Social media sites seem to make life more complicated sometimes. Not a day goes by that there's not an article posted on the danger of a certain food or something.
If you buy inorganic apples, you are basically biting into a big ball of pesticides.
If you cut up an onion, it immediately starts a downward spiral into poison.
If you drink cow milk, you are pouring yourself a cold, refreshing glass of hormones.
If you keep your cell phone in your bra, it is attracting carcinogens to your lymph nodes like a siren song.
You read these posts, put down your onion sandwich, take your phone out of your bra and think "Well, now what?"
Throw parenting advice into the mix and it's enough to make parents want to curl into a fetal position and whimper.
If you vaccinate your kids, you are deliberating injecting them with autism.
If you don't vaccinate your kids, you are standing on the front porch just hollering for polio to come on over and make itself at home.
If you let your children watch tv, their little brains will dissolve into a puddle of mush.
If you don't let your children watch tv, they will never see Leapfrog and learn their phonics because you sure as shootin' don't have the patience to sit there and teach letter sounds for 6 months. Also, you will never make dinner. Or mop the floor. Or write a blog post.
On top of all this often contradictory advice, it seems like parents, and especially moms, have some sort of amazing talent. Like it's not enough to keep small humans alive and fed, but now I've got to make quilts or take professional style photos or make ruffle pants or bake souffles.
It is all I can do to make it through the day sometimes and all this pressure to be crafty and quirky and fabulous just ends up making me feel inadequate.
In all honesty, I don't know what I'm doing almost all of the time.
For instance, did we make the right decision in taking away Noah's bink bink at such an emotionally perilous time for him? I have no idea. He's doing great now, by the way. Sleeping through the night and all. So it feels right but perhaps there is some unseen damage done to his little psyche. I imagine him lying on a therapist's couch, wailing through Puffs about the time his mom stormed into his room at 2 am and told him his binkies were gone and to stop crying and perhaps gritting her teeth and cursing those magical and terrible knobs of rubber.
Throw in parenting an adoptive child, with so many unknown psychological issues, and it is sheer terror sometimes. Tali screams and cries whenever I put sneakers on her. In a bio kid, I would chalk it up to the fact that she likes her soft leather mary janes and shrug my shoulders. But that little doubt creeps in because I don't know her past - is there some sort of sneaker trauma? Was she made to sit by herself in a room for punishment, wearing only a pair of sneakers? I don't know. She screams and cries often for no apparent reason. All my other kids threw little fits at that age but we always knew why. They were denied a toy or juice or the ability to run footloose and fancy free into oncoming traffic.
Scenario:
Tali is eating in her high chair. All of a sudden, high pitched wailing.
"What is it? Did you bite your tongue? Food too hot? What happened?"
She suddenly stops and begins eating. Scream. Eat. Eat. Scream and turn her head. Eat. Drink her bottle. Scream.
Later that day, she is looking at a picture book when she suddenly flops over and begins rolling on the floor crying.
Most of the time I don't know what sets her off and even though I intellectually know that adoptive kids often come with a range of abandonment and institutionalized behaviors (even the really young ones), it's still hard. Still exhausting.
It's difficult not knowing how this whole parenting experiment will end and hoping that despite all my mistakes and failures as a parent, it will be ok.
Yes, there are moms who kept seemingly impossible standards on their house. They do yoga to relieve stress and praise their children often with meaningful words. They make wreaths and send handwritten letters. They know which foods are GMO and how to turn a cloth napkin into a work of art.
The real truth is that no one, not even the superparents, really and truly knows what they're doing. We read books and articles, seek advice from our friends and family but for the most part, we're winging it.
Sometimes you're not the most talented mom or the best-dressed or most patient.
Sometimes you're simply good enough.
And your good enough is often...good enough.
So to all the average parents out there, even mediocre some days, I raise my glass of ice cold hormones with a generous dollop of high fructose corn syrup chocolate sauce to you.
You're good enough, you're smart enough, and gosh darn it, our kids are going to be ok.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
BinkyGate 2014
We're nearing the end of this process.
I think. I hope.
Wednesday was terrible. Noah screamed during naptime, waking Tali up as well. It was about two hours of this back and forth. I had planned on folding laundry during that time but instead I sat on the couch, sending curse-laden texts to Matt and Rosie and wishing for the sweet release of death to overtake me.
