Small & Mighty my ass

No, this is not a post about the size of my ass, though I did just get a pair of jeans ordered from Bluefly that fit fantasstically! Now, if I could just afford to also buy this, I'd be making Stacy & Clinton proud.

No, this post is about a little product I bought to aid me in my seemingly futile attempts to stay on top of the laundry situation in our house. I have the sneaking suspicion that this family has snuck into my home and is tricking me into doing their laundry, as it is the only explanation for the fact that no matter how many loads of wash I do, no matter how many jugs of detergent I buy, there is always either more laundry that needs doing, no detergent to do it with, or both.

Enter All Small & Mighty. It purports that with its 32 ounce bottle you can do as much laundry as you would with a bottle of 100 ounces,typically 32 loads. I call bull shit. It simply is not possible to put 18 shit soiled onesies, 3 mystery stained dress shirts, a dog bed liner (The hell it gets its own wash! Who has time for canine/human laundry separation?), and a pair of pants with a stain that mysteriously comes and goes on the area of the right thigh and add the equivalent of a thimble full of detergent and believe that it will all come out in the wash so to speak.

It does not matter what the bottle says. It does not matter what size the accompanying cap is. It doesn't even matter how large the load of clothing is. I have to eye ball the detergent and pour into the little drawer what I would say is about 16 ounces of fluid. Sometimes I try to do less, but then almost involuntarily re-open the drawer and pour in enough to reach that magic 16 oz pour.

So a 32 ounce bottle?
Equivalent to a 100 ounce bottle?
Not in this house.

Are you able to follow the cap directions?

7 month comparison

Briar, approximately 7+ months old.



Avery, same age.

Jump Seat

Avery continues to revel in her rockin' Christmas present. She loves standing and shovelling Cheerios onto the floor in to her mouth from the min-trough they provide you. That little plastic cow in the second picture is her most prized possesion. Now if I can just keep the dog from claiming it for her own...

Try Not To Hate Me

It takes a special kind of gift to take the kind of pictures that I do.

You should see the ones I deleted.

Random Shots

Running on the ship's ramp at the park in her white jean jacket
Tell me it doesn't look like they are thinking,
"Ok, let's let her take one more picture. She's so pathetic."

Dang these teeth feel weird.

Maybe if we pretend like we don't know she's there she'll stop.

Fine, here. Look Ma, a smile. Will you stop now?

Damnit

I remember playing a game of tag beneath the willow trees at Amazon Park in the spring of my fourth grade year. I had yet to discover the truly sinister side of girls as the segregation by giggles and burps, and the cold calculations of the "tweens" had not yet occurred. Something happened that compelled me to screechjesus or shit. I'll admit that it didn't take much. I'd been on the periphery of enough of my dad's poker games (no offense Dad, we can write it off to Nick or Joe)to know all the words to say upon stubbing your toe, losing a match or just feeling pissed. Looking back, I didn't do much as a result of peer pressure - though the couple of times that I did I was nailed and promptly grounded. If I thought about it, which I doubt I was, I would have said that I thought the kids would think I was cool for having sworn.
On this particular day, with this particular group of kids, swearing was the wrong thing to do. Lisa Lee came over, chubby face flushed from the physical activity, glasses sliding down her nose, and said with her hands on her hips,
"Amanda, I cannot allow myself to be around someone like you. You have a dirty, dirty mouth. I cannot let myself hear the things you say. Goodbye. And, you should really clean your mouth."
She left the park and took with her the four other girls who'd been there playing. I remember standing there thinking, "But it was just a word. Who cares? I won't say it again." Then I got mad. How dare she judge me like that. My family certainly didn't verbally encourage me to swear (We would never say curse because that's a word used by people who don't. Curse. Swear.), but I heard the words. They weren't hugely different from other words.
Frigging.
Flipping.
Freaking.
Who are you kidding?
I am trying to determine how I feel now as a mom. I remember my own mom saying that I needed to practice control so that I wouldn't slip in a meeting (she was referring to burping, but we'll let it apply to swearing here). I don't like Briar or Avery to see violence on tv. Sean said just this morning that a video we have on iTunes is too racy and that he doesn't like Briar seeing it. I agree.
I am not sure how I feel about swearing. The other day Sean came into the kitchen saying, "Yes, Daddy put the dolly away. We are all done on the dolly." Then he turned to me and mouthed that Briar had requested he push the dolly faster and when he declined she let rip a "Damnit!" We both knew where she'd learned it. Yesterday when I picked her up from the sitter's the woman said to me, "Do you say Jesus?" "Yes we do. I'm sorry." She wasn't bothered, just trying to figure out if Briar had learned it from her. It's hard not to chuckle a bit. They are such sponges. Briar throws my own mannerisms back at me, a hand on the hip, a unique inflection, pursed lips, or comical sighs and head tilts. She is a mirror of my words and actions, both good and bad. I want to be a strong role model for her, but I also want to be real. I want to give her something that challenges her, but is attainable. I honestly don't like the sound of her saying "damnit", but I don't know that I want to give up saying it myself. I suppose for now, the best I can do is just try to be as strong as I can in the areas that I am sure about. The others, well, we're just going to have to take it a day at a time.
Do me a favor and cross your fingers that she waits to drop an f-bomb until we're visiting my dad and he's playing poker.

