and then there were four…

Here’s part one and part two, in case you missed it.

After being heartbroken that my grandma’s famous lemon tarts were in fact, from a box, I found solace in my maternal grandmother, who was going to cook a big southern meal for the family the following evening.

Despite the fact that her yams came in a can, and her mashed potatoes were instant, Grandma threw down. A 10 lb turkey AND chicken wings? Check. Butterbeans AND collard greens? Check. Creamed corn, rolls, the aforementioned yams (with marshmallows, y’all) and mashed potatoes made me so happy to be a southern girl. And you KNOW there was some sweet tea.

Sure, I was interrupted a few times by both the girls, and I didn’t really get to eat the meal hot, but it was SO good, even slightly lukewarm. Plus, we had the whole family crowded around in the kitchen eating. That’s one major thing I do miss: those family dinners.

Sunday saw both girls become extremely cranky. We were on day 5 without daddy, and honestly I think that may be their fill. I had never seen Olivia become so inconsolable or cranky as I did that night. The only thing that cheered Sophia up was a boob in the mouth, which made socializing less than ideal. Luckily we had planned a fun outing for the next day to try and alleviate some of the homesickness.

I had found out, through the grapevine, that on certain days, the aquarium was open for free. Lucky for us, one of those days was Martin Luther King Day. We had to drive to the beach to get there (about 45 minutes), but it was worth it. Olivia had a blast. She braved the stingray tank and touched a few stingrays when they would swim by her. My mom swears it was the same ray who kept coming back for more, but either way, she loved it. I also had the chance to have some quality time with my youngest sister while my mom sat in the (cramped) backseat in between the two car seats. Thanks Mama!

That night, my mom kept saying that it was supposed to snow. Since it had not snowed in years, I was not expecting anything major, nor did I expect it to impact our journey home.

We woke up to white dust all over. Olivia was mesmerized, as it was her first snowfall. She kept wanting to go build a snowman, but, alas, there was barely enough snow to roll a snowball. However, it kept coming down, light, but steady.

I kept checking our flight, making sure we were in the clear for our 3:45 departure. All looked well. We took the girls outside to play, Olivia had a lot of fun running around in the snow. After a warm bath, we were ready to go. I drove the rental car while my mom drove behind me. I had never driven in snow before, so I was a little nervous, but felt confident enough to pull it off.

Someone who is from a snow-friendly state would probably laugh at everyone’s driving in the s’th, but we were going anywhere from 30-45 miles an hour on the highway, staying at least two car lengths behind everyone and praying we didn’t slide. We got to the airport in one piece. By that time it was snowing harder and it was still sticking. I went to return the rental car and my mom drove behind me, where we decided to just stick both (now sleeping) girls in my mom’s car (car seats and all) along with our luggage so that I could return the car and double check the flights to make sure they were still leaving on time.

Good thing I did. The airport was working on an hour delay (which was NOT mentioned anywhere when I tried to check our flight status), which meant we would miss our connecting flight and possibly be stranded at the airport (six hours away) overnight. I opted to be re-booked on a flight for the next day, much to my own dismay.

My mom was happy to have us for another night, and I was glad to be there instead of stuck in an airport, but I was also bummed because I had been so ready to sleep in my own bed, see my husband, and get back to our normal schedule. Olivia asked me “Mama, why aren’t we going on the airplane? I want to go back to our own house.”

So, we went back to my mom’s house and played in the snow some more. By that point there was a bit more snow on the ground, so my sister showed Olivia how to make (and throw) snowballs. That was a hit (although, not literally–hers didn’t go very far). That night Olivia spoke to her daddy for 30 minutes on the phone, which further proved to me that she really missed her daddy. She rarely wants to talk on the phone for 30 seconds, let alone 30 minutes. But we went to bed early, as we had a very early flight the next day.

Unfortunately, the airline was still working on a delay, but they promised that I would be able to make my connecting flight. So an hour after schedule, we were in the air. I knew, deep down, I would never make the connecting flight. The flight attendant asked everyone to please allow those who had tight scheduled connecting flights off first. Before we deplaned, however, an announcement was made that our connecting flight had already closed boarding. Fortunately, we had been re-booked before we got to the terminal. Unfortunately, we had two more legs of flying, so instead of being home at noon, we wouldn’t be home until close to 5.

