Solo Parenting-A Progression



Rick has been on a six day work trip to Hong Kong. It's been exciting to see his pictures of what essentially looks like a different world.



Busy all the time.

Who doesn't enjoy eating spicy corn out of a bag?

Or squid?

Your guess is as good as mine.

While he's off having his big adventure, things are pretty much the same around here, though it has been funny to watch the level of enthusiasm I have for solo-parenting wane as the days progress. It's gone a little something like this:

Day 1: Prep breakfast smoothies, lunches, and set coffee timer after kids go to bed. Set alarm for early morning workout. 

Day 2: Worked out and showered/ready before the kids wake up at 6:00 am. Breakfast consumed, clothes on and everyone to school by 7:15 so I can get on the road for an out of town meeting. I am killing this. Dinner at a friend's house.

Day 3: Slightly less gung-ho. But still, smoothies are made, I am up and worked out before kids are awake, but had to shower while they ate breakfast. I heard screaming while I was in there, but whatever it was had been resolved when I got out. Got to school a little later than yesterday, but no big deal. Oh, what's that? Annie's sick and I need to come get her? Ok, I got this. Given the symptoms, I suspect she has strep and make an appointment immediately at the doc. Turns out I was right, and we get meds and hang out all day. By the end of the day, she seems to already be feeling better. Aunt Chaney to the rescue to take John to swimming lessons. Dinner at McDonald's because I just realized we have no food at the house other than smoothies and coffee.

Day 4: I got up about 35 seconds before the kids got out of bed. Smoothies were still made ahead of time and coffee was ready to go. Annie is home again all day, but seems to be 100% better, which dashes any hopes I had of getting much work done. I spend all day fetching snacks. Can't remember if I showered yesterday. Make more coffee. Dinner at Steak and Shake and bribe the kids with vending machine toys to get them to stop running around the joint. Consider we might be the first sober people to be kicked out of a fast food restaurant. Not sure I care.

Day 5: The children wake me up at 6:15. Have to deliver easter eggs to the neighbor's for the hunt tomorrow morning, and I don't have it in me to come  up with an elaborate lie about what's in the bag, so I just blurt out, "parents hide the eggs for this hunt, the easter bunny has way too much to do the day before easter. Get in the car. No, you can't see the eggs. They have candy inside them. No, you can't see what kind of candy." We barely make it to school before the final bell.

Tomorrow we have the egg hunt, a birthday party, egg dying, play dates and then Rick will be home tomorrow night and all will be right with the world. I am thankful he gets to have this adventure, but oh so thankful he is coming home so he can share this excitement with us. Plus, it's his turn to make the smoothies and coffee.

Muffinator is Four!

Ugh.

This one stings. Today is John's fourth birthday. Or, Burr-day, as he pronounces it. Gone are the days of binkies and crawling and monitoring every step for a precarious toddle down the stairs. While my heart still lurches a bit looking at photos of my Sweet Baby John, as someone who is not a fan of the constant anxiety of the baby phase, I feel like we can finally take a breath.

When John was born and Annie was 2.5, I remember saying to Rick, "we just have to make it until he's two." For reference, when Annie was two she was a big talker, almost potty trained, and a pretty chill kid. This was perhaps my first lesson in the differences in gender and possibly birth order.

John hardly talked until he was 2.5 (I blame his love for his binkie), he didn't potty train until he was 3.5, he is fearless and has my coordination, which is a VERY dangerous combo. So needless to say, the cruise control I imagined hitting when John turned two never happened. But, I feel like we are there now.

John loves all things boy. He loves super heroes, space ships, Star Wars, Paw Patrol, Ninja Turtles, Transformers, Power Rangers, you get the picture. Anything that fights, shoots, bangs or speeds is his jam. While it makes shopping for gifts for him easy, it does make keeping a tidy house an issue, but as a wise person once told me, "you can have kids or you can have a clean house-not both."

John is hilarious and smart and has a memory like a trap and he's already learning letters. He can write his name and surprised us the other day when he wrote Annie's name on a box. He seems to prefer his left hand for writing, but can switch back and forth, which is pretty cool.

He is a picky eater, but is getting better. His favorite things are fish sticks, bananas, milk, and smoothies. He's not a fan of ice cream (despite what he might tell you, because he *really* wants to like ice cream) and is just coming around to pizza. He will eat peas, but that's about it. He gags when he talks about carrots, though he's never tried one to my knowledge.

He knows how to play us like a fiddle. And when I say "us", I mean anyone that comes into contact with him. His pre-school teacher told me the other day that she's working on getting him to use his words and not cry to get his way because, "that lip comes out and he gives me the eyes and I will do whatever he wants." You and everyone else, Ms. Juanita. 

