Little Pitchers

I never mince words when it comes to what's on the radio in my car. I really, really hate those kids' CDs you can buy at the Christian bookstore, or Target, or wherever else they sell CDs these days (Does anyone even listen to CDs anymore? I love me some iTunes, but I digress). It's not so much that I hate the songs, I just have this sneaking suspicion that the "choir" is not really kids. Really. If you listen closely, most of the time it sounds like grown-ups putting on a child's voice--kind of like what you'd hear on a cartoon.



Lest you think I deprive my children of their childhood "right" to the musical masterpieces of "Hickory, Dickory Dock", "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," or "Old MacDonald," I will assure you that not only do I sing these songs (poorly) with the girls, but we also have an arrangement. Really, only Natalie is aware of it because Michaela Byrd still can't seem to stay awake in the car longer than about 10 minutes. Natalie knows that when we get to the bridge on the way to preschool, Mommy switches the radio over to her special kiddie CD which is loaded with all sorts of *fabulous* songs like "Do Your Ears Hang Low" and "Jack and Jill." It takes every ounce of my being to grit my teeth, put on my biggest smile, and sing along because I unfortunately purchased one of the CDs with the fakiest "children's" choir ever. You know it's totally a 47 year old woman in a cat sweatshirt singing, instead of the fresh-faced 4 year old they want you to think is belting out "This Little Light of Mine."



The rest of the time, the radio in the car is set to my personal favorites. I like to play a variety of stations so the girls aren't listening to the same music over and over. We listen to classical on the way to Target, oldies on the way to Mimi's, bluegrass on the way to Mom T's, and current pop on the way to the gym. But--- I. Love. Talk. Radio. Conservative Talk Radio. I love hearing the perspective of Glenn Beck, Limbaugh, Hannity, or Laura Ingram. They not only give the other side of the news that we don't get when watching CNN, ABC, or NBC, but they examine both sides of the argument. Intelligently, I might add, although the mainstream media likes to pan them off as a bunch of kooks.

Apparently, Natalie is also a fan of conservative talk radio. From time to time, I'll hear her repeat a phrase she hears.

"ObAma?" she'll say, emphasis on that middle "a." "I don't like ObAma. He wants to take Daddy's monies away."

"You have to be patient, my dear." (I think she heard that one from Limbaugh.)

We were on our way out to grab some dinner the other night, and I tuned in to the Mark Levin show. If you listen to Levin, you know he is brilliant, but has a tendency to do a lot of name-calling and yelling when he is frustrated with the stupidity of the other side. I was paying more attention to the road than to the show until I heard Natalie's high pitched voice pipe up from the back seat (Michaela was just saying "Go-Go" over and over).

"Cwap?" she repeated, her tone full of shock and reprove. "We don't say dat word."

Ummmm....(quickly switching to the kiddie CD)...."That's right, we don't say that word, honey." (Unless someone throws a large can of green beans on your big toe from the shopping cart in Wal-Mart and you try really really hard not to scream an even worse word, but "cwap" comes out anyways, and is muffled by the hand you have clamped over your mouth)

I guess it's true that "little pitchers have big ears." I guess it'll be "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" for us for awhile until Mr. Levin can tone down his vocabulary.

Cwap.

*{LeT It sNoW}*

It's official, people! We had our first Snow Day in a looooong time as of yesterday. Jack Frost decided to continue the fun into today, and schools are closed again due to the ice from last night's freeze.

During this stage of my life, Snow Days come with a mixed reaction. My friends with school-aged kids look forward to the extra sleeping-in hours that a Snow Day brings. My little snowbunnies rise at 7:30 am on the dot each day. Their internal clocks do not seem to have a snooze button. Starting a month or two ago, Michaela Byrd learned to play quietly by herself in her crib until she tires of her stuffed animals. I should mention that I was completely taken aback by this phenomenon when I first experienced it.

The first time I walked into her room and saw her in the dim glow of the nightlight, sitting up and calmly talking to her stuffed hippo, my mouth fell open a little bit. Her older sister has always awakened with as much gusto as she can muster. Before she could speak, Natalie would just wail at the top of her lungs until I came in to get her and then she'd be all smiles. When she learned to talk, I'd hear, "Mama, hiiiii.........Hiiiiiiiii, Mama!" over and over as I put the finishing touches on my make-up in the adjacent bathroom. She does have a rare day of sleeping until 8:15, but little good that does me as Miss Rise and Shine in the other bedroom is always ready to go at 7:30. No sleeping in here. All I have now are memories of the Snow Days days from when I used to "work" full-time ("work" is in quotations because while at the time it felt like work, it paled in comparison to the 24-7 gig I got myself into 3 years ago). Sleeping in, catching up on housework, reading a book (!!!), relaxing.

