQxq_0pJH7rGIUu_Zi59KLF6-LRBgnx6AeAfZimclXg0oa2Qskzy8rCItvdF4s_M28Z_rfIQ/s320/DSC09539.JPG" /> The vet did not sugar-coat things for us. After an exam and an attempt to extract cells to look at under the microscope, she said she suspected <a href="http://www.petcancercenter.org/Cancer_Types_soft_tissue_fibrosarcoma_vaccine.html">vaccine-associated fibrosarcoma</a> (VAS). The prognosis she gave us was not good. She referred us to a specialist, following bloodwork, which Louie's regular vet would come to our house to draw later in the week. <p>After we received the results of the bloodwork, which showed healthy liver function and nothing else out of the ordinary, Louie and I visited the surgeon at the veterinary specialist's office. She suspected VAS as well, but would not know for sure until Louie had a biopsy performed. I agreed to have it done that day, and left him with her while I sobbed my way out of the building. I picked him up later that night. They had shaved the fur around the mass. </p><p>It is about the size of a tennis ball. I must have missed it for months, and the guilt I feel for this is immeasurable. </p><p>The results came back in five days. It was as everyone suspected: vaccine-associated fibrosarcoma. </p><p>I immediately started Googling the disease. I joined a Yahoo support group for parents of cats with this awful cancer. The most awful thing about it is that as a responsible cat parent, I had my cats vaccinated every year. I did the right thing. And doing the right thing gave my cat this mass. This horrible, terminal disease. Either the act of the injection itself or the vaccine gave Louie cancer.</p><p>It is very aggressive. The surgeon recommended surgery, followed by radiation and possibly chemotherapy. With just surgery, the cancer returns in most cats within a year. With surgery plus radiation, the odds are a little better. With surgery plus radiation plus chemotherapy, the odds of a cure are the strongest. </p><p>As you might imagine, all of this comes with a gigantic price tag.</p><p>I have spent a part of every single day since that initial vet. visit in tears. We have had Louie, his sister Claudia, and their mama, Chubbie, since Louie and Claudia were 8-week-old kittens in the spring of 1998. The hubs and I had just moved into our first apartment together. My childhood cat had passed away at the age of 21 the summer before, and I wanted another one. A co-worker posted about finding a pregnant stray cat who was about to give birth. She took her to her own pets' vet office, where the cat subsequently had a litter of 5 kittens. This co-worker was going to keep the mama; the kittens needed homes. </p><p>A friend of mine and I went to check out the kitties. There were 3 that were not spoken for. She adopted one, and the other two were huddled together in the back of the cage, their paws around eachother. I couldn't bear to separate them, so of course, after a quick phone call to the hubs, who expected me to bring home 1 kitten, I ended up taking them both. And when the woman who found the pregnant mama cat decided not to adopt her several weeks later, I volunteered to take her too.</p><p>And our family of three cats, Annie (whom we have always called Chubbie, because, well, she is), Claudia, and Louie (a trio my sister named after the author and characters of <em>Interview with a Vampire</em>) have been with us ever since. That was over 12.5 years ago.</p>Louie and Chubbie are especially bonded. While our cats mainly stay away from the mayhem and insanity of the ground floor of our house during the day while the kids are up, preferring to sleep upstairs in our bedroom or downstairs in the basement, all three come up (or down) to spend time with me once the kids are in bed. Chubbie and Louie cuddle together on the ottoman in my office and keep me company while I work late into the night. They still give eachother baths, their paws wrapped around eachother.<br /><br />They are a bonded family unit who have never been separated a single night, other than Claudia's spaying procedure when she spent one overnight at the vet's office as a kitten. They are my first babies. I have had them for over a third of my life.<br /><br />So, for these reasons, I am spending money I do not have to try and save Louie's life. He's having an MRI followed by surgery on Friday, New Year's Eve. It is not a cure. I am not putting him through the recommended radiation and chemo for a number of reasons. The closest place for this treatment is two hours away, at Cornell. He would need three weeks of 4x a week radiation. I would have to drive him there on a Monday, leave him for a week, pick him up on Friday, and repeat this process two more times.<br /><br />This is too much for a cat who has left our house twice in the last seven years, both of which were vet trips in the last 4 weeks. He is a highly stressed, anxious, cripplingly shy kitty on his best day.<br /><br />This cancer is so aggressive that it returns in most cats who have the surgery with no radiation.<br /><br />But I cannot do nothing. I can't take this terminal diagnosis and not do <em>something</em>. I want to give him a chance to beat cancer.<br /><br />And I say <em>"I"</em> and not <em>"we"</em> because the hubs does not agree with my decision. He does not want Louie to have this very expensive surgery because of the low success rate. He has always thought of the cats as <em>my</em> cats, and not <em>our</em> cats. The dissent has not been good for us.<br /><br />Right now, Louie is the same cat he has always been. He's eating and drinking, playing and snuggling. You would never know how sick he is. <p></p>Here he is enjoying his Christmas catnip toys with Claudia.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPky_Qjoiv1Ll2hw0uzma__WH353S6zgKqydpnZdkhHc1mcsgjBi2efmdyqMj8HLT1A-CtzPPVTlsKj_YG1MTnZfLkRCM1ArQE3KEk3rXlOFREtmRMW3j_cj6hrsRQYZNLlvkWFw/s1600/DSC09862.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555908642480385666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPky_Qjoiv1Ll2hw0uzma__WH353S6zgKqydpnZdkhHc1mcsgjBi2efmdyqMj8HLT1A-CtzPPVTlsKj_YG1MTnZfLkRCM1ArQE3KEk3rXlOFREtmRMW3j_cj6hrsRQYZNLlvkWFw/s320/DSC09862.JPG" /></a><br />But if I do nothing, he won't stay like this for long. And I cannot look at him, this sweet cat who has trusted me to take care of him and keep him safe for 12 years, without knowing that I tried to help him. </p><p>It's not an option.</p><p>I realize how ludicrous this might sound to people without pets, and even to some with them. To spend a large amount of money on surgery for a cat, a surgery with a very low success rate, has probably left some of you thinking I am insane. </p><p>I get that.</p><p>But I don't surrender easily. I've fought many a medical battle in my life, and I've beaten the odds, when many doctors didn't think I would. </p><p>I want, <em>no, I need,</em> to give Louie the same chance.</p><p>If you're the praying type, the lighting candle type, the positive thoughts type, or the sending good vibes type, please think of Louie on Friday. </p><p>And thank you for slogging through this post, and all my misery-ridden posts of late. Someday, I hope to turn the corner.</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-77736396864984192912010-12-24T09:00:00.002-05:002010-12-24T09:03:19.009-05:00The MotionsIt's been a rough month.