Biggest Fan Ever.

Dani and Big Man have been listening to a lot of music together lately.  She's currently digging the Beatles.  Tonight when I came home from work, she whispered, "I'm not Dani.  I'm Paul."

 

It should come as no surprise that Tori is always Ringo.

When I took Dani to the store last weekend, she kept holding my hand in the aisle, and singing, "I wanna hold your ha-a-and, I wanna hold your hand."

She told me tonight she is their biggest fan ever.

Dinnertime silliness.

During dinner tonight, I asked Tori if she wanted any more.

 "This dinner is stinky!  PU!  I don't like cat food," she replied.

 They were bouncing off the walls tonight.  Got some great video of it, but blogger won't seem to let me upload it.

We're crafty!

Hey--how YOU doin'?

 We've been quite crafty lately.  When Tommy heads to bed, the girls and I have been working on little, creative projects.  

 We're drawing, and stickering, and having lots of fun.  Tonight we made valentines!

 And every once in a blue moon, the kids all snuggle in together.  And usually, before I can pick up the camera, they are back to running around like crazy little monkeys.

 And Tommy's often in a kissing mood.  He's mastered the little pucker and "mwah" and will run around just giving kisses.

 Tonight, we started with crayons, and then I grabbed a marker so I could write Happy Valentine's Day" on the cards we were making.  Dani asked me for a marker, so I told her I would get the whole container of magic markers from the playroom.  Her reply, "They aren't magic, Mommy, they are just markers."

Domestic Goddess.

I know, I know, Domestic Goddess is one of the last words you would use to describe me.  Until today, my friends!

For my first trick of domestic wizardry...you've seen the chair below.  It's a remnant from my single days, taupe, and microfiber, and so plush and nice.  But then I had kids.  Now it's covered with stains of every shape, from varying types of toddler secretion.  It's pretty hideous.

I read a trick online about how to clean even the worst microfiber messes.  Considering that the next stop for the chair was going to be a Craigslist curb alert, I figured I'd give it a try.  Fill a spray bottle with rubbing alcohol and saturate the entire chair.  Then rub (hard) with a white cloth or sponge, replacing as it picks up dirt and not rinsing, just using another clean one.  When it dries, you can use a bristle brush to fluff up the fibers if you want.

HOLY AMAZEBALLS!  It worked!  The chair looks brand flippin' new.  A word to the wise--I recommend you try this on a spring day.  The middle of winter is not the time to let 16 ounces of rubbing alcohol loose in your house, unless you were the kid that used to sniff the rubber cement, in which case you'll like the smell.  I was that kid, so I didn't mind. 

Feeling high from my achievement with the chair, I set out to continue with my wifey-ness.  "We have some old bananas" I thought, as I looked on my tablet for a banana bread recipe.  I should mention that I don't really bake.  Unless there is a box, and I add eggs and minor ingredients.  Not from scratch, ever.  Sooooo,  I didn't have quite enough butter or bananas, but made up the difference with some extra brown sugar and margarine.  And I added pistachios.  And vanilla extract.  All mixed up and in the oven, I begin to put the ingredients away, and I see it.  The baking soda.  That I forgot to add.  Big Man laughs.  "It's only been in the oven for 5 minutes," I tell him, "we can add it now".  Big Man laughs.  So, I pulled the pan out of the oven, dumped the baking soda on top and mixed it in.  It's still baking but I'm sure it's going to rock.  It will certainly be the best banana bread I've ever made.