I barely managed to make dinner and when Matt casually asked if I happened to make cornbread to go along with the goulash, I about flipped.
Wednesday night was also pretty bad. Matt determined that Noah needs to just cry it out instead of us leaping out of bed all the time. So from 3 am to almost 5, he screamed. I did go in once or twice and I was torn between threatening him and cuddling him. I wanted to kiss his tear-streaked cheeks and tell him "If you love something, let it go. There's no use fighting anymore. Your binkies are dead to you."
Sometime around 3:30, I laid back down on top of the blankets. Matt asked why I wasn't covered up, as it was chilly.
"Whenever a child of mine is in distress, my heart beats faster and I get overheated. You, on the other hand, have a heart of stone and don't care."
"That's true." He said as he tucked the blankets around his neck.
Sleep deprivation does funny things to a person, as any parent knows.
I laid in bed, determined to use this time for good. Might as well put this amazing brain to work, solving the complex problems of our time.
Pretty soon though:
'I wish I was taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl and if I did, I would call her...'
Eyes wide, with a sudden realization. Hey, I do wish I was taller. Not crazy high, but a couple more inches would be nice. Like 5'6 or 5'7. Enough that I don't step on my favorite pair of yoga pants when I'm barefoot and Matt can't look over my head and make snide comments on how he can't see me.
Also, I hope that baller actually does mean a basketball player and not some strange innuendo. I merrily sang "Little Red Corvette" for years until I heard it on the radio at 25 years old and realized that the song wasn't simply about a girl who likes to drive fast.
Noah alternated between calling out for Mommy and Daddy and once perhaps an impassioned "Curse you all and your circadian rhythms!" He eventually fell into an exhausted heap. When he woke up in the morning, he was happy. He always wakes up grumpy so that was a new development. Tali, however, took the opportunity to throw fits all morning. It's hard to throw a good tantrum being so tiny but she gives it her best. It's like they were just passing the baton of misery back and forth. If it's not one, it's the other.
Last night I gave the littles a bath and was getting Tali in her pajamas. Noah was running around naked (I always have to choose who to diaper first) and he climbed on top of the air purifier near her crib (which we use as white noise to drown the sounds of Noah's soul being ripped apart by the absence of binkies). He then proceeded to pee into her crib.
I just don't have any more to say about that.
Last night was better, he woke up one time, at midnight. I tiredly asked him to please stop crying and go to sleep. He said "Ok" and went to sleep.
We've gone through the stages together: anger, grief, peeing on things, tantrums, xanax, bargaining, chocolate and acceptance.
As we seem to near the end of this horrific ordeal, I would like to give the good Lord thanks for my mother-in-law. We've always gotten along well and I'm so happy they are living near us once more. She's always helpful, always supportive. She'll often come over and take Noah for the morning or one of the older kids for a trip to the library. Or she'll come and read books and help clean. All this without being asked. Never more has she been appreciated than this week. She took Noah for the morning Wednesday and yesterday came over and washed dishes, swept the floor, watched the kids so I could go to the college bookstore and get my books for this semester. She never judges the often atrocious nature of my house and will tell me stories of how she thought she was going to lose her mind as well in the day to day dealings with small children.
It helps to know that people have survived this time in their lives and have gone on to do amazing things, like read a book in a morning or take a shower without interruption.
There's always hope.
I think. I hope.
Wednesday was terrible. Noah screamed during naptime, waking Tali up as well. It was about two hours of this back and forth. I had planned on folding laundry during that time but instead I sat on the couch, sending curse-laden texts to Matt and Rosie and wishing for the sweet release of death to overtake me.
I barely managed to make dinner and when Matt casually asked if I happened to make cornbread to go along with the goulash, I about flipped.
Wednesday night was also pretty bad. Matt determined that Noah needs to just cry it out instead of us leaping out of bed all the time. So from 3 am to almost 5, he screamed. I did go in once or twice and I was torn between threatening him and cuddling him. I wanted to kiss his tear-streaked cheeks and tell him "If you love something, let it go. There's no use fighting anymore. Your binkies are dead to you."
Sometime around 3:30, I laid back down on top of the blankets. Matt asked why I wasn't covered up, as it was chilly.