I called Bill to let him know what was going on, he was pretty upset for me, but I was trying not to allow it to affect me. I couldn’t break down at that idea that I was going to be in the air or at an airport for 14 hours, instead of 7. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of crying at that point, or I would never make it. I kept telling myself “take it as it comes, don’t freak out.”

I didn’t, and let me tell you, my girls were FAN-FREAKIN-TASTIC. I don’t know if it was because they were exhausted and had no more fight in them, or if it was because I kept my head and was calm for them, but they were so great the entire time.

After I hung up with Bill, it was diaper change time. Unfortunately, I went to the bathroom at the airport that employed the most socially awkward and slightly inappropriate bathroom attendant in the world.

I went to the back of the bathroom, the “nursing mothers” station, which was incredibly nice, it was a door less stall that had a nice comfy bench and a changing table. Olivia said she wanted to be changed on the bench, so I took Sophia out of my Maya Wrap sling and changed her first. After she was done, I took Olivia out of the stroller, put Sophia in the stroller and went about changing her diaper. Just before I started changing her diaper, the socially awkward and slightly inappropriate bathroom attendant (We’ll call her Jan) came over and stood right next to the stroller, (which was right in front of where I was sitting). She didn’t really say anything while I changed Olivia’s diaper, just watched, which in and of itself was weird.

Jan: “Wow, that was fast.”

Me: “Yeah, I’ve become somewhat of a pro.”

Jan: “Heheh” (standing there looking at me, and the two dirty diapers wadded up next to Olivia)

Me: (Helping Olivia to her feet, looking at Sophia): “Okay kiddo, sister needs her seat back.”

Jan: “Heheh…Oh wow, there are two, that was fast” (looks at Sophia, then at Olivia). “They could be twins! I didn’t even notice you had another one.”

Me: (noting that they do look related, but that they in no way look like twins, nor are they even close enough looking in age) “Yeah, they do look alike.”

Jan: (Still standing there, just staring at me while I stick Sophia back in the sling and Olivia in her seat.)

By now, I’m thinking she is going to offer to take the dirty diapers and throw them away for me, since she is still just standing there. I didn’t expect her to do it when I walked in, however, I also didn’t expect her to stand and stare at me. I stood up and she finally got the hint to move away so I could get out of there.

When I came back to the bathroom before our flight boarded for a diaper-check, she looked over at me and said “Wow, you’re back again already?”

Thanks for noticing and commenting on my bathroom habits aloud and in front of a bunch of complete strangers. That wasn’t inappropriate or anything.

I just smiled and shook my head “I guess so.”

Our next flight was uneventful, and pretty much awesome because we were going to be on the same airplane to go home. It just had to be cleaned and restocked, so we had to deplane, I had to get the tickets fixed (they had Olivia and I seated separately) and I assumed I would be able to change diapers and maybe grab a bite to eat.

Olivia, unfortunately had another soak through incident, and I had to get her changed ASAP. Luckily I had remembered to pack her backup clothes, so we were good there. I made my way to the family bathroom. I opened the door and a cloud of smoke wafted out. I looked up, and sure enough, the smoke alarm had been tampered with.

For fuck’s sake people. Family restrooms are not just some stupid reason for an extra-large bathroom. They are very beneficial to people, like me, with their hands full. I looked over at some dude standing near the door, who just exited the room (I think) and said “You’ve GOT to be kidding me.” rolled my eyes and went to the women’s restroom, which luckily had a changing table.

Olivia seemed a little upset about the wet pants, so I was telling her I wasn’t upset with her, because everyone has accidents, she just needs to tell me that she needs a new diaper. I was also just talking to the both of them, as I always do, like they were people my age and we were having a normal adult conversation.

After I had finished changing Olivia, a girl (about my age) walked up to me and said “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhear you, but the way you speak to your children is amazing!” She told me how she was so impressed with the way I handled my children and wished more people spoke to children the way I did. I thanked her and told her I was just trying to raise them the best way I knew how, and she smiled and said “well, it is obvious you’re doing a great job.”

That pretty much made my day. My week. So thank you, lady in the Philadelphia airport bathroom.