And who can blame us, could you say no to this face?

Annie can't, I can tell you that much. She's the most smitten of all of us, though I believe she's starting to grow weary. The other day, after handing over something to John after he gave her the lip and the eyes, she said, "you know John, we shouldn't give you everything you want when you act like that." True, true, baby girl. We will work on it.

Happiest of birthdays to my sweet little man. Twenty years from now I want to remember how you still hold my hand when we walk together, how you say "sanks" instead of "thanks", how when you are having a great time you say, "I love this day", how much you love your 'homie', Rick, how you want to sleep in your sister's room because you don't like being alone when you wake up, your love of all things muffin/cinnamon roll, how you love to dance but don't want to take a class because "I already know how to dance, Mom!", and how you have stolen the hearts of so many. While you are now a big boy, you will always be my Sweet Baby John. We are so lucky to have you complete our family.

We love you more than we could ever say,

Mom



Life is like a pile of Mimis



A quick history in Erwin Lexicon before I start this post:

Annie had a lovey that was a bunny. She had a friend that had the same lovey, but it was a lamb and the friend called it "lamby". So Annie called her similar lovey "whammy" (how a baby pronounces Lamby). Annie called her binkies "Mimis".

Then, comes along and he calls his binkies "see-sees" and calls his lovey his "mimi".

Is anyone still reading this?

Yes? ok, I will proceed with the point.



These are John's Mimis. We had roughly 12 of them at one point. To all new parents out there, my #1 piece of advice is if your child is even remotely attached to something, buy 175 of them and have them in a constant rotation from the get-go.

Here is a solo Mimi, just so you can see the adorable cow face.

Annie and John both loved their sweet whammy/mimis hard. Annie carried hers wherever she went for a solid 4 years until she started school. Up until that point, I had visions of her sewing her whammy into the lining of her coats as she grew up, just to have it close by. But then, she started to drift from the whammy and the next thing I knew, they were all tucked away in a bin in her closet, only to be accessed by a complete psychopath to smell them every now and then.

Side Note: Motherhood makes you totally crazy.

With John, he had so many that my strategy of having multiples sort of backfired and he was a mimi junkie. One was never enough. He had to sleep with 2-3 at a time, which is why he ended up with so many. Not to mention the geniuses over at Angel Dear (the manufacturers of these little gems) came up with this brilliant marketing tool where they sell them in packs of three (a pair and a spare). So our mimi habit was basically enabled by these people selling 3-packs of baby crack.

But somewhere along the line, since we have been in the new house, I have noticed the requests for Mimis have diminished. He wants his Red Power Ranger or his Avengers blanket at night. I hadn't really thought much about it until I walked by the pile of mimis pictured above. They had been washed and then....not asked for again.

My heart kind of sunk. I figured that was it for the mimis. It had been at least two weeks without them at bedtime and I think that's the official timespan one needs to break a serious habit. Or something official sounding like that. I kind of mulled around them yesterday, smelled them (so freaking crazy) and then got distracted before I had the chance to tuck them away with Annie's whammys.

But then...last night, right before bed, like a true "One week before Thanksgiving Miracle", John saw the pile of loveys and proclaimed, "Wook! It's all my Mimis!!!!" And I calmly responded, "I wasn't sure you still wanted them any more." He replied, "No Mom, I still wuv dem!"

Oh thank God. (I actually said that out loud)

So the pile of Mimis was carted up to John's bed, where they will snuggle until he is distracted again. Hopefully it's not any time soon.

Until then, I will be researching how to sew a lovey into the lining of my jackets, because while the kids may be able to let them go, I am not sure I can.



Where are they now....

Good gravy....where to start? It's been over a year since I have posted on here. A recent reading of a journal my Mom kept when Parker and Chloe were young reminded me how valuable these memories are, so I am going to try to do better. Even if it is just posting some pics and funny stories here and there (let's be honest, that's all I was really doing before).

Here are the highlights:

We now have a dog, Abby. She's a Great Pyrenees and is wonderful with the kids. Her favorite things include barking, shedding, eating everything off the counters and in any cabinet we happen to leave open (horrible, horrible things happen when a dog eats a tube of zinc oxide, in the event you were wondering). When she's not barking, she's sleeping. But we love her and the kids are no longer afraid of dogs, so mission accomplished. Plus, it's really nice to have a dog in the house again.

John is a almost FOUR. He's such a little buster now and thinks he is "all grown up". He loves all things boy: Power Rangers, super heroes, Paw Patrol, Ninja Turtles, etc. He plays rough and loves hard. He will still give me kisses and gentle pats on the cheek and loves his Dad (his homie) fiercely. He has the most wonderful head of dark brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes like Rick. He still has chubby baby hands (don't tell him I said that) and I hope those stay around a bit longer. He can't pronounce the "L" sound well, which melts my heart. I never tire of hearing, "I wuv you." 

