Face Painting

Priscilla loves face paint, and had received some for Christmas. Yesterday, in honor of one of the few "dog days of summer" we've had this year, she painted her face like a dog (using brown clothes to dress the part), and James was absolutely fascinated. He ran into the other room and returned with a pink crayon. "Mommy! Write dog James too!"

So Priscilla got her kit and asked him to stay still (a Herculean task for this 2-year-old!), and soon they were both sporting a canine countenance.

Wow. I never realized how long a tongue that boy has.

A New Franchise

My littles have been most mischievous and cute.

On the first front, they were both engrossed in books yesterday afternoon, so I took a few moments to check e-mail. I looked back often to make sure they were still there and busy, and after a bit they appeared so peaceful, sharing and reading one book together, that I just had to take a look at which one it was. When I crossed the room, however, I discovered that they had been joyfully and cooperatively adhering about $5 worth of postage to the rug and the cover of (yes) just the one book.

What's more, I figured out that this must have been a two-step escapade, because the postage was from a roll of stamps inside a little plastic mail truck that ordinarily sits right next to the computer I'd just been using. The most likely explanation is that James discovered the truck sometime earlier, believed it to be a desirable toy, swiped it, and stored it near the books for later use . . . only to find out with Genevieve that it also housed all kinds of nice stickers!

On the second front . . . well, for those of you who have never (or rarely) met James, I need to explain his obsession with "coffee" (which was definitely among his first 5 words). From the first time he could wrangle a cup, he has been an inveterate hot beverage thief. This has not been helped by a certain soft-hearted nursery worker at church who has given in many times to his cute appeals to her for sips . . . or by our own weakness in this area! (And have you seen the tiny cute Starbucks kids' cups? Awww! I admit that I even get him his own drinks sometimes.) Plus, James figured out long ago that, after I drop Glenn off at church for worship team practice, I usually go order beverages (coffee for me, hot chocolate for Glenn; iced equivalents in summer) from a drive-through Dunkin' Donuts. As soon as I start rounding the corner of the church, he announces in a sing-song voice: "Coffee soon!" He has learned brand recognition for both Dunkin' and Starbucks, and sometimes gets upset when we pass one of either coffee source without stopping and purchasing one. (Hey, I guess I have to admit I'm kind of sad about such pass-bys myself!)

So it was only logical that, when Genevieve was inside the playhouse yesterday, and James saw her through the open window of it, that he began his order as he passed by on his trike: "Coffee . . . choc-it . . . cup!" Of course I had no camera at the right time, but I got them an appropriate cup to use for this roleplay and hoped they would continue so I could repose them. No such luck. Here's the best I can do. At least you can see why he'd see the connection!

Animal Tales

Well, we had a cat for nearly a week. Lucy (previously known as "Bunky"; we renamed her) was a sweet Maine coon cat who loved laps, licking people who pet her, and finding soft places to hang out. She was so agreeable that she even sat on James's lap while he watched Sesame Street, and he was surprisingly gentle with his petting! Genevieve quickly learned the word "cat" and every time she saw a cat in a book, she would look around expectantly so she could point to the real thing. She still points vaguely around her when she sees a cat picture, like "There's one of these around here someplace!"

The only negative the shelter had told us about Lucy was that, in her previous home, she disliked using litter boxes frequented by other cats. "She would go outside the box if she had to use one with another cat's scent. She's fussy that way. But you should be fine if you have no other cats." We had no others. So we thought we were set.

Unfortunately, we started to observe a mismatch between how much liquid was being taken in by Lucy and how much we were removing from the box. Turns out she had been using those soft surfaces she liked so much (particularly two couches) as latrines. Eww.

Perhaps if I didn't have two toddlers running to cause chaos in opposite directions, I might have persisted a bit in trying to keep Lucy. But back she went . . . at which point the folks at the shelter revealed that couches were the "outside the box" locales where she would relieve herself at her previous home! I really would have preferred to know that earlier (we pictured *right* outside the box, as a previous cat of ours had done once or twice). I'm still trying to salvage one of our couches.

During this whole incident, my two oldest children have been having the time of their lives visiting their aunt and uncle in New Jersey (they're never going to want to come home!). So we have appeared to be your stereotypical 4-member family again, and our littles have definitely been the focus. The county fair is going on this week, and both toddlers love animals, so we got together with my husband's parents and went there. (Unfortunately we forgot our camera, so no images to follow!)

I thought, considering her reaction to the cat, that Genevieve would be the most excited about the experience. But it was James who was beside himself at the fair. He just couldn't believe that all these animals were *right there*! In front of him! And he could go find the next one himself! (We let him walk in each building, and he was actually willing to climb back into the stroller in order to go to the next place.) "Sheep! More sheep? Two sheep!" he would exclaim. ("Two" currently means multiples of any number.)

But the small poultry barn was, surprisingly, his favorite. The interior's perimeter was lined with cages. James ran around pointing at each cage in turn as quickly as he possibly could, telling everyone "Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!" as he pointed.

There was a large incubator in the center that contained what looked like over a hundred baby chicks, and inexplicably the fellow who had brought these little ones decided that my hyper boy was a good candidate to hold one. "Uh, I really don't think you want to entrust a chick to this guy," I tried to warn him. "I think he might squeeze it."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he'll be just fine! Most little fellows just need to get used to the tickly feeling of the chick's feet, and then they hold them real gentle." He brought the poor unsuspecting victim chick closer. "Hold out your hand."

I shook my head, but put my palm out and put James's hand, palm up, on top. "See this chick?" said the man. "You can touch it!" James gently touched the chick's back with his other hand. "Now this chick, he has fingers, like you, and they're going to tickle your hand." The man put the chick on James's outstretched hand, which immediately curled up with wiggly fingers.