I didn’t have time for food, (luckily I had PB&J packed away), so off I went to re-board the plane.

There really is nothing of interest to report about the ride home. Olivia fell asleep on her tray table as she was coloring after being in the air for less than 30 minutes. She slept for almost 4 hours. Sophia slept for a good hour and was pretty content grabbing my face or smiling at the awesome gentleman who was our seatmate. Thanks also to him because he gave up his window seat for Olivia and was very gracious about it.

When we were getting ready to land, I jokingly said to Sophia “I hope your daddy can read my mind and has a HUGE diet coke ready for me, with lots of ice.” Then I laughed and said “Well, if he doesn’t, I won’t hold it against him, he’s still awesome.”

Do I even have to tell you he had a huge diet coke waiting for me in the car?

Catch up with Part One in case you missed it.

When Sophia was born, the first thing I said was “She looks like my grandma”.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but, something about her was eerily similar to my grandma.

It took a few photos, but finally my mom saw what I was seeing.

I sent out birth announcements and my grandma’s sister (who is ten years older) told my mom and grandma that Sophia looked almost exactly like grandma did as a baby. Since my grandma has no baby pictures, she took her sister’s word for it. She did see the resemblance, she giggled in her cute grandma way and said “Oh my word, she has my tiny upper lip and that little crease under her nose like I do.”

I couldn’t wait for the two to meet.

My mom had been waiting for months for my grandma to meet her mini-me. She couldn’t wait to see my grandma’s face when she saw her in person, because apparently (according to my mom) the pictures do it no justice.

It was hilarious. They were both checking each other out quite intently, and I was trying to get Olivia dressed and ready, so I asked Grandma if she would hold Sophia.  She was all too happy to do so.

I expected Sophia to start screaming as soon as I was out of her sight, because that is how she has been behaving as of late.

I heard not one peep out of Sophia while I was getting Olivia and myself ready. She happily sat with her GGma and cooed, played and just stared at her. It was very sweet. I took a bunch of photos of the two together, and was surprised to see that they even gave me similar looks. THAT was weird.

I went to visit my father’s family a few days later. It was a bit surreal, knowing he wouldn’t be there. I still don’t think I’ve properly processed the whole idea of him being dead. But that’s a different post for a different day.

The one thing my sister and I remember from our childhood holidays spent with my paternal family were these tiny little lemon cupcakes my grandma made. They were mini-muffin size, just a bite of lemony deliciousness. My sister would always tell grandma “I want you to make these for my wedding, grandma.” Grandma would laugh and tell her she would.

Grandma didn’t disappoint! There they were in all their lemony glory. Oh they were so yummy, so I decided I would ask my grandma if I could have the recipe. I’m family, right?

So I asked her and she started laughing. LAUGHING! I thought “well, maybe she’s going to tell me they are drafted into her will” But no, she looks at me, places her hand on mine and says, “well, I tell you, you need to get a lemon cake mix and just follow the directions, but make sure you have those tiny little muffin pans.” She then proceeded to explain the mix of orange juice, lemon juice and confectioner’s sugar that you pour on them after they have baked–the extra special kick that makes them much more than “lemon cupcakes”. I was floored.

CAKE MIX? All my childhood memories of these things being some special secret family recipe that I would one day be able to recreate in my own kitchen is from a CAKE MIX?

Oh Grandma.

I’m secretly hoping the cake mix is only a recent development. She got too busy with life to make them from scratch, how her mother did it, her mother’s mother…you get the idea. I don’t know if they go that far back, but I would like to believe that they do.

I still think I’m going to try and make them from scratch. Just have to go out and buy those tiny little muffin pans.

This is an old post I had forgotten to finish a few months ago. I’ve edited it so it makes sense, but I thought it was a funny story.

Olivia enjoys going to the park so much, so it makes me much more inclined to get myself together early in the morning because I see how her face lights up when I tell her we are going to the park. Sophia usually sleeps the entire time, so that makes it easier to focus on Olivia running around and making sure she isn’t trying to go down the big slide by herself. I drag the stroller (through the sand) so it is close to whatever apparatus we are playing on. We usually stick to the swings (which are great because they are the little baby kind) and the little slides, and then I let her run around in the grass and I blow bubbles for her to pop.