Believe it or not, this is Annie who dressed as the Evil Queen for Halloween. She's in first grade now and is the standard six going on 16, but she still wants the closet light on when she sleeps and lets me lay down with her at bedtime, so we aren't too big just yet. She started Webster Waves swim team this summer and seems to love it. We have continued swimming lessons over the fall/winter and she gets better each session. She has made some great friends at school and we love watching her learn. She's still as funny as ever and clearly has a flair for the dramatic. She's actually attending a play on a school field trip tomorrow so I fully expect her to beg to be in one after seeing the performance. She has lost her two front bottom teeth and expect a few more are coming out here soon.

We also moved into a new house in December 2016. We had officially outgrown the 2 bedroom, 1 bath Dawson Court house. I knew it was time to leave when I found myself not wanting to potty train John because I didn't want another person using the bathroom. We sold the home we brought both our babies home to in about 14 minutes and found the new house just under the wire. It was a whirlwind holiday season last year and I just now feel like we are catching our breath.

So that's it in a nutshell: new home, new dog, 1st grade, preschool, two lost teeth, and everyone is doing well. More to come (hopefully).

10 Years

Today is our 10th Anniversary. We got married on a beach in Alabama and the skies parted after a stormy/dreary morning, just in time for a spectacular evening, perfect for a beach wedding. I walked down the winding beach boardwalk to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (Izrael Kamakawiwo'ole's version). I remember little of the ceremony because I think I was trying so hard not to cry. But I have a vivid memory of turning as they announced us husband and wife, and all the ooohs and ahhhss from the crowd. I thought they were oohing for us, but as it turns out, there was an actual rainbow behind us (actually a phenomenon known as a "Sundog", but who's counting?).

I really feel like that moment set the tone for our lives together. There's always a little extra hint of fun/excitement/unexpected when we are together. I knew from the second I received that random email from you almost 13 years ago that you were different and that it was the kind of different I needed. Thank you for being the most wonderful father and friend. I can't imagine my life without you. I love you more than I can say. I can't wait for more adventures with you and our beautiful, crazy, wonderful kids.

All my love,

K

First days

I thought it would be wise to get these pictures up before they have been in school for a month.

Annie has officially started kindergarten. She's thrilled with the prospect of learning to read and do math, but for now, her favorite classes are art and recess (and sometimes music, depending on the day). Considering the fact she now does jumping jacks and burpees before dinner, I would say gym class is influencing her as well. 

These are our "be cool-try not to freak out" faces

Apparently the "cheese face" is genetic.

Annie was the best big sister walking John into his new preschool.

Time progression of the backpack. On the left was her first day at preschool when she was 3. The right is on her way to kindergarten.

John was nervous until he realized he got a second breakfast and it was breakfast PIZZA (which I am not sure how that is different from regular pizza, but I don't ask questions).

We are settling into the new routine nicely. The kids go back and forth between waking up at 5:30 in the morning, or us having to wake them up at 7. I will try to be better about posting as we embark on this new adventure (and since I have been recently told people actually still read this thing...Hi Gaddy!).

The Muffin-2.5 years

Hooo, buddy. You are 2.5 years old now. You are in size 4-5T clothing and are full of energy. We recently weaned you off your binkie (you called it your see-see) and you have been non-stop talking ever since. Though the talking has mainly been about superheroes and play fighting. There are some days I yearn for my snuggly binkie baby who doesn't attack me with swords and sticks.

You are tons of fun to be around and, like your sister, are genuinely funny. You two love each other hard and I hope you will always look out for each other as you do now.

You have more hair than any human I have ever seen. I originally thought you just had a big head, but after reassessing, I think you have a slightly above-average sized head with an impossible amount of hair.

You love tools and to help. Every time you see me or your Dad walking somewhere, you say "Help you?" and are always willing to carry something or operate hand tools in a questionable manner.

You are over your fears of rides and loud noises. Now you seem to prefer loud noises and are often the source of them. You rode rides probably not appropriate for a 2.5 year old, but thanks to your size, you got past the carnies and seemed to enjoy yourself.

You are a picky eater. Somehow even pickier than your sister. We call you "the muffin" or "muffinator" because muffins are your food of choice, though really any carb/bread will do. There is no doubt you are my child.

To me, you are the cutest boy human alive.