"Whenever a child of mine is in distress, my heart beats faster and I get overheated. You, on the other hand, have a heart of stone and don't care."
"That's true." He said as he tucked the blankets around his neck.
Sleep deprivation does funny things to a person, as any parent knows.
I laid in bed, determined to use this time for good. Might as well put this amazing brain to work, solving the complex problems of our time.
Pretty soon though:
'I wish I was taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl and if I did, I would call her...'
Eyes wide, with a sudden realization. Hey, I do wish I was taller. Not crazy high, but a couple more inches would be nice. Like 5'6 or 5'7. Enough that I don't step on my favorite pair of yoga pants when I'm barefoot and Matt can't look over my head and make snide comments on how he can't see me.
Also, I hope that baller actually does mean a basketball player and not some strange innuendo. I merrily sang "Little Red Corvette" for years until I heard it on the radio at 25 years old and realized that the song wasn't simply about a girl who likes to drive fast.
Noah alternated between calling out for Mommy and Daddy and once perhaps an impassioned "Curse you all and your circadian rhythms!" He eventually fell into an exhausted heap. When he woke up in the morning, he was happy. He always wakes up grumpy so that was a new development. Tali, however, took the opportunity to throw fits all morning. It's hard to throw a good tantrum being so tiny but she gives it her best. It's like they were just passing the baton of misery back and forth. If it's not one, it's the other.
Last night I gave the littles a bath and was getting Tali in her pajamas. Noah was running around naked (I always have to choose who to diaper first) and he climbed on top of the air purifier near her crib (which we use as white noise to drown the sounds of Noah's soul being ripped apart by the absence of binkies). He then proceeded to pee into her crib.
I just don't have any more to say about that.
Last night was better, he woke up one time, at midnight. I tiredly asked him to please stop crying and go to sleep. He said "Ok" and went to sleep.
We've gone through the stages together: anger, grief, peeing on things, tantrums, xanax, bargaining, chocolate and acceptance.
As we seem to near the end of this horrific ordeal, I would like to give the good Lord thanks for my mother-in-law. We've always gotten along well and I'm so happy they are living near us once more. She's always helpful, always supportive. She'll often come over and take Noah for the morning or one of the older kids for a trip to the library. Or she'll come and read books and help clean. All this without being asked. Never more has she been appreciated than this week. She took Noah for the morning Wednesday and yesterday came over and washed dishes, swept the floor, watched the kids so I could go to the college bookstore and get my books for this semester. She never judges the often atrocious nature of my house and will tell me stories of how she thought she was going to lose her mind as well in the day to day dealings with small children.
It helps to know that people have survived this time in their lives and have gone on to do amazing things, like read a book in a morning or take a shower without interruption.
There's always hope.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
The End of an Era
Whenever Noah loses his binky at night, he wakes up crying and we have to run in there to find it and pop it back in before he wakes up Tali.
I've not made it a big deal because he's still just 2 and he's had a lot of changes in his little life with a brand new toddler on board and I figure he can use whatever comforts he has.
In addition to his binky love affair, he always takes a very nonchalant stance on potty training. My bestie Rosie's son, who is the same age as Noah, has begun potty training. I speak of Andrew's underwear-toting in glowing terms in hopes of persuading Noah to take the plunge (well, in a figurative sense in this case for obvious reasons). But Noah just shrugs and goes back to his trucks, completely unfazed that his friend is basically becoming a man.
"Wow, Andrew is peeing in the potty! Don't you want to wear underwear and go in the potty?"
"Nope."
"Really? You like your wet, stinky diapers?"
"Yup."
And that's the end of it. I am getting tired of leaping out of bed to feel around under his bed for a binky several times a night. So I gave him an ultimatum. You give up your diapers or your binkies.
He chose the binkies. I told him we could give them to Rosie's baby Henry, who needs them. Two days ago, we gathered them up in a plastic bag and Matt drove him over to Rosie's house, where she accepted them on behalf of Henry with great ceremony.
The first night was...hmm, how should I phrase this without using swear words? Terrible just doesn't seem strong enough. Up every couple hours, crying with wordless sorrow. By 3 am, I ended up sleeping with him in his little twin bottom bunk, on sheets that smelled faintly of pee. I had to sleep on my side, instead of on my stomach in the shape of a swastika and when I awoke, my left hand was painfully asleep. I thought 'Well, at least something slept.'