The girls really seemed to enjoy the snow (well, Natalie did...Michaela Byrd just looked flabbergasted), but bundling them all up for a few minutes outdoors is an insurmountable job! They both looked like Randy in A Christmas Story (best Christmas movie ever!), Ralphie's kid brother who "looks like a tick about to pop" and shouts, "I can't put my arms down!" I didn't buy snowsuits or boots this year because it didn't snow last year! Luckily, Natalie was able to fit into her old snowsuit with no problems, and Michaela Byrd wore layers. Lots of layers.

I love the quiet in the neighborhood after a snow. I imagine my neighbors inside their houses, sitting by the fire with a good book and a good cup of coffee. Except that in my neighborhood they are probably watching Dr. Phil and sipping some Natty Light.

We didn't stay out long because Michaela Byrd still refuses to walk, but it was long enough for the girls to enjoy the crunchy blanket of snow that God sent. Maybe He knows when we need a day to slow down and stay home?

{Emma Woodhouse} Mush, Mush! Too bad she only weighs 10 pounds. She'd make a great sled dog!

The view from down the street.

If I tell them that Michaela threw this snowball, they'll totally believe me.

I totally threw that snowball. By the way, I need a tissue.

4 Times the Photo Fun!

I saw this over on my friend Paula's blog and knew I had to get the ball rolling with some of my bloggy friends. Here are the rules:



1. Go to the 4th folder where you keep your pictures on your computer.

2. Post the 4th picture in that folder.

3. Explain the photo.

4. Link to the person who sent you the Tag and then Tag 4 friends to share the fun!



Here is mine:

This is Natalie on Christmas morning, 2005. She was just a few weeks old, and I am sure I was so tired I could barely hold the camera up. I loved the little hat she had on (too bad Michaela Byrd missed wearing it by a week or so!). She's laying on one of those Boppy pillows, which I know you're not supposed to do, but it was on the floor at my mom's house, and she turned out okay. I think.




{I Tag}:
1. Meri at Watercolor Ponies.
2. Tracy at Bringing Up Boys...
3. Emily at The Webbs.
4. Boagie at Down on the Farm.

Can't wait to see what kind of fun, random photos ya'll find!

Blast from the Past

I signed up for a sewing class at the local community center this morning. I know, this totally solidifies my place on the geek squad, but what the heck...if my obsession with LOST wasn't going to do it, this would. I am really looking forward to relearning to use my sewing machine and learning how to follow a pattern. I'd love to progress to making my own drapes, duvet covers, and clothes for the girls. I practically skipped out of the center with excitement...well, as much as one can skip with a baby in your arms.

Until I got home.

I was curious about the class, so I looked it up online to see who the teacher was. Seeing her name transported me straight back in time to 1997. If you are reading this and you went to high school with me, her name is MJK.

In my flashback in time, I am wearing a cheerleading uniform with the skirt rolled as high as it will go without causing suspicion, and my hair is sporting the unfortunate cheerleader bangs from the late '90s that we all know to well. I am sitting between BH and my friend, M, of "I (Heart) New York {2008}" fame. If memory serves correctly, BH is probably sporting his letter jacket and M most likely is studiously taking notes. She is now a lawyer, and I wash sippy cups for a living. (See kids? This is why you should stay in school!)

We are seated at a table in one of those modular units (fancy word private schools use for trailers) and MJK is at the front of the room, imparting her knowledge of Chemistry. Ick. Just typing that word made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Because M is one of my best friends, she is doing her very best to get me to pay attention.

I am passing the time by thinking about how much more I would rather be in History class because I like History and Mr. S is cute and also how I am in love with BH, who I think is really just enjoying stringing me along. And also how cute I look in my cheerleading uniform. Behind me, JP is furiously scribbling a love note that I will later pretend I never got. (High school girls are mean!!!)

M pokes me as MJK pointedly asks me if I can name the element on the chart she is pointing to. I hold my breath and wonder why the stupid elements don't just have their names on the chart instead of numbers and letters like NGHYRP2. Even at the young age of 16, I must have some inherent knowledge that my mind is destined for things like debating whether or not Marlowe's Faustus ever had a chance, or did Dickens care for the Utilitarians. Oooooorrr...maybe I am just too lazy to pick up a book and learn Chemistry.