Twenty years from now I want to remember how you say "of course" any time someone asks you a yes/no question ("John, can you come here?" Of course!), how you say "oh Right!" any time someone tells you something you feel might be even somewhat obvious, how you LOVE ninja turtles and superheroes even though you have only seen brief snippets on TV, how you wake up and immediately demand breakfast (preferably in muffin form), and how much you love your Dad, but how you are warming up to me every day. I love your sweet face and your "hulk hugs" and am so thankful every day I get to be your mom.

I love you, sweet boy,

Mom 

Busted

She fell out of bed on Saturday night. It was about 11pm and I had just dozed off after downing some Benadryl to help with a nasty bug bite on my leg. I didn't think it was anything major until I saw her blood soaked pillowcase. Stifled screams to Rick to wake up and meet me in the bathroom to assess the damage. There was no discussion, this would require stitches, it was just a matter of where.

Options are limited at 11 on a Saturday night and nothing will rouse you from a Benadryl haze like a blood-soaked 5 year old. So off to the hospital Annie and I raced while John slept through the whole thing and Rick was left behind for CSI cleanup efforts (apparently "how to get blood stains out" was googled before we were even out of the driveway).

We arrived at the hospital and Annie knew stitches were likely on the agenda and was inconsolable, verging on going into shock. Strong drugs were administered to ease the pain, but probably more so to ease her heart, which was really scared. Once those kicked in, she was totally fine. Stitches are a breeze when you can't feel your face. A week without swimming in the hot St. Louis summer is a worse fate than the stitches themselves. But we will make it through.

And now I can cross "stitches" off my list of mandatory parenting experiences. While I knew it would like happen eventually, I really can't believe it was Annie and not John.  

Five

Dear Annie,

You turned five a week ago today (when I first started this post, now it's over a month). It still seems odd to me because I can feel the weight of your baby body in my arms and occasionally get a hint of your baby morning breath as I carry you down the stairs in the morning. But, you are moving further and further away from being my baby. You no longer have baby fat, your legs have muscles and your arms are strong. But you still have a slight lisp with your "s" and "th" sounds, and for this I am eternally thankful, because it makes you still seem just a little bit little.

You are bright and happy and so, so, so incredibly sweet. You are aware of everything and everyone around you. If there is a child that is unattended, you immediately start looking for their mommy. If someone is crying, you try your best to take care of them and right any perceived wrong. You are funny and generous and wise and generally all the things I have always prayed you would be.

You are what teachers would call "active". No sitting still for long periods of time. I still haven't mastered sit down dinners with you, but we do our best. Mostly, you spend dinner tending to John's random needs, which is also very sweet. You are a wonderful big sister. You love to hold your brother's hand and were delighted the first time he said "I yuh you, Ahnnnie" (I love you, Annie). You cry when he is punished in any way (mostly when we have to take away his beloved Ninja Turtles toothbrush/sword) and always do your best to keep him out of trouble. You have even veered off from your interest in princesses to take part in his superhero play from time to time.

You are a true people person. Even strangers will remark on how happy and friendly you are and in an odd development, they will occasionally give you things for free. It has become not unusual for you to get a free dessert at a restaurant or, as was in the case in Miami, for the bartender (yes, we were sitting at a bar, don't judge, but it was a daiquiri bar, so it hardly counts) to hand you an entire bowl of strawberries when he noticed you were eating everyone else's.

You are John still share a room and your beds are about 18 inches apart. And while you talk of wanting your own room, I know you love being close to him. Every night we play "Princesses and Superheroes" where someone has a princess or superhero in their head and the others try to guess which one. You still love to have your back tickled and are an aggressive snuggler. You are afraid there's a monster in your closet and don't like us to close the door to your room when you sleep, but often blame it on John needing the extra light.

Twenty years from now I want to remember how you say "Is I'm" instead of "Am I", how you optimistically ask for candy every morning, how you love to draw and play with play-doh, how there's no hiding anything from you any more and you want us to "tell me the truth, really", how you always refer to God with female pronouns, how you just now started playing with your Barbies and love throwing parties for them and getting your new Barbie house just right, only for John to wreck it. And though I get frustrated when you say you need me for things that I know in my heart you can really do on your own, I need to remember that there will come a time when you don't call out for me any more. Regardless of if it is today or thirty years from now, I will all ways come when you need me.


I love you, sweet girl,
Mom

No Laughing Matter

We participated in an Easter Egg Hunt this past Saturday to try to prep the kids for the real deal. Annie, the Official Pre-K ambassador of Webster Groves, was flitting about most of the time, chatting with her friends she's made from her various preschools. John stayed close and was more interested in his Ninja Turtles basket than the eggs. I got to go on his hunt with him and found myself getting a little too into the competitive nature of the 0-2 year old group. I only knocked one child down (questionable if she should be in there to begin with, since she could hardly walk...rookies) and I think John enjoyed it when I threw him over my shoulder and headed for the area of heaviest egg concentrations.