East Coast Christmas Re-Broadcast.

We started Christmas around 8 o'clock. Mom was up at 5 wondering when everyone else would wake up...the extra three hours were rapturously enjoyed.

Briar received oh so much Princess paraphernalia. Avery gummed, chewed and gagged on loads of wrapping paper,mom made a second pot of coffee (purr), dad thanked his lucky stars that he thought to do the "some assembly required" two nights ago (mom's idea of setting up on Christmas Eve rivals set decorating for a Broadway show), Ella devoured in less than 30 minutes two "nearly indestructible for even the toughest dogs" toys, and Barnaby spent the morning having alone time in the pack-n-play.

I seriously don't understand any of this. It's cool that Briar is happy and all, but...Dad? The camera? C'mon it's early. Can I get a little drink of something?

This is mine. I'm standing in it. I love this. I love Cheerios.


Ooh, princess stuff in blue. What will they think of next? I love it. I love it. I love it. Thank you Grandma & Grandpa.

Umm, Jim, Corky, Molly? You may be the coolest people in the world. The only thing I love more than Ariel...a good fort, which I wil realize this is once I stop sunbathing and let Daddy put it together. Ooo, wow!


Thanks Grandma & Grandpa. I thought I wsn't going to like it because it wasn't pink, but then I saw Daisy Duck. And the hood. And the snaps. Ooo, wow!


I love my fabric fish book. Mom's been a nutcase 'cause she couldn't remember that she was the one who bought the darn thing. Not that she would have sent a thank you note- my mom has other skills.

Not a lot

The reality of this parenting thing is that you often have to divide and conquer. In order to get things done one person sometimes has to bear the brunt of the housework or the childcare or the whatever. I have several writing assignments that I need to get done. Sean took Briar for a run this morning while I stayed home with Avery to work. I set Avery up in one of her toys beside me as I settled in behind the compter. It felt like only minutes had passed when I looked out the window and saw Sean watching me and waiting for me to realize that he was there. I waved, he grinned.

"What'd'ya get done while I was gone?" He asked as he beamed an I feel incredible face for having worked out with my kid smile. I looked at him wondering if I should lie. I know he wanted to feel like above and beyond the euphoria of a good workout, he had helped me to get things done that I wanted. Would I spoil it if I were honest? His eyes were the deepest blue, his face flushed and shiny. The shoulders of his black shirt were silver. I could see the tiniest little bubbles from the mist that had been slowly melting away the dusting of snow outside. He looked at me waiting to hear how I'd spent the last hour.

"Not a lot."

He looked down at Avery and smiled. I made the right decision. He understood the distraction, the inevitable pull. We need sleep, we need time together, but sometimes you just need to give into the desire to let things go. And so we played.

Can it be?

Did Santa really come?
Is this all for me?
Where, oh where shall I even begin?

Movin' On

Avery has achieved backward mobility.




Not really crawling, not really scooting,
but most definitely moving. Backwards.




Oh, the terror of two (children and the age), on the move.

Stay tuned for more tales from the mayhem control tower.
(More like an observation deck really, control is rather ephemeral.)

Ding Ding Ding

Grandma slam dunk alert!

We received another box from Grandma the other day. This grandma, my mom, is famous for some odd packages. She'll be the first to admit it. I think we can both admit that sometimes the stuff can fall into a "misinformed impulse buy" category...transistor radios with black nylon lanyards and travel Yahtzee. Here's a typical pre-package arrival call:

"Hey Man, it's Mom."

"Hi."

"I just put another package in the mail to you. It's a little bit of everything, some things for you, some things for the girls."

"Cool, I can't wait!"

"Well, I don't know. It may be weird. I don't know what I was thinking. Some of it may just be dumb."

"Mom, stop. I'm sure we'll love it."

"Well, I thought some of it was cool, but what you don't like you can just give away."

"Mom."

"Sorry."

Grandma has sent some amazing things. And, she never fails with quilts. I had to post her latest. She sent a vest, jacket and hat for Avery. They are made of what is without question the most decadent fleece I have ever touched. The brand is called i play baby wear . If you have a baby, know someone with a baby, or think you might one day come into contact with a baby I urge you to go now and buy something from their Winter Wear line. It is simply amazing!




