Everybody loves Plinko

On my bedside table sits a change jar.  The jar contains all of the change collected during my married life, perhaps $30.  

Every morning when I shower, Kathleen gets shut up in my room, free to roam and explore with some restrictions that change as she discovers new places to pillage that she hadn't discovered previously.  Don't touch the CD's.  Anything that comes out of the bedside table drawers goes back in.  Leave my clothes in the drawer.  Don't pull the painting supplies off the shelf.  She is very obedient and leaves things alone after they have been specifically outlawed.  

And of course, that's the problem - specifically - because a two year-old has no common sense.  Common sense is gained when fingers are burned, dishes are broken, and time-out is served for improvised murals.  

Yesterday morning Brandon discovered the change jar disgorged of most of its contents.  And the change?  Underneath our bed, having been tossed behind the headboard, most likely for the wonderful noise that it makes.  She has yet to see The Price is Right, but I think I know which game will be her favorite.

Six months

Today, Sophia turned six months old.  To celebrate, she is crying in her crib, trying to go to sleep.  

When Kathleen was born, we marveled about how calm she was, such a good-natured, contented child.  Then she turned six months and woke up.  She wasn't good natured, we realized, she simply wasn't awake long enough to be any kind of nature.  And then the next three months until she had learned to crawl were particularly stressful for both of us.

When Sophia was born, we adored her and loved how happy she was, contented to be held and smiled at.  Now she is six months old and has woken up.  This time, I know what I'm headed for and I'm not looking forward to it.  Sophia has given a wonderful preview in the last week by waking up at 4:30 and intermittently crying until 6:30, not taking naps, waking up to early from naps, crying herself to sleep at night, and crying while left alone for 5 minutes.  Productivity around here has gone through the floor.

I know she'll survive the next three months, but I'll get back to you about me.

But who knows what it says?

Yesterday Kathleen came to me with a crayon, her coloring book, and a request: write.  Not wanting to write at the moment, I suggested instead that she write for me.  She then proceeded to write Kathleen, Sophia, Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, and all of the assorted names of cousins, aunts and uncles that I could think of.  Then we wrote all of the words that came to mind.  When Uncle Sam came over, she requested of him all of his words to write.  Every time one of us said a word, Kathleen would make a very careful squiggle corresponding to the word.

When I went to find her for dinner, she was holed up in the bathroom with a notebook and a pen and had covered several pages with writing.  Her nursery pictures all had writing.  She is writing right now as I type, exclaiming 'write, write' every 30 seconds or so.  Now if only I could teach her how to write actual letters....

$48

In these perilous economic times, money  has begun to take on increasingly important value; one never knows when the next bottom might drop out and the cash flow will dry up all together.  So I find it important to think seriously about the power of my dollar.  

If I had $48 to spend, I could spend it on a good many things.

21 gallons of gas, 2 tanks, or a trip to Vegas

17 gallons of milk, and a whole lot of pudding

16 dates to the $1.50 theatre (not counting babysitting, of course)

a tasty dinner at our local Indian restaurant

48 songs off of iTunes

70 lbs of apples, and a lot of applesauce

a new dress for me, the first since I have been married

171 pounds of flour

4 DVDs 

9 3/4 pizzas from Little Ceasar's

But instead, I spent that $48 on diapers for my children.  Diapers which will only be soiled and thrown away.

So Kind to Share

A few days ago, some snow boots came in the mail for Kathleen.  She didn't like them, so offered to let Sophia have them instead.  Sophia was delighted.

Kathleen's Halloween

When asked how Kathleen would be dressing up for Halloween, I replied that she would be posing as a small girl, asleep in her bed.  Here she is, ready for her big night.  This costume is so popular, we'll probably be using it again next year.

When the cats are asleep

The parents will play.  As a child, I always suspected that my parents were a little over-eager to send me to bed.  Surely there was something  really good going on that I was missing while sleeping away upstairs.  However, every time I managed to sneak downstairs to spy, they were able to quickly hide the party balloons and toys and pretend to be watching TV instead.

Well, now that I've been a parent for a few years, I've realized that my suspicions were correct, as evidenced by last night.  After returning from our respective mid-week callings, Brandon and I decided we needed a treat.  So we heated up the oil, chopped up some apples, and made apple fritters.  Originally we intended to make a half-recipe but the proportions were incorrect, so we made the whole recipe.  And then we ate them.  Without our children.

Chocolate is Thicker Than Blood, Aparently

I love a great many things.  I love my children.  I love my parents.  I love my siblings.  I love my husband.  And I also love chocolate.

Recently, a good friend returned from Switzerland with some very delicious chocolate for me, the kind of chocolate that can only be obtained outside the United States, the kind of chocolate that comes in its own red cardboard packaging.  I have saved and savored this chocolate, eating it slowly piece by piece on days where nothing else but chocolate will heal me.  

A few days ago, I emerged from my room post-nap, to discover my husband at the computer, cheerfully chewing on large hunks of chocolate.  From a red cardboard-covered package.  Dismay.  Shock.  Horror.  Betrayal.  He knows that's my favorite chocolate!  How could he?  A note of hysteria entered into my voice 'You're eating my chocolate!!!,' I wailed.

My dear sweet husband laughed, and forgave me the complete and utter lack of charity.  'No, this is my chocolate,' he smiled, and showed me the package.  Mine was safe.  And the guilt over not wanting to share?  It went away, mostly.

Even if they're not related by blood...

I think that Kathleen and her uncle Ben are kindred spirits.

Food Wars

As discussed previously in this blog, Kathleen and I have had struggles over eating habits.  The issue has been simple: she doesn't want to eat what she doesn't want to eat and I want her to eat whatever I put in front of her.

As in any war, both sides assume that one stunning, quick victory will put the other side to shame and that will be that.  Inherent in that assumption, however is that a quick, stunning victory is possible.  Anyone who has ever spent more than five minutes with a two year-old realizes that quick is not even in the vocabulary.

What Kathleen has started realizing, however, is that no matter how many battles she can choose to stage, Mom will eventually win out, because Mom has fought many food battles in her own time and has now switched sides, bringing previous expertise and experience to the fight.  And so the campaign is coming to a shuddering, sliding, slow end, as exemplified by this evening.

When presented with a vegetable timbale, Kathleen was excited.  As soon as it touched her tongue, however, her face contorted in a look of consternation and disgust.  But when her piece of strawberry jam-smeared toast was removed, she submitted to trading bites of timbale and toast until her portion was finished.  And nary a bite was spit out.  Two year-old wills were made to be broken.