One day we entered the (teeny tiny) park, there was a little girl (who I later discovered was four), who was playing in the sand with a big rubber ball and coughing A LOT. I didn’t pay her much attention because I had my own two to deal with and to be honest I didn’t want to expose my two to MORE germs (we had all been sick recently). I drug the stroller to the swings and put Olivia in and swung her, we talked and sang songs while she swung, and Sophia snoozed. I looked over at the other swing and the little girl had quietly and suddenly appeared next to it, looking wistfully at Olivia swinging and having fun. I looked over to her caregiver, who was an older woman. She was ALL the way at the back of the park sitting on a picnic table. Granted, this park isn’t that large, but it is a large enough distance to where I could only discern that the woman was older (as in “grandma”). I couldn’t really determine any facial features, I’m not sure if that was due to distance or the fact that it was in a really shady area with lots of trees. Either way, I’m not sure if I would feel comfortable sitting back and letting my four year old play without closer supervision. Ask me again in two years. Anyway, I’m not an evil person, and I couldn’t stand to see that little girl looking all sad, so I asked her if she wanted to swing. She did. Could get into the swings by herself? She couldn’t. So, I picked her up and put her in the swing and pushed her. After an initial push she was able to pump herself so she could go higher than Olivia was going, which tickled Olivia.

Pretty soon, Olivia says, “Baby done with the swings now, mama.” (Yes, she refers to herself in the third person sometimes–it’s quite cute). So I stopped the swing and took her out. I look at the little girl and asked her if she could get out herself. Of course she couldn’t. So I told her I would have to take her out now, because we were going to another part of the park. So I get her out and she runs over, grabs her ball and puts it into the swing and pushes it. Olivia finds this HIGH-larious. “Ball swinging mama, that’s silly!”

So, I take Olivia to the grassy area, and take out the bubbles, which causes her to squeal with delight. The little girl suddenly appears and looks very interested in my bubbles. No problem, there are lots of bubbles, and I want to teach Olivia that you should share and be courteous to those around you. So, I started blowing the bubbles and Olivia was trying to catch them and pop them.

Apparently, when bubbles are blown, it causes some sort of mechanism in a child’s brain to go berserk, rendering them crazy maniacs who jump and scream with wild abandon. Olivia is still a bit small for that much craziness, so she wasn’t affected, but the little girl started screaming, and jumping in front of Olivia, who was smaller than she was. Each time I would try and blow a bubble close to Olivia, the girl would jump in and pop it before Olivia’s reflexes kicked in. I was trying to be patient, blowing bubbles further out so the girl would be able to pop her own and leave Olivia’s alone. But, it didn’t work.

I’ll admit, I’m a pansy when it comes to admonishing other people’s children. I don’t feel it is my place to try and parent someone’s child, UNLESS it directly affects my children. I could have been really mean to this little girl, because, no one was around to stop me. But, I decided to be wuss about it and just put the bubbles away. Removing us from the situation seemed to be the best choice. Besides, it really isn’t the little girl’s fault she wasn’t properly taught how to behave in that situation, nor was it her fault that her caregiver decided not to intervene and explain to her proper playground behavior.

My point is this: Teach your children! They aren’t born knowing what is acceptable and what is not. That is our job as their parents.

Well, as much detail as I can squeak out at the moment. Both girls are down for a nap (albiet, Sophia is the only one actually sleeping right now).

The girls behaved beautifully on the flight to NC. It was a packed flight, so of course, we were placed next to the grumpiest man on the planet. Sophia started whining a little and I looked at her and said “Now, we’re not going to have much fuss while we fly, right?” Which, granted was more for show than anything, because how am I supposed to stop a six month old from being a six month old? Anyway, the old grump looks at me and says “I sure hope so”.

Great.

My whole idea of taking the girls to the bathroom every hour went down the drain also, because we were sitting in the middle and window seats and Mr. Grump slept for a good portion of the flight.

When we finally did get up to go to the bathroom, Olivia decided that she was scared to lay on the changing table, so I had to change her diaper while she was standing up, with Sophia strapped to my chest. It wasn’t easy, but I managed. While I was doing this, I hear an announcement over the intercom “If there is a doctor on board, please ring your flight attendant button”.

This trip was about to get even more interesting.