I've not made it a big deal because he's still just 2 and he's had a lot of changes in his little life with a brand new toddler on board and I figure he can use whatever comforts he has.
In addition to his binky love affair, he always takes a very nonchalant stance on potty training. My bestie Rosie's son, who is the same age as Noah, has begun potty training. I speak of Andrew's underwear-toting in glowing terms in hopes of persuading Noah to take the plunge (well, in a figurative sense in this case for obvious reasons). But Noah just shrugs and goes back to his trucks, completely unfazed that his friend is basically becoming a man.
"Wow, Andrew is peeing in the potty! Don't you want to wear underwear and go in the potty?"
"Nope."
"Really? You like your wet, stinky diapers?"
"Yup."
And that's the end of it. I am getting tired of leaping out of bed to feel around under his bed for a binky several times a night. So I gave him an ultimatum. You give up your diapers or your binkies.
He chose the binkies. I told him we could give them to Rosie's baby Henry, who needs them. Two days ago, we gathered them up in a plastic bag and Matt drove him over to Rosie's house, where she accepted them on behalf of Henry with great ceremony.
.jpg) |
| One of his last days of happiness |
That morning, yesterday, we were both exhausted. Matt graciously let me sleep in as long as I wanted before trotting off to work. The whole day was awful. Noah was cranky from lack of sleep and the general unfairness of life. He was sweeping books off the coffee table with his arms, crying, yelling. It was like he was in withdrawals.
 |
| The face of recovery. (Note: this is not an actual picture of this process. He will not allow himself to be photographed in his current state. It brings up too many emotions. Probably of happier times being photographed with the binky.) |
I imagine a group of toddlers at a rehab center:
"Hello, my name is Noah and I'm addicted to bink-binks."
"Hello, Noah."
"Hello, my name is Isabelle and I've been off the bottle for three days."
"Hello, Isabelle."
Last night at dinner I swore we would not have a night like that again. I was twitching just thinking about it.
You may have seen me yesterday evening at the store, bottles of moscato and melatonin in hand.
Last night? Not too bad.
One step at a time.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Random Ramblings
A Romp in the Holly
A couple days ago, we were heading out to door to go to the store when I fell. No particular reason, my ankle was just feeling snarky I suppose. Right into the bushes. I was holding Talitha but thankfully I have experience with that particular type of falling. So she pretty much stayed upright and I faceplanted into the holly. Kate screamed like she was in a haunted house (there is a slight chance she is over dramatic). Jack, to his credit, scurried right over to ask me if I was ok and to take Tali from me. Noah was most likely estimating the distance to the road and plotting his escape. I pulled a sprig of holly from my hair. Like I was about to grab a mug of wassail and go a-caroling. Perhaps sprig is not quite the right word - a small branch is more like it. And it was pretty tangled. I fought to get that thing out, bits of bark flying everywhere, neighbors rubbernecking as they slowly drove by the house. I got up and brushed the sand and the last remaining shreds of dignity off me and marched myself off to the store where class is out of place anyway.
Random Texts
Yesterday I got a text that read "We're heading to Orlando to get away from it all and we're going to stop by Ikea. Do you want me to pick up anything for you? Look at the website and send me a list." I didn't recognize the number so I replied "I do enjoy things from Ikea and while I appreciate your offer, the fact that I don't know who this is is somewhat creepy."
(Here I'm thinking it's my sister's fiance. He loves both Ikea and messing with me.)
"This is Nancy."
"Nancy?"
"Nancy (Last Name). Don't you remember, you were at my house yesterday?"
"At this point, I am convinced this is the wrong number. I spent yesterday eating truffles and wallowing in self-pity."
"Isn't this Robert? Tatiyana's husband?"
"No. But I do wish my name was Tatiyana if that helps."
"Sorry about this. Are you in Jacksonville (based on area code)? We live in Mandarin."
"We're outside of the city a bit. Hey, you could stop by on your way home from Orlando. I'll make scones and we can have tea and you can show me all the pretty things you bought me."
"Haha. I like your sense of humor. You're funny."
"Thank you. So...about my list..."