<br /><br />Today is not the day to elaborate, what with the Christmas Eve business and all. Next week, I'll come back here and share some of what's been going on.<br /><br />But when you have kids and you're Christmas people, and it's The MOST WONDERFUL Time of the Year, there's not a whole lot of time for sitting around and moping. You make the month as special as you can muster up the energy for. You buy the tree, you visit Santa, you bake the cookies, decorate the house, read the holiday stories, watch the specials on television, and hope like hell that your kids don't notice that you can't wait until this hellacious month is over.<br /><br />I've never liked December. It's the annual <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2006/11/countdown-to-xcelmas.html">Holiday Spreadsheet of Debt</a>. The non-stop shopping and spending. The fake cheer. The massive commercialism. The buying of gifts people neither want nor need. The annoying Facebook updates from friends who LOVE Christmas and like to tell everyone exactly how much they love it, and how storybook their lives are day in and day out for the entire month.<br /><br />Honestly, as soon as the calendar flips to December, I am looking forward to January. At least it's okay to be cynical and moody in January.<br /><br />At the beginning of the month, we bought a tree.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554082383700002034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYfGU8a8JHzASrFUlTuJIxiwRcfQ2vDwu5vVCpQFwhBZEI7tUQWx99WkQDEbAqsFJPCHrfulb8dLJrc4_GaA_RMyzpT51Ga0IUAnHPK-zZ0Vba6iMJ_L4sx58Iu20Bks5whvpyA/s320/DSC09237.JPG" /><br />I started the annual Advent Calendar ritual, which was a great idea when there was only Isabella, but is now a pain in the keister with three kids. 25 mini "presents" each, for every single day from December 1st to the 31st. I've taken to filling their calendars' drawers with Cheerios each morning.<br /><br />Hey, "austerity" isn't the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/12/20/austerity-named-word-of-the-year-2010_n_798963.html">Word of the Year </a>for nothing.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9cxuhYPr6KS3AXy_RepZ5plmMMZECVvBUJkm59sZ-_Asuj85JAio-OEDfieZtE2aWDhSflkxhP5BVndlOSS8-7qKwnKyvlZ_1uJQrEzuVhtks7vL38KOL-mvP8wxifdhsM8QTg/s1600/DSC09593.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554083656998034338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9cxuhYPr6KS3AXy_RepZ5plmMMZECVvBUJkm59sZ-_Asuj85JAio-OEDfieZtE2aWDhSflkxhP5BVndlOSS8-7qKwnKyvlZ_1uJQrEzuVhtks7vL38KOL-mvP8wxifdhsM8QTg/s320/DSC09593.JPG" /></a><br />Santa rode through our neighborhood on a fire truck, as he does every year. Nicholas and Isabella were happy to see him, sit on his lap, and receive a candy cane.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7CxnuhW7w0sthZFAx0R4fSqivPABaV1RcB68cOj3nVNyUEp5aFojuTgUmVi-crMJd3l4hMIbGyiJ6csvCyQcDRyfd69DOidkpxZY6jrX2G23rggGp37mKHv2thpiKn69v3-yww/s1600/DSC09346.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554085101552274338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7CxnuhW7w0sthZFAx0R4fSqivPABaV1RcB68cOj3nVNyUEp5aFojuTgUmVi-crMJd3l4hMIbGyiJ6csvCyQcDRyfd69DOidkpxZY6jrX2G23rggGp37mKHv2thpiKn69v3-yww/s320/DSC09346.JPG" /></a><br />Luci? Not so much.<br /><br /><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YwQdBaFJ6nsdlhGdf9-cNpBWmR-GKmBhoKcxADaaeI7k1Gyc8nhW2NvzRKHH9kgl6V8O-GQUcmC8O-dD5VCdEWOuBxSRcZ4_8iA1sKiw4oWSLHyVNnbpeOnBtgOsC6REqQJeHg/s1600/DSC09357.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554085369951650578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YwQdBaFJ6nsdlhGdf9-cNpBWmR-GKmBhoKcxADaaeI7k1Gyc8nhW2NvzRKHH9kgl6V8O-GQUcmC8O-dD5VCdEWOuBxSRcZ4_8iA1sKiw4oWSLHyVNnbpeOnBtgOsC6REqQJeHg/s320/DSC09357.JPG" /></a><br />Isabella and I went to my MIL's company's "Lunch with Santa," where I witnessed her getting inked by an old lady in a Christmas sweater vest. <p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfndDFtW24xJpmCD55tTlv_HDmDzdlqE3ISQoy8nL75NOMNFNKlkPjCIr8Y0lXnum9mkJBtyk4mCrgdB4Nh_wTV2apQWXEnOquDjQHAjaepghEsEwLoHYvYmhhjC20woLcWRYaMw/s1600/DSC09268.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554085963256725410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfndDFtW24xJpmCD55tTlv_HDmDzdlqE3ISQoy8nL75NOMNFNKlkPjCIr8Y0lXnum9mkJBtyk4mCrgdB4Nh_wTV2apQWXEnOquDjQHAjaepghEsEwLoHYvYmhhjC20woLcWRYaMw/s320/DSC09268.JPG" /></a> Fortunately, the results were professional.<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUWQ01iL0LyKk6wCwZ_KixNmC5HWhlhGRvlUoIv9NYcjr5YgbsxhO26cUpp1XzZ0zsBDj2LvceFr_73vduj1E5aLS1_s8W0_QqcRzfz1Xmf5IiTX3ipwWLL2a_1Sc3dpeY25iiQ/s1600/DSC09270.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554086194867912930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUWQ01iL0LyKk6wCwZ_KixNmC5HWhlhGRvlUoIv9NYcjr5YgbsxhO26cUpp1XzZ0zsBDj2LvceFr_73vduj1E5aLS1_s8W0_QqcRzfz1Xmf5IiTX3ipwWLL2a_1Sc3dpeY25iiQ/s320/DSC09270.JPG" /></a><br />We took our annual trip to a local garden store's Christmas! Spectacular! Trains were watched and ridden.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitA0J6Swd5e_oEvbgO8bI_i_5_GCz7zECyxdv3IeiCyrPsp5Q7mKc2mfWVuXpssemzB7kT3MZC4O1FxU2C39H0M1dQwRfkjMryGbk1l7HL9t1T7Qm28nXgsJn6ObOQ6HQqswNDhg/s1600/DSC09403.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554087439468781282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitA0J6Swd5e_oEvbgO8bI_i_5_GCz7zECyxdv3IeiCyrPsp5Q7mKc2mfWVuXpssemzB7kT3MZC4O1FxU2C39H0M1dQwRfkjMryGbk1l7HL9t1T7Qm28nXgsJn6ObOQ6HQqswNDhg/s320/DSC09403.JPG" /></a> </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBW9rFqLWuxVyfssMUyHurBDubDKeEvZ9hftx9q0et7446QidqgmPDZYR3dQotCQlZiUrktLSHCZLowzafhwzoHKSu0dZHhYWRW07yJKvWPkJJ3sMzj-d6V9MohES6LfxIijn3xg/s1600/DSC09414.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554087292914207474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBW9rFqLWuxVyfssMUyHurBDubDKeEvZ9hftx9q0et7446QidqgmPDZYR3dQotCQlZiUrktLSHCZLowzafhwzoHKSu0dZHhYWRW07yJKvWPkJJ3sMzj-d6V9MohES6LfxIijn3xg/s320/DSC09414.JPG" /></a><br />Another visit with Santa was attempted.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0pHQRBwMWvogID-8iWdSSHzkA5hmbyuIm8ZokGbp8dycHrVey13z1DbOceKhT30Nn0lokA3ML1N9G5RLH821TU2Sd5JahdwHyKbYwI9ymZoAr0rjS2-8A7kXu7WU7ZIL9holsg/s1600/DSC09606.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554087964204654130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0pHQRBwMWvogID-8iWdSSHzkA5hmbyuIm8ZokGbp8dycHrVey13z1DbOceKhT30Nn0lokA3ML1N9G5RLH821TU2Sd5JahdwHyKbYwI9ymZoAr0rjS2-8A7kXu7WU7ZIL9holsg/s320/DSC09606.JPG" /></a><br />And then there was baking, frosting, and decorating of cookies and of gingerbread train (minus the baking).<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBzavPgc9s3PhFq4IX5NzaghuxCEtRqbIrMTsyLcdF1KyiUafligTnys5c9TNQIb-g5vBVaj7BMYNI7kQtDTnzGbiEuY0hly4MfuSfMMfZlivKAMNfC86i9KU7jZ2Vwap76LejQ/s1600/DSC09553.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554089313714515154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBzavPgc9s3PhFq4IX5NzaghuxCEtRqbIrMTsyLcdF1KyiUafligTnys5c9TNQIb-g5vBVaj7BMYNI7kQtDTnzGbiEuY0hly4MfuSfMMfZlivKAMNfC86i9KU7jZ2Vwap76LejQ/s320/DSC09553.JPG" /></a> Isabella decorated a little over two dozen cookies. What was over last year in about 20 minutes took her two hours this year. She quite literally decorated them, putting non-pareil "ornaments" on the tree cutouts, faces on the snowmen cutouts, etc. Oddly, she asked to eat none of them. It was all about the process for her.