Turns out someone had passed out while walking down the aisle of the airplane. This happened one seat in front of ours too, so luckily we were able to get to our seat and not crowd the aisle while they were trying to help this poor guy. They were trying to communicate with him, but he only spoke Japanese, so there was another announcement made, this time flight attendants were asking for “any Japanese-speaking passengers to please press their flight attendant button.” Luckily, there was a young man who spoke Japanese and he was able to assist the doctor and flight attendants in helping the man out. The man was okay, but the flight attendants said “well, we’ll just get him something to eat and drink, that should help.” The doctor agreed and they hurried to the back of the plane, but not before my wonderful seat-mate chimed in “Make sure you charge him $2 for the drink and $7 for the meal, because that’s what you’re charging all of us.”

Seriously?

Whether he was saying this in jest or not, I can’t be sure, but surely the time was not right to make this sort of joke, anyway. Luckily we didn’t have to make any type of emergency landing, but we were met by paramedics at the gate when we did land, and the flight personnel asked us to stay seated until they had helped the man off the plane. Well, wouldn’t you know it: the grump of the year was the first one off of the plane as soon as they gave us all the go-ahead (and we were seated mid-plane).

Sophia slept a good portion of the flight and Olivia played and enjoyed all the fun surprises I had gotten for her. We spent the better part of the trip using stickers and plastering her notebook full of them. I won’t lie: it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t the worst thing I had ever encountered.

As we were getting ready to deplane, a young mother (probably my age) was sitting with her daughter who seemed to be younger than Olivia. She had been pretty good throughout the flight, just a bit fussy to be on the airplane. Nothing extravagant or horrible, just normal behavior for a toddler. She peeked her head over the top of the seat and I said “Hi!” and told Olivia to say hi to her. Olivia started chattering away to her and I told Olivia to ask her how old she was (yeah, I was nosey). Her mom said “Oh she’s two” so I looked at Olivia and said “Wow! That’s how old you are too!” and the mom’s eyes got really wide: “She’s so smart,” she said. “I heard you talking a bit during the flight and she is just so verbal and SMART.” Of course, I welled up with pride, but by the same token, I didn’t want the mom to feel bad or start comparing, since kids develop differently. So I thought I would diffuse the situation by saying “Oh, well, she turned 2 in October” thinking, maybe, just maybe her daughter had just turned two and a few months make a lot of difference. Once again, her eyes got kind of wide and said “She turned two in October also, October 8th.”

Shit. Olivia’s birthday is October 4th. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, indeed.

The girls fell asleep in their carseats on the drive to my mom’s house and when we got there, Olivia was once again, wide awake and ready for her Christmas presents. My mom had shopped smartly and had gotten them lots of great stuff, but all of it was relatively small, so I was able to bring it back home in an extra suitcase.

The next day, (Wednesday), I decided to meet my best friend from high school for a late lunch. She lives 2 hours from my mom’s house, so we both decided it would be easier to meet halfway than for either one of us to drive the whole way. I am SO glad I did it that way. The girls were not happy to be traveling again. Sophia cried the whole way, and Olivia complained “But I’m all done with driving, mama, I want to get out of my car seat.” I kept telling her how much fun we would have, etc. etc. Whenever I would stop for a light, she would say “okay Mama, we’re done driving now.” and I would have to explain that we were not, in fact, done driving. Then when I was driving she would tell me “drive faster mama, so we can get to the restaurant.”

I only wish I were making this up.

As a general rule, I ALWAYS bring a change of clothes for both of the girls. Sophia is prone to blow-outs, and Olivia can sometimes have similar problems. As of late, I had not had to use the back-up clothes, but good ole’ Murphy never lets you down. I had backed out of the driveway before getting on the road and realized “hey, I don’t think I have Olivia’s backup clothes in the diaper bag.” But, I was running a bit late, and I thought “She has been so good up until now, I’m not going to bother worrying about it.” I didn’t give it another thought until after we had all finished eating and I wanted to do diaper changes.

I lifted her out of her seat and she was wet. From her waist to her knees. And it was COLD out.

What is an unprepared mama to do? I thought “Oh, I’ll just use the hand-dryer in the bathroom. It might not smell the best, but it will work for the drive home and at least she’ll be dry.”