A Hat Fit for a Kid
At a recent garage sale, I found a John Deere baseball hat and picked it up for $.25. Being the financially responsible (eh, cheap) parents we are, I set it aside for use in Jack's Christmas stocking. He was thrilled and wore it to my parents' house later that day. An astute adult noted that it's not actually a John Deere hat. It's green with a yellow tractor. On closer inspection, it says "Kenny Chesney" under the tractor. Turn the hat around and there's another revelation. In curving letters is the saying "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy."
On an 8 year old head.
So now I'm thinking of taking a Sharpie to it.
"She Thinks My Tractor'sSexy Fuel Efficient."
A couple days ago, we were heading out to door to go to the store when I fell. No particular reason, my ankle was just feeling snarky I suppose. Right into the bushes. I was holding Talitha but thankfully I have experience with that particular type of falling. So she pretty much stayed upright and I faceplanted into the holly. Kate screamed like she was in a haunted house (there is a slight chance she is over dramatic). Jack, to his credit, scurried right over to ask me if I was ok and to take Tali from me. Noah was most likely estimating the distance to the road and plotting his escape. I pulled a sprig of holly from my hair. Like I was about to grab a mug of wassail and go a-caroling. Perhaps sprig is not quite the right word - a small branch is more like it. And it was pretty tangled. I fought to get that thing out, bits of bark flying everywhere, neighbors rubbernecking as they slowly drove by the house. I got up and brushed the sand and the last remaining shreds of dignity off me and marched myself off to the store where class is out of place anyway.
Random Texts
Yesterday I got a text that read "We're heading to Orlando to get away from it all and we're going to stop by Ikea. Do you want me to pick up anything for you? Look at the website and send me a list." I didn't recognize the number so I replied "I do enjoy things from Ikea and while I appreciate your offer, the fact that I don't know who this is is somewhat creepy."
(Here I'm thinking it's my sister's fiance. He loves both Ikea and messing with me.)
"This is Nancy."
"Nancy?"
"Nancy (Last Name). Don't you remember, you were at my house yesterday?"
"At this point, I am convinced this is the wrong number. I spent yesterday eating truffles and wallowing in self-pity."
"Isn't this Robert? Tatiyana's husband?"
"No. But I do wish my name was Tatiyana if that helps."
"Sorry about this. Are you in Jacksonville (based on area code)? We live in Mandarin."
"We're outside of the city a bit. Hey, you could stop by on your way home from Orlando. I'll make scones and we can have tea and you can show me all the pretty things you bought me."
"Haha. I like your sense of humor. You're funny."
"Thank you. So...about my list..."
A Hat Fit for a Kid
At a recent garage sale, I found a John Deere baseball hat and picked it up for $.25. Being the financially responsible (eh, cheap) parents we are, I set it aside for use in Jack's Christmas stocking. He was thrilled and wore it to my parents' house later that day. An astute adult noted that it's not actually a John Deere hat. It's green with a yellow tractor. On closer inspection, it says "Kenny Chesney" under the tractor. Turn the hat around and there's another revelation. In curving letters is the saying "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy."
On an 8 year old head.
So now I'm thinking of taking a Sharpie to it.
"She Thinks My Tractor's
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Glad Tidings and Stuff
Christmas is over and I am feeling a little sad about it. In the last couple days, I heard a few adults make comments to the tune of "Thank Goodness it's over" but I love the season. The hot chocolate, the wrapping, the movies, the anticipation. It's funny how we experience the same thing year after year and know what's coming but it's still exciting. This year we all got to watch Talitha enjoy her first Christmas. Unwrapping her birthday presents was a befuddling experience for her but by Christmas, she quickly realized the happiness that was awaiting her just beyond the wrapping paper. I watched her with joy with past month, knowing that the Author of her life was being introduced to her: that her Great Hope was being born in a manger.
We enjoyed Christmas morning at our house with Matt's parents. Matt and I got up early and made a fire and sat and drank warm things waiting for the kids. We opened presents and lit the Advent candles and had breakfast. Around noon we headed over to my parents' house for round 2.
One thing that makes me all squealy happy is that my parents and Matt's parents are friends. They've been friends since I was 6 and Matt was 9 and we lived on the same street in NY. I like the fact that holidays are happily shared now.
