Dem bones.

Wow, there's a whole lot of learning going on in this house.  We've got these Leap Books, with a Leap Pen that the kids can use to point to words and pictures, and letters, etc.

One of the books has a section on the body, and Dani and Tori love to point to the bones on the skeleton.  And I went on youtube to let them hear the "Dem bones" song, and now it's the theme song of the week.

Tonight at dinner, Tori told me that when she grows up she wants to be a skeleton.

She is also known for saying, "I have a PELVIS!" "I have two patellas!"

Both Dani and Tori are happy to point out where their scapulas are, and are well-versed in metatarsals and metacarpals (and that's more than I know!)

Tonight, while skyping with my parents, Tori told them that she had phalanges.  When grandma and grandpa asked what those were (and I had no flipping clue) she wiggled her fingers to the camera and said "here".  The kid is not quite 3, won't poop on the potty, but knows the skeletal system better than I do.  It's adorable, but in a way where you start to wonder if you are turning your kids into little nerdies who will be teased mercilessly in kindergarten maybe not letting them watch enough Spongebob.

 

 Tommy is turning out to be the best mimic ever.  He repeats everything anyone says. He is really musical--can baby mumble sing the words to songs in perfect pitch.  It's really pretty awesome.  We've got to bank on some kind of artistic or athletic talent with that one--he's eaten more board books than he's read.

Dani asked me tonight if she could stay up all night, because last night she had bad dreams.  She came into my room at 1:30am literally shaking.  I had to turn on lights and she flipped when I left her in the well-lit bathroom to get a fresh underjam for her (ain't noone peeing in mommy's bed).  And then we had a mommy half asleep discussion about whether dinosaurs could hurt us, and I literally was teary and begging promised her there were no dinosaurs in mommy's bed and she went to sleep. I told her that she was going to sleep on Daddy's pillow and that always means good dreams. She was so resistent to sleep tonight--but in the eldest child, compliant way.  She went upstairs, we brushed and washed, and she pleaded to stay up, knowing full well she would get into bed when I told her to.  Then she begged for Daddy's pillow because it was the good dreams pillow (but Big Man was sleeping as he works tonight!).  Hmmmm, what to do.  I went into my dressing room and got out an old bracelet, a costumey one with stones.  After I turned off the light, I put it on her wrist and told her it was Mommy's good dreams bracelet, and that it would help her to have good dreams tonight...she was in awe.  I whispered, "Don't tell Tori because I only have one.  But if you think happy thoughts tonight and know you have my bracelet, you will be fine."  It seemed to work, but I'm guessing I will have company in the wee hours.

 Tori's making progress on the potty.  She's in pullups, but will always pee on the potty.  She always asks for a magazine when we ask her to try to poop.  She will just sit there, flipping through the pages.

It's the most wonderful chaos.

With a love like that, you know you should be GLAD!

It's full-on Beatlemania in our house.  Well, for the toddlers.  Big Man's been playing a lot of the Beatles for Dani and Tori.  And Dani wants to torture me is happily singing the songs.  It's pretty adorable to here her version of things.  Like, "It's been a hard day and night, and I've been working like a dog."  It's really pretty cute.  And, she's Paul, Tori's Ringo, Big Man is George, and I'm John, apparently.  Tommy, he's Pete Best or something, but he can hum the tunes too.

 It's been a week of interesting Dani-isms.

Tonight was the one that made me realize that my daughter knows how to completely maniuplate me I've been working a bit too much, "Mommy, I had a bad dream last night.  You went to work and never came home again.  Ever. It was really scary."

 The other night we were watching a bedtime show, and Dani informs me, "Mommy, that's a Sphynx.  Those are with the pyramids in Egypt."  After I scooped my jaw off of the floor, I gave her a hug and told her she was a smart little girl.  She replied, "I'm smart, because I have a smart family."

She's been really into letting us know just how smart she is lately.   Two nights ago at dinner, she asked me about people who hunt cavemen, and whether they would hunt us too.  After a brief explanation of there being no cavemen presently, she tells me, "Mommy, I'm smart.  I know everything.  Well, maybe not everything.  But a lot."

 

We took a potty break where I was informed that, "Mommy, my poop is bigger than the universe."

 And later the same evening, when Dani was again professing her wisdom, I talked to her about it.  I told her that it was wonderful that she is so smart, but that she also needs to be humble.  That when she goes to pre-k in the fall, there will be kids who don't know how to say the alphabet, much less identify the letters and sounds, that some won't know their colors, that she will probably know more things than many of the other children.  We talked about how everyone has different skills, and knows different things, and that she needs to remember that everyone has to learn together, even if it means going a little more slowly than she would like to.  She replied, "Mommy, if they don't know things that I do, can I help teach them?" 

And we went to the park, and Tori and Tommy were adorable and all those good things too.  Tommy can now climb up and down the stairs (and my lower back thanks him for that).  Tori is flirting with being potty trained, and all is well.

I went for an annual physical, and to my surprise, I'm doing okay.  Like off the charts good.  Literally, when the doc was reviewing my blood work, he was commenting that it's incredibly rare to have the good cholesterol number higher than the bad (which mine was, with a rockin' low 144 total cholesterol) and that the labs were great.  My blood pressure is amazing, and apparently I'm going to live another year.  Literally he was so nice about it--I was like, hey doc, do you think they mixed up the vials?  I'm glad to know I'm so healthy for being a fat sedentary slug.  I asked him if that meant I could grab a whopper on the way back to work, and he said it was fine.  I'm guessing that somewhere, some poor, fit soul, is being told by their doc that they have the cholesterol and organ function of a nearly 40, overweight, overstressed mom of 3.

Party o' the year!

The holiday party rocked! I cooked for days--lots of fun and fancy appetizers. The house was full, and it's a big house! I'd estimate at a high point there were 35 people in my house. Really was fun. Always great to spend over $500 on a party when you are about to be earning way less money--I guess I'm feeling bullish about my future?

Had leftovers, so invited 3 couples over for New Year's Eve dinner, which was also fun. However, I am kind of an early to bed early to rise kind of girl. After our guests left at 2am (I think). I proceeded to ring in the new year the right way with the hubby (if you know what I mean). The evening culminated with a panic attack and tears from me (the ol' hope it ain't cancer, what if it is whine) and we stayed up until 3:15am or so. Unfortunately, I'm not able to sleep late anymore, and was up at 8am. Since one of my closest friends was getting sworn in as the first female mayor of Amsterdam, I needed to get my shizzle together and head to the event and reception by noon. I felt like the undead. Not from any type of hangover, although I would be lying if I didn't admit to drinking copious amounts of wine, but from the 5 hours or less of sleep I got. But, the ceremony was great, and I got to share the news with lots of folks that I would be working locally starting today.

Today I started a new job which is less than 1/2 mile from my house--a small law firm. It was so nice to not spend 40 minutes in the car on the way to work, in traffic and staring at the sun. Spending about 2-3 days/week for the next three weeks pre-surgery there, and hope to get back ASAP, as if I'm lounging, I'm not earning anything.

Still can't shake the feeling that the surgery is going to go wrong. Have had some seriously disturbing dreams about it--one that I die in surgery, and then my ghost comes back to the house and lays in bed with the big man when he sleeps. I pray that it is nothing, and that all will go well, but really have this overriding sense of doom. Hubby says I can't worry about what I can't control, but apparently, I am phenominally good at worrying about shit I have absolutely no control over. I am abjectly terrified about this surgery and the chance that they may find end stage ovarian cancer (good thing I took out $100k in life insurance when I was pregnant!).

So, will try to keep the tears to a minimum, although they keep cropping up at the oddest times.