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554088478373120258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZMgQ-e21GkRqX5XJirAw4RiHbz-MzSKUOj6KjUHxXlGN9dEV6-mZeQNk4s38NJO00hIPLS2qm6gb7_UD7SKrhbAlZNWFwJwiRkMooDFsRM10miQydLxRrjVwdHMCnhDyStdq0A/s320/DSC09561.JPG" /><br />Then it was on to the gingerbread train, on which she spent another hour, completely on her own, decorating the train.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZMuexIqHJicdPF-7ltWq5Yy5aYc7GaHnt5rQmdgBEXceyB_B4TMePpH4DknXJ2pJEIRZkGV59ku9yhDN4c0stsoygjebVgt6D2aXd5hDe7D4ID84DGoVG3zMq0TS5sH3C5Oh3Q/s1600/DSC09573.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554089981233991394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZMuexIqHJicdPF-7ltWq5Yy5aYc7GaHnt5rQmdgBEXceyB_B4TMePpH4DknXJ2pJEIRZkGV59ku9yhDN4c0stsoygjebVgt6D2aXd5hDe7D4ID84DGoVG3zMq0TS5sH3C5Oh3Q/s320/DSC09573.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiTiIkhdwKKRUW84YBCUejFK4DYEc-d26SyZ-Vs3c4NfIg97PPyoWo_82EIrkqRLFR4QSP2QVERVNtNn-sXH_rUSz7dKNbhXUVqzy-0QL_jZrkRQNDcT3dGQZ8h-lgPFI0Dd4TA/s1600/DSC09589.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554089777872243890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiTiIkhdwKKRUW84YBCUejFK4DYEc-d26SyZ-Vs3c4NfIg97PPyoWo_82EIrkqRLFR4QSP2QVERVNtNn-sXH_rUSz7dKNbhXUVqzy-0QL_jZrkRQNDcT3dGQZ8h-lgPFI0Dd4TA/s320/DSC09589.JPG" /></a><br />The experience was marred only slightly the following evening, when for reasons still unknown to us, Isabella decided to stuff one of the leftover candy balls up her nose to "keep it safe." There it lodged, and there it remained until it dissolved somewhere in her nasal cavity.</div><div></div><br /><div>Good times.<br /><br /><p>Aunt Karrie arrived on Tuesday night. More baking ensued.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-asgFKPon_Ru6O5_a0MZTLX-U-9tBek3CafYLawO_XXPSAwG_kn7EBx1VT4J-7SG3b20uUsZUa3UMGlOPAXfX_Z6j2tp8i60dK5BmTKaK97KhWdELyIP_O1x1l_Q0DjjwpU9hQ/s1600/Karrie+and+Isabella.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554084514078709234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-asgFKPon_Ru6O5_a0MZTLX-U-9tBek3CafYLawO_XXPSAwG_kn7EBx1VT4J-7SG3b20uUsZUa3UMGlOPAXfX_Z6j2tp8i60dK5BmTKaK97KhWdELyIP_O1x1l_Q0DjjwpU9hQ/s320/Karrie+and+Isabella.jpg" /></a> And then there was bobsledding through the kitchen, of course.</div><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPRbEjW99P8Wjg5lSTm24df9W3oKKbuRVGNkQtZQuApUhEy8mECZeU2MF30eZoK4zTBdzDZ_tse87hicNUarjjVvJyOk3q3y7EjZvFoT-7WR5FXne80FxsidUh4Tf2OoWvYQ30g/s1600/DSC09600.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554090986492453346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPRbEjW99P8Wjg5lSTm24df9W3oKKbuRVGNkQtZQuApUhEy8mECZeU2MF30eZoK4zTBdzDZ_tse87hicNUarjjVvJyOk3q3y7EjZvFoT-7WR5FXne80FxsidUh4Tf2OoWvYQ30g/s320/DSC09600.JPG" /></a><br />I'm taking another break (although lately, it's like it's been one long break around here), but I will be back next week. </div><div></div><div>Until then, Merry Christmas and happy everything, awesomely loyal readers. You've made my year in more ways than one, and I'm happy to know every single one of you. </div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-13819830398622674072010-12-23T21:41:00.002-05:002010-12-23T21:45:35.386-05:00Luci and Nicholas at 26 MonthsWhen Isabella was exactly the age the twins are right now, Luci and Nicholas were born.<br /><br /><div>That's startling to me, because when I look at the two of them, I still see babies, which means that she was a baby, too, when they arrived.<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554061562534025954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCvZW0GfMvqoiipze-OMmZWyCOofp1yvgeMQkgi0OJ07-89G1smB4WFEtPeMf4sQktTohGWJ0V7zxioJIijRpoOcGrraCr6MiyvORxXpp1i5oCuCIRSFo9EgIr5o9J0WIvYOx4Q/s320/DSC09299.JPG" />And then I really question my sanity about having my children relatively close in age. What was I thinking? There are positives to close-in-age children. There are negatives to widely spaced kids. But if I had to do it again, I think I would have waited until Isabella was at least 2.5 before doing the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">FET</span>. I really think my life would have been a hell of a lot easier.<br /><div>Moving on!<br /></div><div>Nicholas continues to be a funny, charming, and simultaneously maddening and "spirited" child. His vocabulary rivals Isabella at this age. He speaks in full and complex sentences ("<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Yay</span>! Nickey took a nap! Santa is happy and mommy is happy!") -yes, he is taking about one nap a week now, which is better than the previous 30 days during which he did not nap once. I'm not sure what I'm going to do once Christmas is over, and I can't threaten him with an angry Santa anymore, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.</div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554064467185239202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2VOaYQvTDoH9Mgjw0lIpNAvy6LW2V54JIFy8Iusc7wDfZ1_RC54mdQZeZanJtZ5jizTfdjQZTFC2SgYbp85sZr9U2X9P1nsdiQPfKdVUGTHCcmNCbjyozgi4Py3b9N7jcwJEUg/s320/DSC09352.JPG" /><br /><div>Every single morning, he asks to wear a red shirt. "Nickey wear a red shirt today?" and at least 20 times a day, he asks me, "Mommy, what we having for dinner?" And I'll tell him, "chicken" or "macaroni" and he'll say, "what else?" The boy loves to eat and loves to talk about food.<br /></div><div>He is still prone to inexplicable crying fits. I find myself treading on eggshells a lot around him, desperately trying to keep him on an even keel and from flying into one of his rages, which last 20 minutes or longer. You would never suspect this behavior from him unless you spent as much time with him as I do. When the people in the gym daycare mention how awesome he is, how <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">loveable</span> and how sweet, I agree with them because he is. They are then shocked to hear that he has this other side of his personality.<br /></div><div>I'm going to chalk it up to being two and hope it goes away really quickly.<br /></div><div>He loves books and is always asking me to read to him ("Mommy, sit on couch and read Nickey Clifford book?"). When I rock him to sleep, he asks for his stories, which I've made up for his bedtime ritual ("Nickey in the Forest with Bunnies, mommy?" or "Puff, Puff, Puff, Puff" (loosely based on <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Otis/Loren-Long/e/9780399252488/?itm=1&USRI=otis+tractor">this book</a>).<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554064880179759394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdbW563rrey-zhfeYXTVDoAXY5LeoN3gtORtf3a7UAHaJ9JoGshDw3TvS1TKcecpR4qy-twCiVkWLmT6zvew3FidttdWYsa4fuLAw-fs_F9zBSnD3mMnv-m_Mn96K9js07da-Dg/s320/DSC09303.JPG" /><br />Nicholas loves to run up to me and spontaneously kiss my leg, and he loves to bring me things ("Mommy, get you coffee. Be right back!"). And when he's pleased about something, he'll literally shout, "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Happeeeeeeeee</span>!" at the top of his lungs.<br /><br />Luci is very tuned into the potty business. She likes to follow Isabella into the bathroom, and as soon as she has a dirty diaper, she'll tell us to change her. She also has picked up on Isabella's potty talk lately. Awesome.