The couple days after Christmas the kids and I recovered. By that, of course, I mean that we watched movies and ate truffles.
Yesterday we went to my best friend's parents' party. It was, and I say this in all sincerity, a square dance. The barn was festively lit up and there was a chili cook-off and hay bales. Kate and I did the chicken dance and the electric slide. Matt, as per his usual, sat on the sidelines and tried to pretend the dancing wasn't happening. Jack got roped into the hokey pokey by his friend Will but by the time I ran back with my camera, he had figured out that he was about to be involved in a dance and walked off, disgustedly shaking his head. We had to leave early due to the fact that we brought both 2 year olds to an outside party in the dark with a bonfire and we are stupid. I told Matt that next year we'll get a sitter for the younger two, put on our cowboy boots and dance the night away. He nodded his assent but I'm pretty sure he wasn't really listening and this will be an issue next year.
 |
| Christmas Eve party - Soup and bread, chicken wings and crab legs, my sister's birthday, cake, and White Elephant presents. Oh and sock monkey hats. |
 |
| This train table with a box of trains and tracks and bridges and stuff? $15 at a garage sale. It was Noah's gift but we seriously could've gotten it as a family gift and been set. It is loved. |
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| On the way to my parents' house. Toddlers out. |
 |
| She is not amused. |
We enjoyed Christmas morning at our house with Matt's parents. Matt and I got up early and made a fire and sat and drank warm things waiting for the kids. We opened presents and lit the Advent candles and had breakfast. Around noon we headed over to my parents' house for round 2.
One thing that makes me all squealy happy is that my parents and Matt's parents are friends. They've been friends since I was 6 and Matt was 9 and we lived on the same street in NY. I like the fact that holidays are happily shared now.
The couple days after Christmas the kids and I recovered. By that, of course, I mean that we watched movies and ate truffles.
Yesterday we went to my best friend's parents' party. It was, and I say this in all sincerity, a square dance. The barn was festively lit up and there was a chili cook-off and hay bales. Kate and I did the chicken dance and the electric slide. Matt, as per his usual, sat on the sidelines and tried to pretend the dancing wasn't happening. Jack got roped into the hokey pokey by his friend Will but by the time I ran back with my camera, he had figured out that he was about to be involved in a dance and walked off, disgustedly shaking his head. We had to leave early due to the fact that we brought both 2 year olds to an outside party in the dark with a bonfire and we are stupid. I told Matt that next year we'll get a sitter for the younger two, put on our cowboy boots and dance the night away. He nodded his assent but I'm pretty sure he wasn't really listening and this will be an issue next year.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Cake and Waffles
Today Talitha turned two. It's a momentous day in our family, most likely the first birthday for her that has been celebrated and her initiation into a presents and cake and togetherness that is birthdays.
She has transitioned so well into our family that sometimes I quite forget that she hasn't been here from the beginning. The other day I mused about the fact that Matt and I are brunette and yet all of our kids are blond and I completely forgot that Tali was Chinese. The funny thing is, I think she favors Kate. Little and flexible with Elfin ears. She's the Asian Katie.
Sadly, Matt had to leave yesterday for training so Tali's party was sans Daddy. I made Lo Mein and Honey Sesame Chicken and never did I miss Matt more than when Tali and Noah were each grabbing onto a leg, screaming and crying while I stirred the vegetables. I struggled my way over to the fridge and pulled the ketchup bottle out of the door. That's when I realized that the bottle of caramel ice cream topping had spilled. All over the shelf. On all the bottles, dripping down the back and sides of the fridge door. While the screaming toddlers competed over who could wail the loudest despite roiling bubbles of snot on their faces.
Complete and utter despair of the soul.
The birthday dinner was quite nice. My parents came early and Dad immediately began wrestling with the toddlers while my mom passed out tiny chocolate muffins. It was like Ed McMahon passing out checks.
Matt's parents and my older sister and her fiance came as well. It was wonderful. The food turned out ok, despite my offsprings' best attempts to thwart it. We lit the candle and sang happy birthday and immediately Tali stuck out her lip to cry. I really think the whole thing scared her. I'm sure it was her first time experiencing the whole birthday thing. Which is rather odd, to be sure. A whole bunch of people encircle you, singing in unison, while we place a lit stick of wax in your face.