Avery loves it. The quilt behind her is another Grandma slam dunk. It is a genuine, make-you-feel-like-a-rich-person quilt from Sundance, or as I sometimes call it, the catalog from which I would buy anything but can afford nothing. Thanks Mamalou.

Anantomy of a photo

My maternity leave was an 8 week nursing and photo taking marathon. Needless to say maternity leave with a toddler in the house was a different story. Avery is more than seven months old now and I find myself trying to make up for lost time. Sometimes it's a bit of a lost cause. I'm home alone, the girls are an armful and the camera is impossible to even hold with one hand, let alone take pictures one handed. Behold some recent products of my efforts...I think I accomplish funny, unflattering, slightly sentimental and totally off balance in this here display. Maybe even earning bonus points for the complete destruction of quality light in one shot. Enjoy.

Lest You Think...

That I wasn't providing activities and attention.
I'll have you know there was an entire table of arts and crafts.




And then there were just ink soaked palms.

Equally Distracting

The twinkly, giggly, babbling, Cheerio gumming Avery.


Be still my heart she is just an angel.

Working at working from home

Somebody is not being very helpful.



I am not that awful, this picture is from another time,
but it illustrates the scene at hand quite accurately.

All I Am Saying

You choose your mate, but you don't necessarily choose their behavior. Sean would prefer that I not grab him in a passionate embrace in the electrical aisle at Lowe's or start a loud discussion about matters more appropriately addressed at home. I would prefer that we not always take the "scenic route" thereby changing: "From point A to point B, to "From point A to point F-2." But we work it out.

Lately, I have been soliciting feedback from Sean on different writing endeavors, in much the same way he solicits my feedback on design work he does. Last night I wrote a bit about his feedback. I was not trying to ridicule him, or build myself up. It was simply something I found to be somewhat funny. For the record, 4 people have written and they all agree with...

Sean.

I respect and appreciate his feedback, but I do not always accept it in the most gracious or enthusiastic fashion. For that, I apologize. This morning he let me know that something I had written probably did not translate in the way I had intended. We had a heated back and forth...not really heated, but not exactly casual if you get my hot headed drift.

Knowing that I don't always know best I have deleted the post. I figure if my husband, the person who knows me best, thought I came off as insensitive, then everyone else will really think I am an ogre. I have witnessed too many people being burned by a joke or flippant response in an email to want to take that sort of chance.

I can't guarantee that I will always say things with tact, or pass up the opportunity to ridicule something that I think people might be able to relate to. I will promise though, that I will always be honest and I will awlays try to correct any wrongs that I commit. I feel passionately that there is much insight and pleasure to be derived from the "blogosphere." I want to contribute in a good and meaningful way. I want to support other women and families who choose to share their stories. I am grateful to everyone who visits to see what is going on with our girls and our lives. Please feel free to leave a comment anytime. I read them all and respond when appropriate.

Speaking of supporting other bloggers, I found a site that makes a request that I think could be fun for people. There is a little boy named Tanner who has Muscular Dystrophy. They are seeking letters or cards from kids to Tanner to demonstrate the Christmas spirit. I am sending Tanner a card with some magnets. Briar and Avery will be sending along some stickers. If you would like to send tanner a card yourself visit this link or just write to him at:

Letters for Tanner
1518 Queen Street West
Toronto, ON
M6R 1A4
Canada



Happy Holidays!

You Are What You Eat

Mom is currently serving up healthy portions of:
Cute


And Adorable.




Avery is dipping her toe into the world beyond pureed yellow, purple and orange stuff. Our first expedition was an off white odyssey: cheese and Kix. I declared it a success as there were no dramatic dry heaving episodes.

Not Second Best

Avery is a daily revelation.

No matter how often I tell myself that she is different from Briar, I am shocked by just how different she is. I am forever asking Sean if he remembers Briar doing something the way Avery is. The answer is a perfect mix of yes and no.

Something purely Avery, that is perhaps my favorite thing, is her embrace.

She waits. She watches me, waiting for my full attention and then she looks at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes search my face and and then penetrate to my very soul. She holds my gaze and her face slowly blooms into a smile that extends from the top of her downy head to her exquisitely long toes. She puts her whisper soft fingers on the sides of my face and neck and dives into me. Her head burrows in my neck or presses directly against my own face. She holds me in a fiercely emphatic kiss and then I feel her inside of me.

The enormity of my devotion to her presses against me. She is so undemanding and yet I feel the call to love her more intensely than I did Briar. My love for Briar grew throughout my pregnancy with her and required no conscious participation on my part. It just was. My love for Avery is something different. I am as aware of its development and evolution as I am of her physical growth. I have a constant companion in the ache I feel from loving her. The occasional guilt of loving her differently weighs heavily on me, so too does the realization that the depth of what I feel for her at times surpasses the way I love Briar.