Oh Murphy, you bastard.

This bathroom didn’t have a hand dryer. I was going nowhere fast with the paper towels, so I decided to take an impromptu trip to Target and buy her a new pair of pants.

At least she didn’t have to sit for an hour in wet pants.

My mom had to work late that night, so I decided to drive to her work and hang out there for a little while, since we didn’t have anything else to do. She was glad to see us, and Olivia had fun running around and trying out all of the chairs. Everyone oohed and ahhed over them and it was really nice. Near the end of the evening, when the store was completely dead, my mom was playing with Olivia and Olivia said (and did) something that made me crawl into my skin and die.

I suppose a little background is necessary.

Olivia loves to make up dances. She names them whatever she happens to see: the chair dance, the diaper dance, the clock dance, etc. etc. If she sees it, she makes up a dance to it. She likes words and trying to figure them out.

About 4 months or so ago, Bill had a big handful of one dollar bills in his pocket. He decided to give Olivia a lesson in counting. So he took them all out and was counting them with her. I happened to walk by and I looked at the big wad of ones and said “where in the world did you get all of those?” Because, he never carries cash and he hardly ever carries that many. He explained that he had used a big bill to buy something small (or some other mundane answer) and then looked at me and whispered “it’s for strippers!” not thinking Olivia could hear him.

At this point, you can see where I am going. Olivia smiled and said “What’s money for daddy?” and before he could answer she giggled “stwippers”. He laughed hysterically and I was mortified. I went over to her and said “no baby, that’s not right.” “We buy things with money.” Bill couldn’t stop laughing at my damage control. Weeks went on and she would ask “What’s money for?” and without waiting for an answer, she would giggle “STWIPPERS”. I had to do some damage control, so I told Bill we had to nip this in the bud. So whenever she said that, we would keep a straight face and say “No, money is for pizza.” because, that was an easy concept. Pretty soon she seemed to get it. So we tested her. “What’s money for, baby?” She looked at us with this innocent look on her face and said “Pizza!” before our sigh of relief could escape our mouths, she would grin and follow it up with “NOT STWIPPERS!”.

So, after a month or two of trying to re-focus her attention to money being for pizza and buying toys and other things, I had thought we were out of the woods.

Fast forward to my mom and Olivia playing at her store. My mom thinks it is cute that Olivia says Money is for Pizza, so she wants her to perform that “trick”. I’m nursing Sophia in the back room, but I can hear the conversation going on and my mom is trying to get her to say what money is for, but Olivia is being shy. So I offer it up “Livie bear, can you tell MeMe what money is for?” and she looks at my mom and at the young guy behind the counter and says “STWIPPERS!”

Everyone is laughing. I’m mortified. But it gets worse. She runs behind the counter to where the younger cashiers are tallying up their cash registers. She had been talking to them all evening, and loved showing them her dances.

“I’m gonna show you a new dance. It’s called the stwipper dance and this is how you do it.”

OH.MY.GOD.

People are crying they are laughing so hard. I am trying to explain that she has no idea what a stripper is, nor that they do, in fact, dance, she just makes up dances to words she knows.

Then I’m on the phone to her daddy. After I tell him what happens, all I hear on the other end of the line is laughter. “You think this is funny?” I fume.

“Yes. It’s hilarious.” Bill laughs.

And that, was only after day one.

Yes, I am. I promise. No, really. I’ve missed you and I’ve missed writing.

I am also back from visiting my family in North Carolina. I had a good trip, right up until the end. I believe the stress of life got to me and I got a bit snippy (okay, BITCHY) towards my mom.

I’m sorry Mama.

But, in fairness, my flight had been canceled, both my girls were being EXTREMELY cranky and I felt like I couldn’t do it alone. I missed my Billiam so bad I couldn’t see straight (okay, I’m being a bit dramatic). To be at the airport ready to get to him later that night, only to be told that everything was delayed and I couldn’t get out until the next morning made me feel like I couldn’t do it another night alone.

Details? Details aren’t important. Just know that sometimes you say things to those you love that maybe you shouldn’t say. Sometimes you lash out at those people you love the most because they are the only ones that understand you, and also, the only ones who will never hold it against you, and always love you.