<br /><br />The phrase "Looks can be deceiving" was coined for her. She appears small, sweet, and completely angelic. But in reality, she is the dominant twin, and she knows exactly how to push Nicholas' buttons. If he says his standard line each morning, "Nickey wear red shirt today?" if Luci is feeling particularly hostile, she'll say, "NO red shirt today, Nickey!", which she knows will make him scream and cry. And he does.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554069160705844514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7qZCuEwa2l8cZOd2mJYmhqkmVrkziLRRXhPE5Dpu9GEnM9YpH-B12BCTw2PeWm6tFTgvpic22pShtO9tfj7qIGDbNN3r6thc8ZsPPzITDG4LHAHqsPT0g5YpDTjhoV2Oc2gGUA/s320/DSC09485.JPG" /> Luci loves playing with dolls, and heavily covets the Baby Alive monstrosity that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">mamacita</span> gave Isabella for Thanksgiving (yes, Thanksgiving). Isabella no longer takes it out of her room because she doesn't want Luci to "run down the batteries." Fortunately, Santa heard the pleas of the tiny terror and is bringing her one (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Alive-All-Gone-Hispanic/dp/B003A6IC6U/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1293157721&sr=8-11">who speaks Spanish</a>!) for Christmas, and who incidentally does not require diaper changes because the "feeding" is simulated. </div><p>She is an awesome sleeper, often sleeping from 7pm until 8 or 8:30am. And when she wakes up, she just sits in the corner of her crib, holding her stuffed bunny, and waiting until I show up to get her, never uttering a peep. Her naps are generally good too. Mama loves a baby who sleeps. </p><p>Luci is not as verbal as Nicholas. I would say she is about 1-2 months behind him, although she's steadily improving. She loves to sing the Luci version of "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Tomorrow</span>" from the Annie soundtrack, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow! I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">wuv</span> ya, tomorrow. Only a day A-WAY!" and she knows and sings lyrics to several Christmas carols as well. </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIDvVQiQrjd6fAnzDBTZU5FCVjtfLkWMFrdvf4AtHRzoJ9Msdn-rjN_C8NwovxAzerADVUsnxp5qxK_4gCYRvjoB9cELIitWwh-8F7ntiTsNcUnMGKf7xsghAxb_aQi-Fq2fdgA/s1600/DSC09238.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554072455954385010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIDvVQiQrjd6fAnzDBTZU5FCVjtfLkWMFrdvf4AtHRzoJ9Msdn-rjN_C8NwovxAzerADVUsnxp5qxK_4gCYRvjoB9cELIitWwh-8F7ntiTsNcUnMGKf7xsghAxb_aQi-Fq2fdgA/s320/DSC09238.JPG" /></a><br />The dynamics between the two of them right now are not good. There is a lot of fighting over things. There is a lot of physical contact. When they're side-by-side in the double stroller, they often pinch each other's faces or pull hair.<br /><br />And yet, none of this occurs when we're outside the house. So, I make it a point to be at home with them as little as possible during the day. Going out with three of them is still challenging, but it's getting easier. I have taken them to the museum and library a few times recently on my own, and have realized that it's a whole lot easier than it was even a few months ago. I still have to mainline the coffee before heading out the door, and it's far from a breeze, but we're getting there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yP6FLXFstGtW5Gg3fXSFpYEK7Yc205vmJzdS5mlZW2j4tyzybiiz8kovJ2rse_uBI-Vct53rHz93jAL8MlVzU1Rbn4DPz4CVzhKOi7PRMeSknGOvDMm3lzB0YcA_u9w3O3XHjQ/s1600/DSC09475.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554065369878078658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yP6FLXFstGtW5Gg3fXSFpYEK7Yc205vmJzdS5mlZW2j4tyzybiiz8kovJ2rse_uBI-Vct53rHz93jAL8MlVzU1Rbn4DPz4CVzhKOi7PRMeSknGOvDMm3lzB0YcA_u9w3O3XHjQ/s320/DSC09475.JPG" /></a>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-9550085820738952232010-12-14T11:17:00.025-05:002010-12-14T20:32:35.678-05:00Holiday Photo Shoots From HellEvery year, it's the same story.<br /><br />I, having apparently blocked the memories from previous years, attempt to orchestrate group photo shots of the kids dressed in their holiday attire.<br /><br />The results are never good, I turn into a screeching, manic <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">harpie</span> because <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">ForTheLoveOfGod</span>,<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">WhyCan'tYouJustSmileSoWeCanGetThisOverWith</span>???</em>, and both the hubs and I are left wishing we had a bottle of vodka (each), and some <a href="http://www.allbarstools.com/">home bar furniture </a>to relax on and drink ourselves stupid.<br /><br />Our Thanksgiving and holiday photo shoots this year stayed true to form.<br /><br />The twins were in foul moods on Thanksgiving. Isabella has never liked having her photo taken and resists any and all attempts to take her picture with a level of complaint similar to those about to undergo a root canal. There is whining. There is crying. There is <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">gnashing</span> of teeth.<br /><br />It is ridiculous.<br /><br />Our Thanksgiving photos:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550576209719952226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmqqZ5ueUhUL8Y-2jdO9lIrm8a8IGjXF1QdrdV06rbdowAPhaFwowfv7hWgp85nazvTyAGyTecKWCoLXiPgsW2smEwhfn0T20wycFJVPlCZclh3ooLDL8NHw_Xbeyh6XLAzt0BA/s320/3.jpg" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550576474691290706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmn-Wgx7oWnaLOpdmh2Re0yPFY5NvidMM45uEufF92wzINY_9wxgN8WkHB08tgXOTzb81wl_hwalVwkQ_pogWLpKK5EazsFTMQZq9yH1G853K6Cv76zOU49h6QOXA0OzWwt5FqoA/s320/3-2.jpg" /><br />After so much success (ha), we broke out the pumpkin muffins I had made earlier in the day. Here, Nicholas decides that one was not enough for him, and storms off set like the diva he is.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550577151595894002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8iG0g4SexZz_gkG8lP4lrJQlnwWtveHQV8eBWCvOhCQpiS1DGo2uKblLEIQXy0blFNFk2WSCdZ7AqCTWzqfQ61UYos1D6C2GLOVAHHUt0LO2n6fWm_BrAwNF0iMzxHHDJVKrbwg/s320/DSC09100.JPG" /><br />And then we decided to just give the kid another damn muffin, because at that point, I was losing my mind.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550576864639160818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7AypaGsx8g3HJA5h1gPPxO543v8YxguhlWVblTDKBO-ZXjBA7J1UMTU77AiWcy9jqRh9-hP8L7YxB6oB1VBRgaBKULZLjv2p6-crT2PDiGOdbQ81G6fhYvf9AajEf8rZlKebMiw/s320/DSC09095.JPG" /><em>"Put that mouth near my muffin and you'll receive a swift jab to the ribs, sis."<br /></em><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550577005538669250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4k-q-DXMikFo4ZO1ZVScUWLVWpI8FZWEgGfheTMM_ehpkUs_u4D3HN2t6qIm_lGzKx80EivOr0J75YgyTyj4EG5DrdDs5ulqRyAEaCzeDjB2WQIgFlw_6w5oYtIxmV3pvGPwzg/s320/DSC09096.JPG" /><em>"Okay, fine. One bite."<br /></em><br />I was able to snag two good pictures from 45 minutes of sheer hell.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550577269117232978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLUdecVhkuPEP0PMAbJV5rYgSVEtgARpba_o1_1i3zmLqdasBVLiNWNv2mzOql6kSp_6kh-v51WgBpiUZocdJBgsTKfmkFFWfJk-z5MdTbNls859oAtOkH0qRTHmYk0a26Rljmg/s320/L.jpg" /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKrtCg1-FTRce8VvvmarpJJIBqnof8ejqz4j-TtoVQkHWW3X4Jdgna-XZJEp9OoxXZGd4wZBbHzAG7d2i3tIac-HYGlvjFiYMbj_vGXJuFeEKF4-KQk1zhOZLxA0zn0KCLMSO3Q/s1600/L+and+I.