And, if you were here with me right now, you'd probably be looking at me a bit funny.  Sniffing a little bit, trying to figure out why my clothes smell like I was in a house fire.  "Is she a volunteer firefighter," you'd think to yourself, too polite to ask.  No, it was the dryer.  Last week, it smelled a little bit burny, and we thought that it just got a bit too hot for a pair of Tommy's feety pajamas (they came out with a melty spot) and it made the clothes smoky stinky.  Undeterred, I did laundry on Friday night, and with the last load Saturday morning, the dryer decided to show us it wasn't playing.  It smelled like smoky badness, like burning rubber, and now my clothes do too.  We've replaced nearly every appliance in our house in the last 12 months.  Literally the only thing left was the dryer.  After the horrific Home Depot washing machine experiment there was no way I was going back to a big box store.  So I went to the local place that many friends recommended after I bitched about the Depot on facebook, L&M Appliances.  Got the dryer that matches my washer (not that I would have cared, but it was in stock and on sale) at a price that was lower than the Depot and which included everything else (installation and removal, extra footage of dryer vent tube, etc.), and they are delivering it tomorrow, one business day after I bought it.  Hoo-ray.  Nothing sucks more than having to drop $500 on appliances for a house we want to sell, but it was a valuable lesson in remembering to support local business, better service and comparable (or better) price.

The darndest things.

This has been a brutal week.
I worked last Saturday and Sunday, and am now on day 11 and am feeling run down.

In cool work news, I won an evidentiary argument in court today, after the judge ruled against me.  I suggested he was wrong on the law, and he allowed me to present some authority for it, and then he agreed, and reversed.  I know, it doesn't sound like a big deal, and, truthfully, it wasn't really.  It was great to have an open-minded judge who would admit he was wrong, but honestly, for me, it was a little bit of a big deal.  The law's a tough business.  I have many cases--each different--each with a client relying upon me for something simple like a traffic ticket, or trusting me to handle his or her divorce.  Even though I'm going to be *cough* 40 this year, I often feel like when I walk in to court, everyone there has years more experience than I do, and it can be intimidating.  You second guess yourself.  "Should I have made a different argument?  Should I have settled or went to trial?"  The "what ifs" keep me up at night.  But every once in a blue moon, when I've researched, and prepared, and practiced, I feel like the smart kid.  Like the teenage Bethany who was going to conquer the world.  This was that day, for just a few moments.  Those moments where your tummy smiles and you know you're on the right path.  I'm still second guessing myself on the rest, but this was just a teeny sparkly minute.

But Dad faithful readers, you aren't here because you care about my day!

A few funnies from Dani this week:

Tori was looking at a book with pictures of animals.  She is pointing to the duck and quacking, the monkey, etc., and making all the sounds while naming the animal.  She gets to the koala, and points and says "koala", but makes no sound.  I ask her what sound the koala makes and she shrugs.  So I turn to Dani and ask her whether she know what sound a koala makes.  Dani's reply, "Koalas don't make any noise Mommy, but they do like hugs."

While wearing a pair of jeans that were a bit snug in the thighs, "Daddy, these pants hurt my legs from walking."   It's always so interesting how they choose words to describe something that they don't know.

Balloons!

Dani and Tori saw a show where the host made amazing balloon creations, and they were so excited.  So, I suggested that we could buy some and make our own.  Big Man mockingly laughed at my idea and my promises to make balloon animals for the kiddos.  I assured him that balloon art was a hidden talent of mine--how hard could it be?

After nearly 20 minutes of trying to blow them up, and failing, we got out the hand pump.  I must say, I made a pretty sweet poodle.

And hey, my kids are toddlers--they were just excited that I could twist two balloons into something resembling a hat, and they loved Big Man's hula hoops.

Their favorite part was just to have balloon wars, chasing each other around the house with their arms waving with the long balloons.  The occasional POP would have them skittering and asking me to blow up more.

Even Tommy got into the action.

The best part of my day, every day, are these little, silly adventures.

More with Grandma and Grandpa!

Grandma plays a mean game of patty cake!

She's also pretty awesome at coloring!

 

And she lets you get big girl (Shirley Temple) drinks when you go out to eat!

And Grandpa does the heavy lifting!

Horsey rides!

And reading books.

Grandma and Grandpa sure are fun!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, all!

We had a fun, mini-celebration around 7pm before the kiddos went to bed.

Granda and Grandpa are in town, so you know it's fun!