"Tickle, tickle!" said James. I think he thought he was supposed to tickle the chick back.

"Oh, dear," said the man, but my hand was underneath and caught the chick. ("My first time holding a baby chick!" was my bizarre thought, considering the circumstances.) And off James ran to see his grandpa, leaving me to return the (probably confused) chick to its owner.

Happy Birthday, Genevieve!

It's the night before Genevieve's first birthday. She is such a lovable little girl, ready to smile and laugh at anything: a song from Priscilla (you should see Vivi's little "dance"!), a cuddle from Thomas, a tackle from James . . . all meet with her delight.

She has just learned to pull up to stand; her second locomotor preference is to "squiggle" in a sitting position, gradually working her way over to where she wants to go. If need be, she will reluctantly crawl, but usually complains about it as she goes.

She fits in well with the rest of us in her obsession with books. She likes to sit in one place and grab books from a basket or shelf, gradually arranging them in a circle around herself as she "reads" each one and fills a blank space with it. If we need to grab her up quickly to go somewhere, we find a mysterious "book circle" in her wake (often with a wet spot where she last read - the girl is still such a drooler!).

Genevieve gets into her fair share of trouble, now that she is mobile: however slow that mobility, if I am busy long enough with James's antics or other activity, I might return to find a shelf cleared of games or books, a roll of toilet paper unfurled, or a cereal box relieved of its contents.

It's been a delightful year, little one. We love you so much! Happy first birthday.

I Am Barbie, or A Lifelong Dream Fulfilled

When James sees a mother in a picture book, he says it's a "mom."

However, when he sees a photograph of me specifically, he says it's "Mommy."

Well, he discovered this bottle of bubble bath, and declared it to be "Mommy." He plunged it into his bath water, laughed uproariously, and said, "Mommy bath!!"

Hey, when I first looked in the mirror after getting my hair colored blonde, I felt like I looked like Barbie, though I knew it was really delusion. But now it's been officially validated by my toddler.

I love that boy.

Nothin' but "awwwww"

James loves these snacks. "Nack, peez," he asked sweetly. I started to open the package and give him some. "No. Nack, peez," he said patiently, holding out his hand for the container. The package was almost empty, so I handed it over. He ran to the piano, of all places, and climbed up. He put the package up near the music rack, and turned to the spot next to him on the bench. "Baby seat," he said. "Is that a seat for the baby? Well, okay," I said, and seated Genevieve beside him. (She, too, loves to play the piano.)


James rummaged around in the package and took out some pieces. "Baby nack," he informed me.





Then he put the pieces in between the piano keys, near Baby Genevieve's spot. He didn't eat any of these. "Baby. Nack," he told her.

She willingly indulged.

Only then did he reach in and grab his own handful.

Yeah. Mommy's heart melted.


He even repeated the whole process so I was able to record it in pictures.

It's a Wonderful Life

Christmas makes me all manner of sentimental. At some point each year before December 25, it all "clicks," and the snow or the carol or the tradition I'm experiencing brings such joy and gratitude that I get all giddy. Or reflective. I'm the latter at the moment.

There are moments from 2008 that I don't want to forget, moments with each child that have made all the wild busyness of being a mom worthwhile.

Genevieve: Watching my beautiful baby girl fall asleep, eyes flying open at intervals to see if I'm still looking down at her . . . then smiling slightly and letting her eyes close again. My husband (the softy!) welcoming her to join us when she's awake at odd hours: "Let's just enjoy her!" he urges. Seeing her joy and interest in watching everything and everyone around her.

James: My little boy backing up to a lap (love that toddler move!!) with a book in his hands: "Bookie!" Or pointing out our pictures in the homemade flap-book my daughter made for him: "Me-mom. Papa. Ta-tee [Thomas]. La [Priscilla]. Bum-ma [Grandma]." His bright smile when he sees me in the morning . . . or right before he charges off from one activity to pursue the next one that occurs to him. His attempts to comfort his sisters when they are upset by touching a hand, kissing them, or bringing them an object he himself enjoys.

Priscilla: Seeing my daughter's joy at a perfect day with her best friend, brimming with news of all that happened, bearing a blanket she made there for her baby sister. Reading a going-beyond essay she's written. Hearing her volunteer as soon as the first leaves start falling so she can find her (to me) unthinkable satisfaction in clearing every last leaf from the grass. Being surprised at bits of knowledge or vocabulary she displays that show she has so much more depth and maturity in some area than I'd realized.

Thomas: Watching my husband truly enjoy his time with our son, whether it's cleaning out gutters together on ladders (with me inside trying not to get freaked out as a mom over the height), crafting the ultimate anime costume together, or viewing shows Glenn's waited years to show him. Seeing Thomas's maturity deepen, his vocabulary all his own but with flecks of influence from his friends, his reading, his lines of opinion on various topics.

And those are just a few. It's these quiet things that get lost in the craziness.

Sure, there are the obvious blogging moments to which I've tended to succumb. My children now clamor "you have to blog this!" when such events occur (most recently when James's "help" in setting the table resulted in interesting arrangements of dishes and butter on objects and in his hair).

But failed toddler-chasing moments and desperate parenting prayers aside, I love this stuff. My blog may not get updated when I want it to (like this Christmas post happening weeks later!). Despite my stated intent in my profile at right, I may wonder aloud a million times why I can't possibly find enough down time to do more than the basics, when "everyone else seems to be able to" (my favorite whine). I may feel every day like I've failed miserably in some category (disciple, wife, mom, homeschooler, homemaker, cook, daughter, friend . . . why can't I manage it all?). But I think (and hope!) that I'll be able to look back on this time and gloss it over nicely as OK after all, because of the precious gifts of these moments that have little or nothing to do with my competence or efforts. You might think it's grace or something.