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550614438033632514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKrtCg1-FTRce8VvvmarpJJIBqnof8ejqz4j-TtoVQkHWW3X4Jdgna-XZJEp9OoxXZGd4wZBbHzAG7d2i3tIac-HYGlvjFiYMbj_vGXJuFeEKF4-KQk1zhOZLxA0zn0KCLMSO3Q/s320/L+and+I.jpg" /></a> We <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">fared</span> slightly better for our holiday card shoot. Either that or the heavy drinking I did beforehand has made me forget what it was really like.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkxKIb7klqno3CFBo_uNZB0wHlafO-cedPnRJopnVZ64zhWDc4-Ch21COXwz-tm4mGMS03fURpZHhbl2RvEinkSeY19itVKEFDkZTnPa4NHTxnPWDnLbzZ2vECn6pQmtP8kBqWg/s1600/DSC09143.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550618809731078626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkxKIb7klqno3CFBo_uNZB0wHlafO-cedPnRJopnVZ64zhWDc4-Ch21COXwz-tm4mGMS03fURpZHhbl2RvEinkSeY19itVKEFDkZTnPa4NHTxnPWDnLbzZ2vECn6pQmtP8kBqWg/s320/DSC09143.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EzZ5g7V_NUx_lqCFzlLjwt-iY2E2mKpXJkXIxFtOGFeGI2ypO5YXMOh7PAlAePr1TqDoms79UntJCFOlxS4kC3F9GeewipSvW5LWdbg4kpc5TU8qjuj8UaeqQ8wTOsgE1nVsLA/s1600/3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550619003027919266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EzZ5g7V_NUx_lqCFzlLjwt-iY2E2mKpXJkXIxFtOGFeGI2ypO5YXMOh7PAlAePr1TqDoms79UntJCFOlxS4kC3F9GeewipSvW5LWdbg4kpc5TU8qjuj8UaeqQ8wTOsgE1nVsLA/s320/3.jpg" /></a> And, the only decent shot of all three, which became our card this year.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKwul4TB29nzsWuLHL2GvpxU1tghGF09ovvghC1cljMJpKHhpZMFLW5XGoMHquhjoiCeaykHp6RZjgyBIIdzZj5tokx1PoEBW0OIpXD_EnRLvBDw3ahR0lE9hs__yVArp4F9eTA/s1600/Christmas.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550619875427115234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKwul4TB29nzsWuLHL2GvpxU1tghGF09ovvghC1cljMJpKHhpZMFLW5XGoMHquhjoiCeaykHp6RZjgyBIIdzZj5tokx1PoEBW0OIpXD_EnRLvBDw3ahR0lE9hs__yVArp4F9eTA/s320/Christmas.jpg" /></a><br />I would imagine that for most other families, taking photos of your kids is not the horror-movie-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">esque</span> scene it always is in my house. I imagine the whole process unfolding something like:<br /><br /><strong>Mom or Dad:</strong> <em>"Okay, Ben. Time to take the holiday card photo. Go stand by the tree and smile."</em><br /><br /><strong>Ben:</strong> <em>"Okay. Sure!"</em> (Big, Gap-Ad-Worthy Smile Ensues)<br /><br /><strong>Mom or Dad</strong>, two seconds later: <em>"Great job, Ben. We're done!"</em><br /><br />What do you do to get good holiday pictures of your kids?Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-29379677420332187862010-12-09T23:10:00.003-05:002010-12-09T23:17:03.701-05:00Isabella at 4 Years, 3 MonthsOnce again, I am late with this update.<br /><br /><div>My blog is turning into monthly updates on my kids and little else, but my current work schedule is sucking every last second out of my day.<br /></div><div>BUT, in a few weeks, I will have a break, and then you can expect daily (no, hourly!) posts from me, full of the social commentary long-time readers are accustomed to reading here.<br /></div><div>Okay, maybe I'll start with just a post a week and work my way up from there.<br /></div><div>Sigh...<br /></div><div>On to things in Isabella-Land.<br /></div><div>The four-year-old with the big vocabulary is taking it down a few levels on the respectability scale lately. We have a lot of potty talk going on. She might be picking it up in school (certainly not at home, as our word choices are as lily white as the 17,000 feet of snow in my backyard right now). But seriously, the bodily function talk is annoying, especially coming from a little girl who has been highly verbal since the womb. </div><div></div><div>Speaking of bodily functions, mamacita bought her Baby Alive for Thanksgiving. She's feeding the doll "peas." Guess what comes out Baby Alive's other end?</div><div></div><div>Because exactly what I need right now is another behind to wipe.</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548901379600694530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Sssrde2ws9fZaoCLX0yRRvpH1JaW92rFJQgHIqFLdfheDg0exWg64Lfpj6rPdPGIXnBakYzsuz9sGeufDreFu46YmHUw4DQ6O1lxWxOTylmkA4DXIjB2jrBNdLlIccJrXWF_aw/s320/DSC09053.JPG" /><br /><div>It's been interesting to watch her inter-personal skills develop over the last few months. She knows what to say and how to say it to get people to do what she wants. She wanted a red hat on the Athritis Foundation table at a recent 5K I ran in (the hats were for for those with Arthritis only,although I'm not certain how one would prove that in order to procure a hat), and so she sidled up to the table with me at her side, and coquetishly asked for a hat, acting shy when she wasn't, using a slight baby-talk inflection in her voice.<br /></div><div>The older ladies at the table wouldn't give up the goods, but they did hand her a candy cane for her efforts. Isabella, however, was more than a little annoyed that her "charm" didn't work.<br /></div><div>Isabella has been a big help around the house lately. Her favorite thing to ask me is, "Mommy, what can I help you with?" because she knows she will get heaps of praise from me for asking it. She's not a fan of setting the table, but will help make salads and everything else to do with meal prep, wash down cupboards, and pick up our disaster of a house before bed each night.<br /></div><div>She's always been a big fan of art projects, drawing, and painting, but in the last few months, it's really kicked into overdrive. Every bit of what I would call "trash" is now something she would like to save for an art project. We went to a friend's birthday party last month and ended up taking home her used plastic fork from cake, an extra paper plate, a bamboo skewer from the Edible Arrangements fruit basket, and an empty juice box, none of which she was willing to part with, and all of which she later affixed to an egg carton via a glue stick.<br /></div><div>Here she is hard at work at 7am one morning, making boats out of paper bags.<br /></div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548401709674005346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbYFJlAItrg4H8DDTxRgzWHVQrtGQY_pIsW_Ohk5dCu1ZfGmjyYhP0XFvjlGFxcDPxY7Uy3234QhsQZMmOBUSonEGgTHfjmlzzTxrVCAZj51tM5v23pKIddVbHersZlLkmoFvog/s320/DSC08981.JPG" /><br /><div>I fully expect her to be dumpster-diving this time next year.<br /></div><div>I want to foster this creativity as much as I possibly can, but her art supplies are literally all over the house. 99% of them have to be kept out of Luci and Nicholas' reach, and therefore there is no central table to organize it all.<br /></div><div>Isabella continues to have a blast at preschool. She can now write her first and last name neatly and legibly. She's mastering letters not in her name as well.</div><div></div><div>I think she's really going to miss school during her two week break coming up in other week.<br /></div><div><strong>Current Likes:</strong> The music from "Annie," playing cats with Luci<br /></div><div><strong>Current Dislikes:</strong> Clementines and parental threats to text Santa regarding her naughty deeds</div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-35707905878190937422010-11-26T13:03:00.002-05:002010-11-26T15:25:30.972-05:00Luci and Nicholas at 25 MonthsTwo at two has been interesting so far. In some ways, it's slightly easier. Luci and Nicholas understand a lot more than they did even a few months ago. There is a modicum of reasoning going on.