It's fine.



This is the only photo I have of Annie. She was being coached by Rick, who also told her to run for the area of highest egg concentrations.

So proud of his haul. I can't get over this face.

It appears the egg hunt sponsor (who shall remain nameless) is either backed by dentists, or has no regard for children's teeth, thought it was good to fill every.single.egg with either Laffy Taffy, Now-or-laters, or that ancient bubble gum that rips your mouth apart. Arguably all the most difficult candies to chew, other than perhaps Sugar Daddies. They probably ruled those out because they wouldn't fit in an egg.

Where was I? Oh yes. The candy. Once the kids realized they couldn't really digest the candy, we started reading the jokes on the Laffy Taffy wrappers. It was all in good fun until Annie dropped this truth bomb on us:

R: Why did the skeleton go to the movie by himself?

Annie: Because he's lonely.

Wide eyed, blank stares exchanged between myself and Rick

(real answer: Because he had NO BODY to go with him...get it??)

So we rode home in silence after that, grieving for the lonely skeleton and unchewable candy. Other than that, it was a great time.





The Neglect of John

Oh baby John. You poor thing. Pretty much every thing your sister did was documented on this blog. I think I even documented the very first real tear she shed. Then you came along, and she got older, and well...blah. I am sorry. And the events described in this post happened almost five weeks ago. I know.

Horrible.

And I swear your lack of a real first hair cut wasn't because we were not tending to your basic hygiene needs, you just have such awesome hair and I never wanted to cut it. And I was also worried that no matter where we went, they would judge me for wanting to keep your hair long, so I trimmed it myself and we made our way through the days.

But when I noticed you started to cock your head back to see past/under your long bangs, I realized we should probably bring in a professional, lest your sweet baby spine develop a reverse hunch and we spend countless hours trying to reverse damage that could have been avoided by a single haircut.

To quell my fears regarding the judgment of your long hair, I choose a fairly progressive (read: hippy) place to get your hair cut. It was fully equipped with a wide array of earth-friendly toys and a breast milk donation box. Yes, that's a thing. I knew we were in the right spot when the hair dresser promptly strapped her 10 month old to her back before setting you up for the cut. It was impressive.

Aunt Shisha (Liza) came with us for moral support, and I am so thankful she did, or we would have no pictures of the event.

Pre-cut. Cautious, but comforted by the tools/trucks you are hoarding.

Note the tartan plaid wrap around the hair-cutter. That's holding her baby onto her back. No judgment about John's hair length here. He's free to be whatever he wants to be.

Ruh-roh. You realized there's a strange woman with a child strapped to her back holding a sharp object by your neck. Fear is probably a reasonable response.

Mom to the rescue! Or at least to hold him still while the remainder of the cut was rushed through.

I should also add here, this is when I realized you were warmer than normal and had a diaper full of poop. So, not ideal hair cutting conditions. You went on to develop a full blown fever later that night.

Finished product.

So, despite some emotional and physical hurdles, we both survived your first "real" haircut. And they left enough hair so you still look like my little man. And thankfully, it appears your super hero powers are still intact.

Baby John is Two, aka, THE RECKONING

Dear Baby John,

Yes. I still call you Baby John. I will call you that until the end of time because you are just that. My baby.

But.

You aren't really a baby any more. According to your stats at the doctor yesterday (height 37.75 inches and 34 pounds), you are the size of a 3.5 year old. You still love "baby" things like your cow lovie Mimi, and your binkie, which you call "see-see" or "he-see". Your Dad is hot to trot to get you to ditch the binkie, but I am holding on to these last little baby items for dear life.

You are such a spectacular kid. You are both quiet and sweet, but also loud and crazy. When your sister would pick on you when you were small, we would warn her there would come a time when you would be bigger and be able to fight back. Well, that day has come. You are no longer afraid to grab her hair and throw alarmingly heavy toy cars at her.

Your aim is impressive.

You appear to be left-handed. You love the movies Cars and Planes. You will flex and yell "VROOOM! Ka-CHOW!" (Lightening McQueen's tag line) and like to call yourself "Keen", short for Lightening McQueen. You love Nilla Wafers, bananas, meatballs, and fish sticks. You are a questionable sleeper and I am sure one of these days you will shake the cold you have seemingly had since birth.

You are all boy.

You love Captain America, though you have never, to my knowledge, seen a TV show or movie with this character. I think you just seem to know he's very manly. You love tools and trucks and cars and heavy equipment. You are a real man's man at the ripe age of 2.