In her defense, MJK is a wonderful, sweet lady. She has the misfortune of making the choice to assign me a seat next to BH. I was lost from day one.

I should have failed Chemistry. I got an A on the very first test, but it was all downhill from there. 25, 39, 42 were not my locker combinations...they were very well the grades I received on subsequent tests. I am certain that MJK knew that my lack of studying and application were the cause of my poor work, but I think she passed me because that was the year my dad died, and also I did look very cute in my uniform.

I had MJK for Study Hall the next year, and she was going through her old filing cabinets.

"Oh, Amanda," she said, half to herself. "I found one of your old Chemistry test re-takes." (She used to let us do re-takes...mine were always a half-hearted effort).

"Ugh." I remember saying. "I don't even want to know what the grade was."

MJK laughed. "Oh, this one doesn't have a grade. I think I stopped grading them after awhile."

So, there you have it. If I don't study and put some effort in, MJK is gonna flunk me in Sewing Class, ya'll! Or at least give me a "D"!

I better hit the books....

Fore!

I will say again that my friend, Tracy is possibly the most creative mom I know. Her recent creative endeavors put me and just about all the moms I know to shame. In fact, Tracy, I don't think we can be friends anymore because I am going to have a complex. After attending a party for Tracy's older son's birthday today, I am not sure how anything I can come up with will compare. I'd have to fly the girls and 20 of their closest friends to Disney World, where the Disney people would resurrect Walt himself for a grand party in the Cinderella castle, complete with fireworks, princesses, and a leprechaun who pops out of a cake dipped in gold to give each girl 3 wishes. That might come close, emphasis on might.

I didn't tell Natalie that we were headed to an "Under the Sea- Mini Golf" party, because she had no idea what golf is anyways, and I didn't her to ruminate any longer than necessary about the possible alternative uses for a small club. We arrived at the party hot-spot, Tracy's neighborhood clubhouse, a few minutes late, but ready for some fun. Natalie was particularly excited to see that Mikie's "house" had a pool around back, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that I am not planning on wearing a bathing suit any time soon. Plus, it's January in Virginia. Plus, we don't have a membership. (Can you tell I am good at coming up with reasons not to wear a bathing suit?)

Tracy really outdid herself! Here are some pictures from the party:

Hours of work went into this party!

La-La peeking out from underneath the "waterfall".

The Pink Floyd room...Natalie freaked out when the door closed. "Get me outta here!" she shrieked. I thought it was kinda trippy.

Poor Zachary. Zachary is Mikie's younger brother, and Natalie is convinced that he needs a foster mother. She mothered (terrorized) him at our Bible study last summer, and is probably still doing it at our current study. She insists on patting his head, holding his hand, and telling him what to do. Have I modeled this behavior? Tracy, if someone calls CPS on you, it was probably Natalie--gunning for the hostile takeover. (Told you she'd be a shark in the corporate world)

This is me, Tracy, and Boagie, Tracy's mom and fellow blogger. I'm a fan of Boagie's blog, and I think Natalie is a fan of Boagie now too. I love to read about farm life in Iowa. I've never been to Iowa, but I think I would like it. Natalie has also decided that she would very much like to visit Boagie's farm and take Michaela Byrd for a ride on the tractor. Poor Michaela Byrd missed the party because she had to have a nap at Mimi's. It's for the best...she'd probably cheat. Inherited it from me.

Well done, Tracy! I would like to thank you most effusively because as we were on our way home, I heard a little voice pipe up from the back seat: "Mommy, I want a party like what Mikie had for my birfday."

Thanks. a. lot. ;)

The Play Date

Yesterday, I was blessed with the presence of two lovely young ladies in my home. My friend, L dropped off her youngest, "La-La", for a play date. L had a meeting over at church, and a play date sounded like a great idea. Natalie, who normally looks forward to sharing her toys about as much as she looks forward to going to get shots, was surprisingly upbeat. T picked her up from preschool, and when she got here L was already parked in the driveway.

"La-Laaaaaaa!" she called from the open front door. "Come on in!" I think the warm air she let out of the house at that moment probably added another $200 to our electric bill.