<br /><br />And in some ways, it's much more difficult for exactly the same reasons.<br /><br />Nicholas is going through a rough(er) patch lately. He has not taken a nap in over two weeks, and spends "naptime" yelling in his crib:<br /><br /><em>"Mommy! Open door Nickey's room. Right Now! PLEASE!"</em><br /><br />Over. And Over. And Over.<br /><br />When I don't comply, he strips. Fortunately, thus far he has kept his diaper on, but when I finally relent and get him up, he has not a stitch of clothing on.<br /><br />Working during "naptime" is pretty impossible when one-half of your at-home children (Isabella is at preschool Monday-Thursday in the afternoons) is non-compliant.<br /><br />He is also extraordinarily cranky in the morning. If he comes downstairs and sees that his breakfast is not already made and ready for him to consume, he pitches an epic fit. He will not be consoled. And sometimes, even when it is ready, if it wasn't what he envisioned he might want to eat that morning, the fit occurs too. He usually spends the first 30 minutes of <em>every</em> morning screaming for no reason at all. And he will not be consoled.<br /><br />That said, the kid loves to eat. He often says, "Mmmmm....I like it!" when we put his tray in front of him at each meal.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543952920130160386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9B0WfYGuicADuamFekHUvM3aAXN3LBVS3bskqRGdYnK0SU-b0iiH_v_-kK4-t0x5NW769yr0jID3Ng1WKsA4uevMZ1jJADpARL_Xalfd9eB-9nH9SvW0iCt2sg92BBDEjPeZIqg/s320/DSC08508.JPG" /><br /><br />We have no problem getting him to eat most foods. He consumes his meals many times before the hubs and I are able to sit down. Luci takes easily 3x as long as he does, and is often left sitting at the table while everyone else is cleaning up, playing, etc. Nicholas hovers around her high chair hoping for dropped scraps.<br /><br />If it isn't bolted down, screwed in, or way out of his reach (and sometimes, even when it is), Nicholas is trying to open it, break it, or grab it. I am exhausted not trying to keep up with him, but trying to stay at least 10 steps ahead of him. I have to constantly ask myself, <em>"Okay, if I put this coffee cup here, can he reach it?"</em> and <em>"Oh, crap. Did I leave the bathroom door unlocked?"</em> and <em>"Why is it so quiet? Shit. Where are the crayons that were here a minute ago?"</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3vP4AHv9Qv-1NRYSOtW0DlCKQi9Gmpu2xnRhzNeYZraiuuhl5CUu-UEvO45uYea0KGdMB8-cdJ0yapTmbgHxv0dZqn39_S0ALGBC1FIv1JQbGUCbLPJAdNUPw2rVQdtzi2eKzw/s1600/DSC09020.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543954788376041570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3vP4AHv9Qv-1NRYSOtW0DlCKQi9Gmpu2xnRhzNeYZraiuuhl5CUu-UEvO45uYea0KGdMB8-cdJ0yapTmbgHxv0dZqn39_S0ALGBC1FIv1JQbGUCbLPJAdNUPw2rVQdtzi2eKzw/s320/DSC09020.JPG" /></a><em>"I'm just going to press all these buttons. You won't mind, will you?"<br /></em><br />On the positive front, Nicholas can count to 20, sings the ABC song, and loves the soundtrack to "Annie." One of his favorites to belt from his crib during naptime is "Tomorrow":<br /><br /><em>"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I wuv ya. Tomorrow! You're only a day away!"</em><br /><br />He is also known to come up to me, look me in the eye, and say, <em>"Hi, Mommy. How you doing?"</em><br /><br />What is it about little boys? So destructive and so adorable, all at the same time? </p><p>Luci is totally in love with her big sister. She always wants to hold Isabella's hand in the car, and wants to do whatever she's doing most of the time.<br /><br />Thankfully, she's still napping, but getting her to eat is a challenge. She still wears size 18 month clothing, and is a good two inches shorter than Nicholas. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqZwjjFnU_FqXdJ19hWCPYDBaUgdO600VsZkWh37uLDtPtuT85N0CEwCPVx3bb-TiiVIn7DPC0qaRCEpB2NZVBiGLwk_RAgvZYMlFjJRkPJzxK5UzS8B-mcSsty9pjHEdpM7FBw/s1600/Luci.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543954322552342866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqZwjjFnU_FqXdJ19hWCPYDBaUgdO600VsZkWh37uLDtPtuT85N0CEwCPVx3bb-TiiVIn7DPC0qaRCEpB2NZVBiGLwk_RAgvZYMlFjJRkPJzxK5UzS8B-mcSsty9pjHEdpM7FBw/s320/Luci.jpg" /></a> Much like Isabella was at this age, Luci is very defiant. If I happen to be dressing her for the day, and she decides she'd rather have the hubs do it, she will kick and scream and cry to get her way.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-FNGCa_RVxXHEVDq_MdQDbqhtirztPfVisoREQR5ac_4ncKR1JhS8bDt-RnlO8I63znQYCIWx4ZSVl9HDdPtySsNeTaZ2rvzZ863_-d_iviwFypFZigcZgWm4BOi23ikAjyxGPg/s1600/DSC08997.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543954474320450162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-FNGCa_RVxXHEVDq_MdQDbqhtirztPfVisoREQR5ac_4ncKR1JhS8bDt-RnlO8I63znQYCIWx4ZSVl9HDdPtySsNeTaZ2rvzZ863_-d_iviwFypFZigcZgWm4BOi23ikAjyxGPg/s320/DSC08997.JPG" /></a><em> "I'm sick. Wanna rumble?" </em></p><em></em><em><p><br /></em>Luci loves dolls and dancing, can sing part of the ABC song, and all of the "Happy Birthday song," but does not share her brother's penchant for showtunes. She would like nothing more than to be carried around and snuggled all day long. </p><p>She also has an awesome sense of humor. Just recently, she's started making jokes. Her humor is pretty base and mostly of the bodily function variety, but it's very funny to hear this tiny two-year-old make a funny comment about her diaper contents, and then laugh hysterically about it.<br /><br />Oh, these two. I love them to pieces. They are evolving into people, a little bit more every day. But they are so much work. And they are so completely crazy sometimes, which I know describes every two year old on the planet, but their mother is me. And most of the time, I feel so utterly and completely unequipped. If there was ever a mother less equipped to handle twins, I'd like to meet her.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWnRdFmy5ldkPrYkikEImd8x_ExliZITOY6NRya4WNrAH09jjyblQ9-zGCaHgElLsZdTMsD1U-iowTuVOwAm5wbdjy0s5zGqVVNNz1K4iSxiEZj1Tr7qO5Kk1vSZRLM1khARSKg/s1600/Two.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543955131567972130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfWnRdFmy5ldkPrYkikEImd8x_ExliZITOY6NRya4WNrAH09jjyblQ9-zGCaHgElLsZdTMsD1U-iowTuVOwAm5wbdjy0s5zGqVVNNz1K4iSxiEZj1Tr7qO5Kk1vSZRLM1khARSKg/s320/Two.jpg" /></a>But, to steal a line from <a href="http://www.itgetsbetter.org/">this awesome project </a>(check out the videos), I know that soon, it will get better.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-39625535700096943462010-11-21T23:07:00.001-05:002010-11-21T23:11:19.599-05:00It's Upon UsHi. I'm Kristi. Remember when I used to post five days a week?<br /><br />Yeah, me either.<br /><br /><p>Good grief. Has it really been two weeks since my last post?</p><p>Suffice it to say, I'm not able to write as much as I'd like to anymore. </p><p>I could regale you with tales of how I'm working past midnight many nights to keep up with a giant-sized workload comprised of both freelance writing and online teaching, but blah, blah, whine, whine. Boooring.