 Glowsticks and horns, like a rave, without the E!  But with the G (grandma) which is WAY better!

 Thomas x 2.

 Showing Grandma the ornaments.

Happy New Year!  Like all of you, I'm filled with all the things that I want to do better in 2013.  I won't bore you with them all, but I'm turning 40 this year, 'nuff said.

Christmas!

It takes a very manly baby to rock pink pj's!  On Christmas, no less!  Tommy managed to unwrap a few presents--much more than Dani or Tori did...

 And Santa showed up and left cool stuff for the kiddos!

 They had a blast.

 We had Christmas dinner at my cousin's.  It was hard to get the kids to be still for a photo op!

 Dinner at the kiddie table rocked!

 And the tree--my little cuties.

Happy holidays all!

Twas the night before Christmas

Everyone is in bed.  Big Man will be headed to work in a few hours.  Time to get things set up and make it look like Christmas.

 

 

 

The girls are so excited.  We baked cookies for Santa.  Bites have been strategically taken from them.

The house is set up.

Santa even left the kids a note.

 I can't wait to see their little faces in the morning.

Merry Christmas, my babies.  Mommy Santa loves you!

Silly, silly, silly!

 Funny things said this week.

Last night at dinner, Dani told us her tummy hurt and she didn't want to eat any more (after not eating much).  Big Man gave her the talk about not eating dinner meant she didn't get to eat dessert later.  I asked her what her tummy felt like.  She replied, "It hurts, and it feels like it's mad at me, and it feels like it's mad at my whole body."

The night before, we were sitting at the dinner table and Dani said something to me, and part of my response included calling her "honey".  As soon as I said it, she asked, "Why did you call me 'honey'?"  I responded something along the lines of she is my little honey, acknowledging that I usually call Big Man honey.  "Can we just stick with Dani?" she replied?

Meanwhile, Tori found a left over set of vampire teeth from Halloween.

And Tommy loves to put the girls' dress-up outfits on his head and play Chief!

They are counting down to Christmas.  Only one chocolate left in the advent calendar.  

Thank God, I've never known.

This week has been filled with talk of violence.  A terrible tragedy occurred in Connecticut, minutes from where I grew up.  Many of my cousins attended school in Newtown, and are thankfully grown.  I've read dozens of facebook posts from friends who have been so shaken by the news, even though they live hundreds or even thousands of miles away.  I've struggled to figure out why I wasn't more affected by it on a personal level.

I can only say that I am thankful.  Thankful to not really have felt the pain or fear that so many of my friends have felt just from watching the news unfold.  Someone mentioned to me in court this afternoon that, with kids at the ages mine are, I must be terrified.  My reply seemed to surprise those in the conversation, no, I am not afraid.

Perhaps it comes from having a spouse in law enforcement.  Every night, he leaves, off to a dangerous place where bad guys have guns, knives, are high on drugs, and people act out of desperation, anger, or just because they are damaged souls.  If I ever really let myself think about what Big Man deals with on a daily basis, I'd probably never sleep, as I would be filled with worry.  So I don't worry, I can't let myself worry.  I kiss him goodbye each night, tell him I love him, and think of other things.

One night the doorbell rang at around midnight.  It was then that I worried.  Called out of a sound sleep by the doorbell when your husband is a cop is the worst way to wake up.  I watch TV--they only come to your house to give you the kind of news you can't deliver over the phone.  It was the longest and most horrible trip downstairs I have ever made.  Every possible nightmarish scenario ran threw my head as I unlocked the deadbolt, tears in my eyes.  And then I saw a man with a pizza carrier walking across my driveway to my neighbor's house.  It was then that I sobbed.  I called the Big Man, crying, professing my profound fear, my utter love, and my thankfulness that it was just the wrong doorbell.  I hope mine is always the wrong doorbell.

