snowed

It's a different sound today, but it's still a great one (see previous post). Do you hear it? It's the trickle trickle trickle of snow mountains MELTING and the ever so slight whisper of the wind blowing. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and the windows. are. OPEN.

We're still digging out from 60+ inches of snow that fell in less than five (five!) days. It's been two weeks since the last snow fall, or has it only been a week. I'm not sure. It's all a blur. Either way, our street has yet to be professionally plowed and that seems a little ridiculous to me after 14 DAYS. Fortunately, all of the neighbors put aside petty gripes and engaged in some team-building after the first snowfall*. We managed to shovel, yes shovel, a path out of our street, which I never considered a particularly long street until we had to shovel it. It's the Amazon people.

Oh, and the three-point turn that was the death of me in drivers ed has got NOTHING on the 10-point turn required to get out of the driveway. I'm getting so good at it I'm considering a NASCAR career, except that I guess in NASCAR you just drive really fast. So, never mind. But I'm considering a career in something that requires skilled maneuvering. UPS maybe? I do have a fondness for brown...

So what do you do when you're snowed in up to your ears and its near Valentine's Day so there's sugar and chocolate everywhere and your three-year-old has an especially sweet tooth? You join her in eating it, bounce off the walls for a bit of exercise, and then give it up for Lent.

(Oh, you can also make really kick-a*s tunnels, too).


*The first snowfall dumped 38 inches in about 24 hours. The second snowfall (three days later) dumped 26 inches and brought 50 mph wind gusts with it).

pretty sure

Do you hear that?

Of course you don't because there is NOTHING to hear!

It is quiet. Silent. Void of any crib shaking, doll breaking, how-many-more-minutes-do-I-have-to-sleep asking.

My girls are actually asleep at the SAME TIME. (and I'm not saying this out loud, but it's been more than 10 minutes.)

So what am I doing? Well, I poured a cold cup of coffee, microwaved it pipin' hot, and should've saddled up to the computer to work, to write, to plan but instead, I'm writing to you (well, those of you who are left) because I've abandoned "should've" for this decade and am pursuing creative.

:: Pre-Nap Entertainment::

Our friend Melissa left some treats on our doorstep this morning. It took big sister all of about three seconds to hone in on the prize treat: m&m chocolate chip cookies. I've got to hand it to the kid. She's got more restraint than I do, "Mommy, can I have one after my lunch?"

Sure thing kid, but I'll be damned if I'm waiting til after MY lunch to have one.

We finish up lunch, crumbs and kidney beans everywhere (little sister's contribution to clean up efforts) when big sister pipes up like Rod from the Price is Right: Come on down, your the next contestant on the Price is Right! except her version goes like this:

"Guess what time it is, mommy!?!"

"Oh is it nap time already?" Her father is rubbing off on me. I mess with that little girl waaaay too much.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooo Mommmmmmmmmy!" (panic ensues) "It's time for my cookie!" There are tears.

"Oh...I almost forgot."

She smiles, "Mommy, you were just teasing."

Busted.

"Hey, why don't you go potty first. I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy your cookie more if you get over the pee pee dance."

"No. I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy it more if I don't."

End of discussion.

bitten

Things are piling up all around me: to do lists, wrapping, presentations, reports, research, shopping, cleaning, fa la la la la la la la la.

And all I want to do is find a corner in the woods and dream about HIM sparkling and beautiful and finding ME.

Oh, I got bit all right.

BAD.

(Love you wholly and completely, Pete).

Multitasking

New Babies....and Monsters?

The little fella next door is a big brother as of today.

While the girls napped, I baked some cookies to bring over. When Ava woke up all rosy cheeked and cuddly, I asked her if there was anything else she could think of that the big brother might need, or just something she'd like him to have.

She thought about it and then said, "Maybe something I don't need anymore."

Pause.

"Actually, maybe a monster. From my bedroom."

I guess that means she won't be offering to shovel their sidewalks this winter, either. :)

Dear Ava,

Recently we had quite a laugh. I was feeding Anna while you cut paper with your scissors. I looked down for a second--to make some slobbery sound at Anna or to just fall into her gigantically big blue eyes--before you started walking toward me with a look on your face that quizzically said, "the oddest thing just happened to me."