You are very charming and have pretty much every person in this family wrapped around your finger. You cry when Annie is hurt because it makes you sad to see her sad. You cuddle up and touch the side of my face when you think I am sad or mad. Your favorite place is on your Dad's lap.

You two love to take baths together, but when I say it is getting CRAZY, that's an understatement. How there is any water left in the tub at the end of each bathing session is beyond me. Wine consumption is up on bath nights.

This face. Ugh.

It is not uncommon to walk in and find you two snuggling and holding hands. Lord, please let them stay this close forever. I understand there will be a few breaks when they are teenagers and want to kill each other, but for now, they are truly best buds. Except for when there's throwing of cars and pulling of hair....but nothing's perfect.

You are so wonderfully weird and fun. I love every day we have with you.

And your Dad. Oh how you love your Dad. He's the only one allowed to put you to bed at night or retrieve you in the morning. He's your go-to guy for all things parenting, and he loves it so much. Now, were I a more sensitive person, I might get my feelings hurt by you yelling "NO! Gaga!" (your word for "dad" right now) at me when I come in to check on you when you are crying in the night. Or when you yank your hand away when you realize it's my hand you are holding and not your dad's. But no worries, my little man. I know your Dad is awesome and I know, or hope, there comes a time when you are looking for your mom just as much. And when you do, I will be right there.

I love you, sweet boy. Happy birthday.

~Mom

Of Loves and Fishes

Annie received a fish for her fourth birthday from the Hagemann family. The fish's name was Linda. Linda was a Betta fish and lived on our fireplace mantle for six months. She was a good fish. Since I am referring to Linda in the past tense, I am sure you see where this is going.

One morning last week, I hear a shrill cry from the downstairs, followed by some sort of moaning and I assume Annie has fallen and hurt herself. In my long three step journey to the top of the stairs to assess, I hear Rick say, "Kaly (it's never good when he uses my real name), Linda is dead."

Ok, so Linda and I were never that close. One of my stipulations for getting a fish was that I never wanted to change the water. I can handle a lot of grossness but I draw the line at slimy fish water. Rick was on board for the roll of fish-carer and dutifully changed Linda's water every week. So needless to say, I was not expecting to feel much when Linda made her departure.

But Annie was sad. So, so sad. So then I was sad and the next thing I knew, I was crying over the dead fish. Annie went to school that morning and promptly drew this picture, forever memorializing Linda:

Linda's poor fish body probably wasn't halfway to the sewage treatment plant when there was already talk of a replacement. But, the show goes on, as they say, and Annie and I headed out yesterday to get a new fish. Also named....Linda.

In an effort to give Linda 2.0 (actually 3.0, because the original Linda, the namesake of all these fish, was Linda the gelato lady in Miami. Turns out if you give a 4 year old a cup of sprinkles five days in a row, it buys you naming rights for all future fish purchases) the best life possible, we purchased a betta specific tank that was on sale that day. It was fancy with a pump and filter, touch lights and a little feeding hole. We even got her a cute pink castle she could swim through. This Linda was SET and I imagined us all growing old together.

Imagine my surprise when, a short three hours later, I walked by to see poor Linda stuck to the side of the pump filter. I used a nearby chopstick to dislodge her and she kind of limped away, but was still alive. I informed Annie (because she was right there) that Linda had a bit of an incident, but she should be ok. Again, Annie busted out the drawing materials to narrate the happenings of Linda.

This is Linda being sad that her evil fish tank hurt her, but apparently crying happy tears to be alive.

Ok, so we brush ourselves off, because we are Erwins and we don't let this stuff get us down! But secretly, I informed Rick that Linda did not appear to be doing so well and we needed to keep an eye on her. A quick trick to pick up a "backup Linda" was discussed. Well, approximately four minutes later, Linda was gone. And by "gone", I mean DEAD. Sleeping with the fishes. Or dead with the dead fishes. I have no idea. I thought that since we had this fish for approximately 1/5,000 the time we had the first, that Annie's reaction would be directly in proportion to the amount of time with Linda.

Wrong. Apparently there's an inverse relationship at work. The shorter the time, the more dramatic the response. I, however, was fine. Until I saw.....this:



Oh, why yes, that's Linda, in her new tank, with her new castle, crying endless tears because she DIED. I can only imagine that's her fish soul floating up to fish heaven.

So, now Annie and I are bawling and I am realizing this is really the first time Annie has seen me cry like that. I mean, if you don't look at that picture and feel real emotions, then you might want to either start taking/stop taking mood stabilizing drugs.

Presently, we are fishless. Annie has decided her heart can no longer take the emotional strain of another fish. I will return to Petsmart and try to return the fancy fish tank of death and we will try to move along with our lives. If they even try to give me any push back on the return, I WILL bust out that picture.