If you’re lucky, like I am, that person will forgive you and tell you all is forgotten.

But, I am glad to be back home. Bill cleaned the house for our arrival. It only took a small time for it to be destroyed again, but…it was nice to come home to a clean house. Bill definitely knows his audience.

I’m not sure if I tell that man enough how much he means to me. He swears I do, but sometimes I feel like I can’t tell him enough how wonderful he is to me, and what a wonderful daddy he is to our girls. Plus, he’s very sexy, so that’s like, the whole package, right? I’m a lucky, lucky girl.

I’m currently smelling the roasting of a delicious chicken in my oven, and will be making some black beans and rice to go along with it (because I need to get rid of all those beans in my freezer somehow).

Sophia is happily playing in her exersaucer, which is fan-freakin-tastic, because she has been screaming her cute little head off whenever I am not in direct contact with her. Bill pointed out yesterday that it wasn’t just me, she would start crying if Bill or Olivia left the room also. The doctor was surprised at her early onset of seperation anxiety. I tried to take that as a compliment.

Well, now that things are starting to get back to what constitutes as normal around here, I’m hoping you’ll be reading more of me. But, no promises!

I’m off to baste my chicken. Here’s the recipe if you’re interested. But, please, for the love of all things good and decent in this world, don’t use margarine. Just use butter.

I apologize for the lack of posts.

Christmas came and went, and was wonderful. I found a Brobee doll, and the rest of the gang (with the exception of DJ Lance Rock who they don’t make…yet). Olivia and Sophia had a wonderful Christmas and I couldn’t be happier with our day.

I thought I would be writing sooner, but we have had a bit of bad news in the family. Bill’s wonderful wonderful grandfather passed away the day after Christmas, so I haven’t much felt like writing.

Then I remembered how he always told me that I should write a book, and get on it, so he could read it. I figured the least I could do is post more frequently. The book will come with time.

Bill’s grandpa was the most amazing guy, he treated me like his own granddaughter. I didn’t have many males in my life growing up, my own grandfathers were either dead, absent, or (in the case of my step-grandpa) later revealed to be not-so-great human beings, so to have a “real” grandpa was amazing, even if I was an adult and it was for only 10 years. I am so glad to have known him that long.

I’m going to take the girls cross-country next Tuesday to stay with my mom for a week. I’m looking forward to seeing my family. I miss them. I’m just worried about the logistics of everything and how I will manage. I know I will, I always do, but the fear of the unknown seems to take hold of me and cause me anxiety.

On the home front: Sophia is getting better at getting herself to sleep, her cries aren’t always as excruciating, nor do I rush in as quickly as I did. She’s almost ready to sit up solo. Right now she is “tripoding” or “frog sitting”. She’s eating rice cereal each night and will be starting vegetables as soon as we are back from our trip.

Olivia is amazingly bright. It is a little scary sometimes that we carry on conversations with her like she is a 5 year old (or older). She is inquisitive and likes to know how things work, or what things mean. Which means I have to be careful. The other day she asked me what “pissed” means after she overheard me talking to Bill about something. I told her it was an adult word that meant “angry”. I don’t want to lie to her. She makes up stories and songs and she now knows most of her lowercase letters. She is getting the hang of phonics and we are helping her sound out words–if only we could get her potty trained.

Yeah. She’s still in diaperville. We’ve tried EVERYTHING. Bribery, rewards, special songs and dances, excitement when she does use it (she does, just not with any frequency), we ask her constantly if she has to go or if she wants to use the big girl potty. She has special underwear that we tell her not to wet because it will be yucky. When we put them on her, we constantly ask, but she says she is “fine” then inevitably, I will find a small puddle on the floor and her underwear soaked, her blissfully unconcerned. If it has been suggested to me, I’ve tried it. If I’ve read about it, I’ve tried it. Everyone keeps telling me that she will figure it out before too long, but, I’m scared she’ll be one of those kids who are still wearing diapers at 4. However, I don’t want to traumatize her into using the potty.

Part of me is okay with it, because she is so grown-up in so many ways, it is the only way she is still a baby. But I don’t want to hinder her development either. Ugh, she can carry on a conversation and practically read, but she still says she “can’t use the toilet”.

At least it keeps me on my toes, right?