Then, you opened your mouth and out came this: "Mommy, it didn't even hurt when I cut my hair!?" Like the big deal was that cutting your hair "didn't hurt" (which is a big deal) and not at all that YOU CUT YOUR HAIR.

But if you really didn't know it was a big deal while you were doing it then you knew once you saw the look on my face, which was probably a cross between what I look like in the morning with about your age in hours of sleep and what I look like when I hear (before I see) that you cut your hair. So you started crying and I started...laughing. I started laughing and hugged you to pieces (no pun intended). I guess because, well, you were okay--no harm done--and you actually did a pretty darn good job of it. Here I'm paying {way too much} for you to get your hair cut professionally and all I need to do is give you a pair of rubber gripped, dull bladed scissors and send you to town little girl.

love love love

Mama

Rich

If you could have seen her, you would have thought she'd struck it rich. Ava bounded out of bed this morning, a morning she'd waited for an excruciating two days to arrive. The anticipation was just too much for her to take, which is why I typically don't tell her about things-- exciting things (like ice cream) and upsetting things (like shots) until they are imminent. Both because the anticipation is almost more than she can bare and because heaven forbid if plans should change. Even slightly.

But announcing these particular events were out of my control. They were preschool events...and ever since she learned about them at preschool on Tuesday, she's been asking, on the hour, "When will it be Thursday?" Well, today it was. These were the big events, in order:

1. School pictures
2. The firefighters came for a visit (and were going to let the kids, "climb all over their firetruck, mommy!".
3. Her day to "show and tell"

Many of you know how fascinated my daughter is with anything having to do with firefighters. Given her peculiar fear of smoke detectors, I wonder if she hasn't made a deal with them: I'll idolize firefighters and do whatever they tell me to do so long as you promise to never ever ever go off in my presence. We try to hold up their end of the bargain by a) changing the batteries twice per year; and b) cleaning our oven regularly so that when I do cook over 400 degrees, the drippings from the sweet potatoes don't smoke us out.

Usually when I ask her anything about preschool, what she did, what she learned, what she loved best, she replies, "I don't know." Then, later on, she'll usually give me dribs and drabs of details..."Ellie went home sick; the nurse told us to sing Happy Birthday while we wash our hands; I didn't get picked to be the line leader today..."

And today, even with so much to tell, her response wasn't any different. But here's what I did learn from her intermittently throughout the rest of the day:

She was a little nervous about the school pictures. "Why were you nervous?" I asked her.

"Because I didn't want the flash to go off in my eyes."

Ugh. I remember that flash. I mean, I had forgotten, but then I remembered. Then came the next detail:

"Did you have to sit in a chair?" I asked.

To which she replied, "Nope. I had to sit on a stool."

I completely forgot about THE stool. The school-picture-taking-stool! Whoa. What a flashback. Instantly, I was six years old with a home-job haircut, sitting on the stool that was so hard to sit on (and keep still!)

I also learned (through one of her imaginary play moments) that the firefighters must've told her that she had to wait for a second turn; that there were other children who hadn't had one yet. That kind of made me smile. She couldn't wait to get her little self all over that shiny red fire truck and she was going to try again and again and again to experience it. She's not going to let an opportunity go untapped; even if its thwarted, she's at least going to give it a try.

I was also pleased to hear that she asked where the lady firefighters were. I don't consider myself a feminist in the radical sense, but I must say, in this world, I'm psyched to have a daughter who only sees what she CAN do, not what only other people do. (Although I want her to be a firefighter about as much as I want to imagine the day she leaves home. In fact, her daddy has already made her, at three years old, SIGN an agreement that states: I will let my daddy come to college with me and sleep on my floor all the days I'm there.)

And then, there's show and tell. Ironically, she had planned three weeks ago to bring in her fire hat and her firey red dancin' shoes for the occasion. I guess the stars were aligned with the firefighters coming for a visit and all.

Now, as I write, she's upstairs getting a story and a song (or two, or three). Probably asking her daddy questions like, "What dangerous things did you do as a little boy?" and, "Why were the firefighter's hats yellow today?"

And when I go to bed, I'll remember how excited Ava was when she woke up in the morning. How in love with the day she was before she even knew what it would bring. She did strike it rich. She strikes it rich every single day.

I think she's onto somethin'.