</p><p>I could entertain you with a story about how mamacita has not spoken to me in over a week because I forgot to thank her for the Halloween cards and money she sent the kids. Apparently, she's been doing a little wall-stalking and thinks I spend too much time on Facebook (I don't), and that I could have spent that time calling or emailing her with my thanks. The fact that I really and truly did forget (what with the five hours of sleep I've been getting a night, and the second-shift I pull nightly) does not matter.</p><p>Mamacita's gotten herself blocked.</p><p>Thanksgiving is going to be FUN. </p><p>Or I could madden you with my annual pre-Christmas post of doom and gloom, in which I bemoan the impending holiday of which I do not like because it means the breaking out of the <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2006/11/countdown-to-xcelmas.html">Annual Spreadsheet of Debt</a>, the arrival of the <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2009/12/nightmare-before-christmas.html">Holiday Card Photo Shoot of the Photophobic</a>, and all the things I must do and buy with a clock that gives me only 24 hours daily when I need at least 36. </p><p>But honestly, it's close to midnight, and I'm just too damn tired. Instead, I'll leave you with this.</p><p>It became apparent to me one day last week that my eldest really is my Mini Me. People tell me all the time how much she and I resemble eachother, but it seems Isabella not only has her mother's looks (poor thing), but also her dancing ability and coordination as well.<br /><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZB8Wj3daE7s?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZB8Wj3daE7s?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />If you're still reading here, I salute you. </p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-87775596130347426452010-11-08T20:00:00.001-05:002010-11-08T20:26:37.048-05:00Life is Like a Box of Crayons: Halloween 2010Because I am nothing short of a genius, I came up with the idea to do the rounds with the relatives on the day before Halloween, rather than the night of.<br /><br />We've always taken the kids to my grandma's house, my great aunt's house, my MIL's house and my FIL's house, so everyone could see them in their costumes and hand them organic dark chocolate made with low sugar and minimal processing (or, you know, this stuff)<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537021192501519874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqe-axXXm59TB3U8WF00n-Qre2eAkFfLaiVBv3PVNBi1Zmz4S19zydoAFmjEpIXNfHDCiLE2zqvr_8uPnl8_xtA7EGCtXaX9dhMFdWAfOO4Ai26NeT0Mw4IqYX9WTLqwU2JxOUA/s320/DSC08786.JPG" /> We would make the trip to the other side of the city in late afternoon, catch dinner at one of their houses, and head back home for a little trick-or-treating before we all collapsed in exhaustion around 7:30pm, because even packing up one kid + costume + gear four separate times, in and out of the car, was exhausting. When one became three two year ago, it became a ludicrous situation.<br /><p>The relative visits were still crazy this year (as any holiday with three kids under 4.5 is), but at least at the end of the night, we didn't have to take them trick-or-treating. </p>Getting ready to go-Nicholas desperately wanted to wear Isabella's red crayon costume, because he has decided that his favorite color is also red.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537029129948317618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QPsMKXElMgTIDyr6RiXm8Laww9wErJPV_4FXAJ3lKADZczgE02I6tnKsczO1wcvCEwxxn06uqdoBmAsojBJXb3ui7iWK836zBhNTcbbF-yQ6SVYQICgy7ZHLnx6J5edTGMBnWg/s320/DSC08700.JPG" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537027608172958530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS70L064Z8vnap8LyhmF_kuuN6kmdy5eRD2jWeCBW_vZIGOrKvj1sE2Lh94_huI2s7gLjNqw9hwhlFOCLqiLBKkKoKm0ldleVS4D3P5TtpyQDKdYGIuLXzKy9wRhelEAFMW-hjEA/s320/3-2.jpg" />At Nana's<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537025018897239378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4clZSqK1YNBmaggqZWlK9s5EWBGfqqQ1NeBgvLLYyVkQkYYeIDFSZMBYyWusVWK4Sj5qS-2HxnrHIIBR5BZp8RBGpOOLzOXwsnOXJSs9NIAIvRpudMat-CY8UExLOXJCheG5WeA/s320/DSC08705.JPG" /><br />My MIL is awesome. Why, you ask? She <em>asked the hubs</em> what to get the kids for Halloween. The hubs told her to buy them their favorite snack, these <a href="http://www.wegmans.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?langId=-1&storeId=10052&catalogId=1&productId=669439">CocoPop</a> rice cakes made at our favorite grocery store. So, no sugar overload at Nana's.<br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537028250160233618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-G9OOrHlE7I3C9iEpLMJdW48NYNTCqRqJqii6u30xHJZhZsRMyMb5lZ8D21NCd45BgPSRPDcNFOOn-3dqCC4ZMlhDCIIw5J4UYrA_c-f24CbJnocKxRxSKt04M6CfX_tVqrZqlw/s320/luci.jpg" /><br />Then, it was on to the hubs' dad's house. Luci wandered into the family room and disappeared for a few minutes. When I peeked around the corner to see what she was doing, I found her very quietly and carefully emptying the contents of my FIL's candy bowl into her pumpkin. </div><div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537028957527536050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB8axBQbXI4bG8esASfqFgVD0A5w2f0KMr9UK8x8Ym35PH-ynpfvaozCtj5nfVM4Y8oX5Ck-tMuSAZcGD8TIuz7JgeBaoR5V_TR-WAsNY8rjaOg2ylWCntmBK0WiXt11m2oON2g/s320/DSC08752.JPG" /> </div><div>On Halloween, we were invited to a party in our old neighborhood. This was my contribution: </div><div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537028735915778850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZEtK446h-Aw8WRe7hIMSuEJO7Sm-OPCBmAIu6-KRMRhLyuNo0UoDMeHU6Is0k3oCsfCrIWzCDEPHK7kb15V45_nKaP58i39CljNBUMpiSB8uQ9jSZMAqPzefZAovCs16l9-IlQ/s320/DSC08853.JPG" /><br />After the party, the kids trick-or-treated at a few houses in our old 'hood, including our former neighbors on both sides.<br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537028407285575938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizd5Hr2i3DasyqRXxAJCzoWMrH-ykUX_AfRKwW2vd5jztGTCvIKQZjLO38HjTzYFv6-zP1UvwEnfjs4TdjXDEsjUTQLiJCyULFd4Mh0bAdNsAf-CnzA2o-YIHisJpaJaBkX9D4tw/s320/DSC08930.JPG" /><br />We headed home, about 6:30, and took all three crayons to trick-or-treat at our next door neighbor's house. After that, it was off to bed for Luci and Nicholas.<br /></div><div>The weather turned awful (rain, sleet, and even some wet snow) once the twins were in bed, and Isabella said she only wanted to trick-or-treat at five houses, which is exactly what we did while the hubs stayed home with the sleeping little ones. Then, she was more than content to escape the rain and call it a night.<br /></div></div><div>I was dreading the influx of candy into the house. In past years, Isabella had shown barely a fleeting interest in her candy. Last year, we went to a few houses, but she was more interested in handing out candy than trick-or-treating, and she never asked for any of it once Halloween was over. This year, though, at age 4, I figured she'd be a lot more clued in to her candy, and that the "out of sight, out of mind" tactic I've used for the past three years would not work.