The girls spent the afternoon immersed in the arts:

Fine Dining-The play date began with lunch, although both girls assured me that they were not hungry. Trying to get one three-year old to eat is a feat unto itself. Attempting to get two three-year olds to eat is a qualification for sainthood. Natalie and La-La spent the better part of lunch talking and hopping up and down out of their seats...made me wish for seat belts. I managed to get some grapes and peanut butter sandwiches into them before they were off to their next venture.

I kept waiting for a screaming fight to break out, but other than a small skirmish over the tea party, they were very civil. La-La preferred a more formal tea service, and Natalie had a more casual party planned, but they were easily distracted. They even entertained Michaela Byrd so I could wash the dishes!

Film: During lunch, La-La asked me if we have "High Cool Moosikul." (She has two big sisters) Sadly, I informed her that we do not own that fine piece of artistry. Natalie quickly interjected that we do, however, have Cinderella, an amazing cinematic achievement. They both concurred that the script and animation are sublime, but they prefer Peter Pan's score.

Politics: The girls munched on goldfish between courses and Natalie, ever the political activist, announced that we have "a Present named Obama." La-La made a distasteful face, as she is also a budding conservative. Natalie informed us that "I doesn't like Obama because I am very smart."

Fashion: What play date could end without a fashion show? The girls tore through the dress-up trunk like a pack of wild Grizzly bears and emerged from the new room (we don't really have a name for this room-hence, it is called "the new room) as worldly, sophisticated ladies. Here they are in their finery.





What is more precious than a pair of three year olds playing dress-up?? Without fighting over accessories! After the photo shoot, they donned bracelets, necklaces, and gloves. I think Anna Wintour would be proud of the ensembles. (La-La is wearing a vintage Dior gown paired with some fabulous hot pink Jimmy Choo slingbacks. Notice the plunging neckline? A daring choice, but I think she pulls it off well. Natalie donned a yellow skirt from the Carolina Herrera Spring line. She is wearing a diamond studded, feathered Harry Winston tiara. Paired with a pink Hermes bag, and pink Manolos, she is ready to walk 5th Avenue with the rest of the socialites.)




Today showed me that maybe Natalie is growing up. It was wonderful to see her interacting so well with her friend, but broke my heart just a little to see how big she's getting. I think we're both looking forward to the next play date! Perhaps they can plan an anti-Socialism march on the White House for next time....

The Gourmet

For those of you who have children, do you ever look at your child and just know what their career path will look like? Natalie will either be a skilled corporate negotiator, or she will lead a military coup on some small country and become a not-so-benevolent dictator...I just hope she has a room with a closet big enough for all my shoes in her palace. My dream is to rival Imelda Marcos. Michaela Byrd may be heading on the path to becoming a famed food critic whose reviews grace the pages of The New York Times.

Now that she's a year old, we've been gradually shifting from formula to whole milk. That's not really a problem, as formula smells like old, stinky socks and whole milk tastes vastly better than that. (I know this only from T's commentary, because I have no sense of smell!) In fact, it has gone much better than when we did the old switcheroo from breast milk to formula.

I ended up pumping with both of my girls. I wasn't sure how long I'd make it with Michaela Byrd. I pumped for six months when Natalie was a baby, but I didn't think I'd have that kind of time with a two year old and a newborn. So my goal was to take it a week at a time. I hoped to make it to three weeks. Weeks came and went, and I got into a schedule and figured why not try to make it to six months? It became sort of a challenge to myself. Type A's love this kind of stuff--maybe I am a Type A?

Natalie was such a great eater that I assumed that Michaela Byrd would also take to the formula easily. Not so, my friends, not so. We settled down in the chair together and I offered her the bottle. She acted like I was asking her to eat mashed up pickled pig's feet! She spit and yelled and flapped her little arms around. I'm sure that if she could talk, she would have said, "Excuse me, Miss, but this is not what I ordered!"

I ended up having to pump for a whole extra month in order to gradually add the formula in. So whatever they say about the second child getting the shaft is just plain silly. Miss Picky clearly thinks that her palate is too refined for the food we've been serving her. I half expect her to sniff her bottle before swirling it around and taking a sip.

"Excuse me, Miss, but this is not what I ordered. I'd like some chocolate in my milk, please."

If only I could just be the "Milk Nazi" and say, "No milk for you. Come back, one year!"

All in a day's work.....

Planning her next tepid review..."The apple puffs were slightly soggy. I fed them to the dog, and even she didn't care for them. Where can one find a decent caviar around here?"