Now Annie wants a cat.



A Memory

Alternate Title: Why I Love Taylor Swift


There's lots of discussion of Ms. Swift out there today, as her album titled "1989" was covered by indie-rocker Ryan Adams and it was released today. Hipsters everywhere are confused by event, not knowing if they can love Ryan Adams while singing the lyrics of T-Swift. To me (and Rick), this is a big day. While those who know us know we love Ryan Adams, not many know that we BOTH love Taylor Swift.


Like, really like her.


As in, there's one particular song of hers that can, if I am in the right mood, make me cry.


Here's the story of my love affair with TS:


I can't remember the occasion, but I was hugely pregnant with Annie. We were at my parent's house and my nieces, Parker and Chloe, were there. I can't remember the details, but for some reason their friends were also at the house. The girls were young. I think around 7 and 9, and they were singing karaoke.


Rick and I were standing in the doorway watching the girls goof off and sing songs we knew nothing about, because we were previously hip people and listened to people like Ryan Adams and lord knows who else because I am so tragically unhip now I can't think of anyone else that makes music other than Kenny Rogers...but you get the point.


Then Taylor Swift's "Love Story" song comes on the karaoke machine and the girls were all apparently so nutzo over this girl that they all start screaming this song, in unison, at the top of their lungs.


It was this moment where I kind of both went forward and backward in time at once. I went backwards to when I was 7 and I listened to songs about love and sang them with all my heart at the top of my lungs, even though I knew nothing of the topic. It was fun and innocent and my friends were everything.


And I also flashed forward, thinking the baby girl in my belly would one day be a 7 year old girl, who loves music and her friends and songs about falling in love, and daydreams of one day meeting her person. It was a glimpse into our futures and I remember this overwhelming emotion. I am pretty sure I even cried (Rick can confirm this, though the way my pregnancy hormones were, crying wasn't exactly an exceptional thing for me).


The thing is, even now when I hear that song, I am instantly taken back to that moment. Not because of the words of the song; it's about Romeo and Juliet and love against all odds and all of that. I can't relate to the words themselves, because Rick's not from the wrong side of the tracks and I was never one for sneaking out at night.


But that feeling I had, watching those girls, thinking of my own girl and what she would be like and all the experiences she will have and people she will love, and that will love her, still chokes me up every time I hear that song.


So that's when I started loving her. And I will never stop.


Like, ever.

So Polite

I am a big stickler for how we talk to each other in our house. Rick can vouch for this. I believe the way we speak to people is a choice and I am REALLY trying to teach the kids how to "use nice words".


BUT, we aren't always "nice talkers", and our kids aren't with us all the time, so who knows what they hear (both when they are and are not with us). We have avoided our kids dropping the f-bomb in church, so I will consider that a parenting win for now.


I did find this exchange with Annie entertaining:


Annie got in the car after an evening with family.
A: for no good reason, really "Shuuuuttt UP!"
Me: We don't say that. It's not nice.
A: What does it mean?
Me. It's a not nice way of telling someone to be quiet.
A: So can I say "Shut up, please"?

Potty Talk

Note: Because we live in a tiny little home with only one bathroom, it is completely natural for all four of us to be crammed into this space at once. One in the tub, one on the potty, one at the sink and one on the floor. Any one of us could be assuming any of these four positions depending on the time of day this little tableau is unfolding. Here is one from last night after Annie apparently learned about making wishes on eyelashes at her new school:


SCENE: Annie on the potty pre-bedtime, me sitting on the tub facing her, and Rick in the bathroom doorway (John blessedly asleep because he's an angel):
Annie: I have an eyewash (eyelash), I'm gonna make a wish.
Rick: I have a wish.
Annie: What's your wish, Daddy?
Rick: That you go to bed quickly.
Annie: Well you aren't gonna get your wish.


At least she's honest. And she was 100% right.

A Chilling Short Story

Annie is on her game all day. Right up until the bitter end of the day as I sit with her and we talk before bedtime. Two nights ago this exchange happened:


Annie (with a REALLY mischievous grin on her face): Do you know where my gum is, Mom?
Me: No....I thought you put it in the trash?
Annie, after a dramatic pause for effect: I put it somewhere in your ROOM!!!!


So, I was laughing so hard at her delivery that I forgot to follow up on exactly where in our room the gum was hidden. I completely forgot about it until yesterday at work, when I found two of my work reports stuck together with watermelon gum.


Well played, Annie.

Annie's Art

Filed squarely under "Things I did not anticipate being fascinated with" is the development of Annie's artwork. It's essentially blown up this year, and in the last three months in particular. Her teachers don't really know what spurred it, but every day she comes home with droves of little pictures she's sketched of various magical and everyday things. She's also just started drawing things in the air, asking me if that "looks right" and I can tell there's so much whizzing around in that little head of hers.