<br /></div><div>I was thrilled when my friend wrote about ways to deal with the <a href="http://spoonfedblog.net/2010/10/20/candy-insanity-halloween-here-we-come/">influx of sugar </a>on <a href="http://spoonfedblog.net/">Spoonfed</a>, an awesome blog that offers great suggestions of ways to help kids make healthy food choices. Her post had some great ideas on ways to ditch the candy, although it turns out I didn't need them.<br /></div><div>Our next door neighbor gave the kids a plate of mini cupcakes on Halloween night. That is the only treat she's asked for in the past week. She's eaten two of the cupcakes, and has entirely forgotten about her candy.<br /></div><div>I hope your Halloween was a good one!</div><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537027794423556034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJFTLHJySMCgmQP7UfRLc-PfW6sj5gJ8Tk6HMssvdKXVJT-BHTqgebq77_4u0IEdZE0PrtjYkn5KZOwozmk2AQf-AfsjnTfETLokt4_eE694j5No1DwwH0EJYuNMDZO_I0wnYGtQ/s320/3-1.jpg" /></div><div>Oh, and if you haven't yet seen <a href="http://nerdyapplebottom.com/2010/11/02/my-son-is-gay/">this post </a>floating around, it is worth a read. The blogger writes about her five-year-old boy's unconventional (and female) choice of Halloween costume, and how she dealt with the backlash he received at school. This mom is incredible.</div></div></div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14281165.post-80034959050813450222010-11-05T14:34:00.001-04:002010-11-05T14:58:05.890-04:00Isabella at 4 Years, 2 MonthsIsabella has had a great month.<br /><br />On Halloween, she ran her first kids' race (after I ran a 5K, my first post-injury race). She loves to run with me, asking me to do sprints in the backyard, and begging to run to the end of our street with me every time I return from a run. So when I heard about the free kids' race in one of our local parks, I asked her if she was interested, and she readily agreed.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535883691331505986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEHT3Be0jAzc4f63F_gPmheEH5rQfMBtQjRVHNyLathHIaimjcZ85sW6gqBAj5zTA6uruGI9wq8p6iPpGO-3Lle6h5EAhfHvonZObDzWNf64DfN62tClcglZo_9Qh2UaZDXPjjWw/s320/DSC08629.JPG" /><br />She ran a quarter-mile loop, half of it with me, and half with the hubs, who chased us down because I had the camera in my pocket and we wanted pictures of her running.<br /><br />She received a participant ribbon after running through the same finish line arch I did an hour previous, and she was so proud of herself.<br /><br />But nowhere near as proud of her as I was. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535884518710671634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1I6t2iz5caxcL294vMvttJoH_REfL-ofVwsHP0Fk5EFZ8mPCymuRB4tB8JBD_PkWf1CJ4q3usyEtxxQ1VKw9fXTpyMTegC1oigL2zisZ3E_483QJOtjDTPByI-WAQ3LW9eoI6pw/s320/DSC08642.JPG" /><br /><br />Oh, and guess who loves tennis again?<br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535852350719767890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDWrinI7ouf94qRcroAoRkLyJM_6qx9ojHPTitoZumgmTybkJUbdjY9z_Za_MvoU05Sss6pJb4VDH2jZobkf1pMI4r_bxPvRJ_QAdGhB_cjU1r7cheoWSefSm4pAMi2lVh-qFuw/s320/DSC07887.JPG" /> After the debacle of her tennis-lesson-day meltdowns twice last month, something clicked in her little mind, and now? She can't wait for her lessons. Her coach spent some time with her, encouraging and supporting her, and I think the extra attention really helped. Her last lesson of the 7-week session is Saturday, and last week she received her "report card."</p><p>Apparently, she can do a short rally with another player! She shows a good "ready" position! She has good coordination!</p><p>And after asking her if she would like to continue tennis, she gave me an enthusiastic "yes!", so I signed her up for the next 11-week session. Look out, Venus and Serena.</p><p>After watching her interact with Luci and Nicholas on a daily basis and with the younger siblings of her friends, it's readily apparent that Isabella loves playing the caretaker. She has an amazing degree of patience with L and N's antics, their constant scrounging into her stuff, and their demands for my attention.</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533170696990186866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavEKgW2sOrymTQ2OnPbZzXn_aJg7rQM-VgrRpgVblphmaB4rLcOiWFcrY0tzXUX5mVfqmKx-yLodNtDQ-MtAYoSqqjyU-ECuesivHNxvRXPTcv9IbcmiBWDRMgScjIgNS4UHebw/s320/DSC07929.JPG" />She is 4, and of course, no perfect angel. She has some big-time emotional outbursts, especially when she has an idea of the way things should go, and I don't carry out her wishes as directed. She likes routine, order, and repetition, and if things deviate from this, she is not happy.</p><p>And her bond with her best stuffed animal Charlie continues to deepen. I swore he would not leave the house ever again after this spring's <a href="http://interruptedwanderlust.blogspot.com/2010/05/bear-gone-missing.html">Land of the Lost Lovey </a>episode, but a few weeks ago she asked to take him in the car with her to preschool, and I caved. And now, she almost never takes a car trip without him. </p><p>Guess who has not ordered Replacement Charlie, despite <a href="http://4evermom.blogspot.com/">Stacey </a>sending me the link to his look-a-like several months ago?</p><p>Must.Get.On.That.</p><p>Isabella has memorized every single line in Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and recites it to L and N before bed every night. She also "reads" them other stories too.</p><p>It's been a fun month, and we've been able to get out sans twins and do a few seasonal activities.</p><p>We went to our town's Halloween festivities at the library and town hall. The events included a kids' parade of costumes, and meetings with favorite book characters.</p><p>As you can see, Isabella went as a red crayon this year, an homage to her love of drawing and the color red. I'll have my Halloween recap post up sometime before Valentine's Day, I promise.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533170687511291298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGCNAM_2Bm2xSJh1epCH1INmdbDgfbFBXM_uEApOBk8ev2nRKNV44ztS4EyCkTyYY461928aFUQRXbwdNodVv60AnmogIovH70WOt5mGAOKDxcF9cDTC81K4pynKZ602col-dhw/s320/IMG_0778.jpg" /> We've also gone to our town's farmers' market just about every Sunday morning since it opened in the spring. Isabella loved painting a pumpkin on the market's <a href="http://www.350.org/">350 Day</a>.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533170682176490018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5YsbVgrPwy61NAwElHkc3ObNYULHYoRolaLmQ9rYHWqiHc4r7_kgeIA1IBPCTRs40YDRoOo2FsWYyytmIekyDpIPreGmxrjOWOwPqWNJU4CAvGmCm7z3B1aeT3gk9s7sJsw8vRw/s320/DSC08082.JPG" /><br /><p>She is heavily (and I mean, heavily) into art projects and anything with coloring, glue, tape, and scissors. It's awesome to see her work evolve as she gets older. She can draw actual objects and people now, and they look like what they're meant to represent. Every day, several times a day, she's drawing, cutting paper, gluing bits of paper to other pieces of paper, etc. </p><p>We have her art work taped up all over the house. </p><p><strong>Current Likes:</strong> Dance "shows" in the living room to the world's most annoying Dora CD, helping me clean, naming all her stuffed animals except for Charlie "Ava."</p><p><strong>Current Dislikes:</strong> Touching metal (zippers, raincoat buttons, car keys), sleeping past 7am</p>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03792735154830422231noreply@blogger.com3