It would be impossible to love them the same. I hope that I will be able to share with them both how important it was and will be for our relationships to reflect the individual miracles that they each are. They are each, together and alone, my entire life.

Here they are.

More pictures to come, but for now...

They take turns pursuing one another.
I give thanks that thus far the adoration is mutual and balanced.

Swallowing and Sentences

Fun times at our house.

Or devestatingly bittersweet if you are a mom watching your two babies morph into capable little girls.

Catching a hint of shoulder peeking out from a tshirt and being hit with the full impact of that shoulder 15 years from now being caressed by a boy as he pins a corsage on the silk bodice of her Homecoming dress.

Or watching the furrowing of a not yet year old brow as your daughter sits in a high chair taking in the antics of her family, resenting her immobility and worshipping the every move of her sister.

Avery is eating food. She had Kix (loved them), cheese (curious, but not entirely taken with it), Clementines (may give up the breast for these), pasta (please dad, don't put that slime in my mouth again), peas (are you kidding me with that thing?).

Briar was playing with Sean tonight. He lets her stand on a red dolly we have and he pushes her, careening through the rooms in the house, (Man, it's like threading a needle in this doorway) and generally terrorizing the dog. After about 10 minutes he took a break to talk with me while she played piano. Couple of minutes into our talk she came out, her light aubrun bangs tickling her eyelashes.

"What's a doing, Daddy?"

What's a doing, Daddy? Jesus, it hit me like the Cat's in the Cradle song. I swear I saw her grow in that moment. I saw the deepening of the hollows in her cheeks, the ripening of her lips, the lengthening of her neck.

How on earth am I going to survive watching her come into the amazing woman that she is destined to be?

How will I endure two? Avery is already moving so fast. She clutches Sean's shoulders as they dance, burying her dark tressed little head in his neck.

Riding in the car and listening to the girls in the back seat I am able to hear all the reasons we had Avery. I am also able to hear how intimate and exclusive their bond is. I will never be their sister, never be a conditionless friend. I am their mother. Mom. Mama. Mommy. I will always remember the sensation of holding them for the first time. Feeding them from my body. Kissing them as they sleep.

I will always experience sorrow as I celebrate their milestones.

Today my babies swallowed and spoke.

Today I wept.

It Ain't Easy

It is a mixed blessing being married to a designer.
Sean booed my cartoon drunks. (see entry below)
I protested saying that I had to:
A) Protect the innocent
B) Respect the laws of stock photo agencies (Like I didn't "borrow" the meatball and moustachioed dude pic.)
C) Get something up there.

He shrugged and said,"I just didn't like it. It wasn't as good as your other stuff."

That kills me. I may have done "c" work in high school, but it is not what I want to do now. I certainly don't want to serve it to you fine folks reading this blog. I had a picture I could have used, but the person wasn't technically drunk, it was taken on New Year's Eve four years ago and I didn't have his permission. So please excuse the cartoon drunks. As penance I present to you a slightly tipsy Amanda circa 2002.



One eagle eyed reader may recognize her dark, curly locks alongside my face and realize that the photo I would have used had it not been so old and unauthorized was that of her punctuality and gravity challenged husband, beloved by all who meet him.

The Doge Ate My Homework

Sean and I left the girls with Nana and Ciocci Jeannie last night.
We went to the Chamber Mixer at The Fort.

Fun people.


Tubs of gelatinous meatballs.


Raffles we didn't win.



And the inevitable heavily bearded close-talker.


So I hope you'll understand my need to have gone straight to bed upon returning home from my exciting Cinderella on crack evening. I'll get a proper post up toot sweet (or tout de suite).

I ♥ Stockings

Just one more reason why my incredibly attractive, articulate, and awesomely dadtastic husband is amazing. He commissioned Trina, magnificent artisan and babysitter extraordinaire, to make stockings for us. Behold our wonderful stockings.



Trina works at Trampoline and has been making handbags for years. You should seriously visit her site and consider making an order, not only are the bags gorgeous, but Trina donates a portion of each sale to charity. And, our girls love her and she loves 'em right back! Trinabags.

This is Why.

This is why you have more than one.

We hoped that Briar would accept her new sibling and that Avery would fit into our little family. We had hoped that we would be able to make it work. I don't think we ever imagined that we would see such mutual delight so early.






Watching these two girls get to know each other, seeing Briar weigh the pros and cons of sharing, witnessing Avery's gritty determination to walk after Briar and talk to her...I could not have scripted a better first 6 months. I am prepared for the cat fights in the future, but as a sister, I feel pretty confident that if push came to shove and I called Abbie in the middle of the night for any reason, she would drop everything to make whatever it was better. I think that's just about the greatest gift a parent can give. Thanks Mom, thanks Abs.