I love getting these little glimpses into how she sees the world and what's important enough to her to sit down and draw it for us.

Annie at the beach in the water.

A "newcorn" (unicorn-note the horn)

Mommy in a bikini

And her family (left to right, Mom, Dad, John and Annie)

It has really showed me that she SEES everything. When I broke my toe, drawings of me had the little support shoe. When we were at the beach, drawings of me were in a bikini (it's a fairly accurate representation). But her drawings also seem to be skewed by how she sees others. For example, she has started drawing me with "red lipstick and high heels" (shown in picture above). Now, those of you who know me, know I am not really a red lipstick and high heels kind of gal. But somehow, that's how she sees me. Or maybe that's her subtle way of saying she wants me to dress up more. No idea. But either way, it's fascinating.

I love that, for the most part, she will draw our family together. Or she will draw herself with her cousins and her brother. And everyone is always smiling or doing something fun. So while her pictures aren't always 100% accurate in the details, I think they are a good representation of Annie's life in general. And based on her pics, it looks like a pretty good life, and that makes me very happy.

Priorities

Apologies for the radio silence. There's been an unbelievable amount of sickness going on over here since the beginning of February, when John started a new school and the winter bugs seemed to be in full effect.


Since that time, there has been only one week (of 12 weeks) where both children have gone all five days to school, or I haven't gotten called to pick one of them up for having some random ailment (pink eye! hives! fever! ear infection! vomiting!). So there has been a lot of trips to the doctor and urgent care. In the midst of all this, one of my employees left, which doubled my work load. Then we hired a new person, so I essentially had to cease working and help train him. so it's been exciting around here. Thankfully, the dust seems to be settling at work. The health of my children remains to be seen, but hopefully that will be under control soon.


Annie has basically become a pro at the doctor's visit. She sits down, lifts her arm for the temperature reading, takes big breaths while they listen to her tummy/lungs, holds perfectly still for the checking of the ears. John, on the other hand, is not quite so enthusiastic. He starts shrieking the second the ear-checker thing comes out and pretty much doesn't stop until the doctor/nurse leaves the room. My theory is that he doesn't yet experience the thrilling rewards of the doctor's office that his sister has learned to appreciate: the sticker and lollipop.


With all the doctor's visits, Annie has amassed quite the collection of stickers. We were discussing them last night after our most recent trip to urgent care. She's been there so much that she's become somewhat of a collector, only wanting the rarest and most unusual stickers.


Annie: I like my Aurora sticker I got today. I hadn't seen that before. I didn't like that thing they put on my finger though.
Me: Yeah, that's to make sure your heart is ok. They put the same thing on Mommy when she was in the hospital having you and John.
Annie, sensing a shared experience: So what kind of sticker did you get when you were at the doctor having me and John?
Me: My prize was I got to come home with a wonderful baby.
Annie: So....no sticker?


Here's to hopefully a sticker-free spring for us!

Nightmares Courtesy of Disney...and her mother

To say that Annie's mind is a fascinating thing is a bit of an understatement. It goes quickly in directions I would never anticipate. She quickly can assess situations and understands more than I would ever imagine. But it's all through the lens of a 3.5 year old, so it can be a somewhat precarious trip.


We used to watch movies in silence. No questions, no comments. I am not even sure if she was paying attention, but rather just admiring the pretty colors and shapes on the TV.


No more.


We were watching Tarzan yesterday morning, because we wanted to see if the parents in Tarzan were the same as the parents who were lost at sea in Frozen (long story).


If you will recall, the shipwrecked family of the boy that will become Tarzan builds themselves a nice little tree fort and all is well until a pesky leopard (who is much more frightening looking than I recall...I would post a pic but I am terrified of Disney copyrights) comes and kills them dead. Tarzan somehow miraculously hides/escapes. He is found in the now-destroyed hut by a mama gorilla. Here's how it went:


A: Where are his mommy and daddy? (chin quivering, me sensing this might not be a good idea)
K: well, they died. The mama gorilla is going to save the baby.
A: Save the baby from what?
K: Well the leopard, like the ones we saw at the zoo, killed the mommy and daddy (firmly aware this is going off the rails at this point)
A: Why the zoo monster kill his mommy and daddy?
K: Some animals, like this leopard, eat other animals, that's how nature works.


three seconds for this to sink in.


A: ZOO MONSTERS EAT BABIES????? (full on tears instantly flowing)


I expect our next trip to the zoo to be a real treat, that is, if Annie ever has any desire to run the risk of being a snack for a zoo monster.