Perhaps it is because I've never had to leave my children anywhere.  Sure, we've got the twice a week sitter, but she only watches my children in her home.  I've never needed a swiper card to get in, or had to provide a list of authorized people to pick up my children.  I've never had to leave them somewhere where the doors locked automatically behind me.  I've never had to worry about the place and the people that are caring for my children.  I am thankful.  Thankful because I can't imagine what it must have been like to know something terrible was happening in a place my children were, in a place where dozens of safety measures, and locks and cameras, and adults were, but couldn't keep them safe.

Because like every parent, I love nothing more than to see the sunlight through my son's hair.

To have a silly family dinner with all three of my little monkeys.

And to see how happy it makes them when they receive unexpected gifts.

Thank God, I've never known.  Thank God, I'm not afraid.

Christmas Card Outtakes.

It's that time of year again!  Time to herd cats try to get my kids to (a) sit still; (b) look at the camera at the same time; and (c) make some type of smiling face.

We begin with the kissing of the baby brother, and his "help me" look.

 

 Tommy tries to flee.

 You can make me sit on this couch but you can't make me smile.

 Dani decides to sing some karaoke.

 Meh.  We will not smile.

 This is utter torture, Mommy.

 My foot says, "Merry Christmas!"

We took 65 photos.  Four were passable enough to make it to a photo upload.

Ho, ho, ho!

Dani turns 4.

Dearest Dani, how can you be 4 already?  I swear, just a few days ago, you were just a little bitty bit, red, and screamy, an angry little newborn.  And you were angry, probably, because your mommy had no idea what she was doing.  Yours was the first diaper I ever changed.

And the time has just flown, my little sweetie.

You were, and still are, our cautious child.  You crawled until you could walk without falling.  None of the stumbling, falling, figuring-it-out that new babies do when trying to walk.  When it looked hard or too far away, you crawled.

You weren't quick to speak.  Again, you were figuring it out.  Sure, there was a word, here and there, but they were slow to come.  I used to joke that you'd have your Helen Keller moment where language would just make sense to you and you'd start talking.  And you did.  And now you never stop talking.  And your words amaze me.

You are loving and kind.  You are the friendly child at the store that says hello to everyone and asks their name.  You are happy to help, always.

You've picked me a thousand dandelions, because you think they are beautiful.  I think they are beautiful because they are from you, wilted, and with short stems, handed to me by a little cherub whose nose is yellow with pollen.

You are a master of disguise.  Always game for a costume or an adventure.  Many days you whisper to me, "Mommy, I'm not Dani," and you wait until I can guess what character you've assumed for the moment.

 

Your first reaction is to be afraid of the unknown.  From the spider on the web, to the hairball under the couch, your first reaction is retreat, rather than bravado.  But you face your fears.  The cat, who I know secretly terrifies you, is met with a stubborn smile, and a "Hello kitty, I love you," as you pet him.  And then he moves his paw too quickly, and you can't hide that it's scary, but still you sit, and assure him that he's a good cat and he's your friend, as you are internally assuring yourself that he is indeed, and won't hurt you.



You usually tell the truth.  Other times, you blame Tori.  She doesn't seem to mind--and will often apologize for the things she didn't do.

You love to be the focus.  As Tori began to stumble through the alphabet and counting, you saw our encouragement.  You were right along side her, saying it perfectly, not to help her, but so you'd hear our praises too.  Sometimes, it's got to be hard to be the oldest.  There's always someone who is just a little bit more needy than you, so we have to tell you to wait.  And you do, usually with a smile, because you know we'll have some special time just for you, a little bit later.

 

Yesterday, when we were driving to the store so you could pick out your first Christmas ornament, I told you that we would get one every year, so that when you were a big girl, you could have them all for your first Christmas tree.  You insisted that you would not--that you would always want to live with me, and have the same Christmas tree as me and Daddy.  As much as I know that answer is because you are four, it made me intensely happy, as I know the inevitable day it is no longer your wish will cause me intense sadness.

And you are bright, so bright.  It never stops being overwhelmingly wonderful being your mommy.

Dani, you are my light.  You bring us so much joy my four year old girl. 

Happy birthday.