The gifts were a huge hit with the little ones. Noah unwrapped Tali's presents with enthusiasm and cried "Mine!" repeatedly while she admired the Christmas tree lights. I think he's suddenly happy to have Talitha as a sister. His birthday is in July, hers in December. Every 6 months, Noah gets presents - hooray!
I let Noah sleep with me last night since Matt was gone. Then Tali wandered in with her little lovey blanket (thanks Deb!) so she got into bed. The big kids came in and we all hugged Tali and said happy birthday. Jack and Kate sang a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday Dear Talicakes!" and we had waffles. I kept trying to get pictures of Tali and her gifts but she doesn't stop moving so most of them are a blur. I had a little birthday playdate with my two friends and their kids. We finished off the day with baths and a chapter of Secret Garden.
Happy Birthday, sweet little Miss Talicakes. I hope you sleep well tonight, in your own crib surrounded by dolls and handmade blankets - with a peace in your soul that you belong to us.
She has transitioned so well into our family that sometimes I quite forget that she hasn't been here from the beginning. The other day I mused about the fact that Matt and I are brunette and yet all of our kids are blond and I completely forgot that Tali was Chinese. The funny thing is, I think she favors Kate. Little and flexible with Elfin ears. She's the Asian Katie.
Sadly, Matt had to leave yesterday for training so Tali's party was sans Daddy. I made Lo Mein and Honey Sesame Chicken and never did I miss Matt more than when Tali and Noah were each grabbing onto a leg, screaming and crying while I stirred the vegetables. I struggled my way over to the fridge and pulled the ketchup bottle out of the door. That's when I realized that the bottle of caramel ice cream topping had spilled. All over the shelf. On all the bottles, dripping down the back and sides of the fridge door. While the screaming toddlers competed over who could wail the loudest despite roiling bubbles of snot on their faces.
Complete and utter despair of the soul.
The birthday dinner was quite nice. My parents came early and Dad immediately began wrestling with the toddlers while my mom passed out tiny chocolate muffins. It was like Ed McMahon passing out checks.
Matt's parents and my older sister and her fiance came as well. It was wonderful. The food turned out ok, despite my offsprings' best attempts to thwart it. We lit the candle and sang happy birthday and immediately Tali stuck out her lip to cry. I really think the whole thing scared her. I'm sure it was her first time experiencing the whole birthday thing. Which is rather odd, to be sure. A whole bunch of people encircle you, singing in unison, while we place a lit stick of wax in your face.
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| Face of confusion and terror. The big siblings stepped in to provide comfort. Out the the view of the camera, Noah is staring at the cake and thinking "Shut up with all the singing and serve me, peasants." |
The gifts were a huge hit with the little ones. Noah unwrapped Tali's presents with enthusiasm and cried "Mine!" repeatedly while she admired the Christmas tree lights. I think he's suddenly happy to have Talitha as a sister. His birthday is in July, hers in December. Every 6 months, Noah gets presents - hooray!
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| She's super serious when she eats. Really - don't bother her when food is involved. |
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| Birthday waffles! Again, no smiling with the food. |
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| Katie was sad that her cupcake didn't have a lot of frosting. Complete despair of the soul. |
Happy Birthday, sweet little Miss Talicakes. I hope you sleep well tonight, in your own crib surrounded by dolls and handmade blankets - with a peace in your soul that you belong to us.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Random Ramblings
Holiday Confusion
A couple of days before Thanksgiving I went to the store. The gas station in front of the store was crazy. No pumps open, cars circling for an opening. Cue my confusion. Was there an apocalypse I wasn't aware of? Did something happen in the Middle East and now there's a run on oil? Why oh why don't I listen to talk radio?
Then I went into the store and it was a madhouse. Like a bunch of toddlers trying to evade naptime. While hopped up on marshmallow fluff. Then it hit me: it was right before Thanksgiving and people were getting their food, filling up their gas tanks on their way to vacation. It bothers me that every Thanksgiving and Christmas I'm confused by the rush of people. You'd think I would've learned by now. But no, I wander around, feeling slightly put-out that others are impinging on my grocery shopping and wondering why there is so much frozen poultry in the store.
Life with Noah
What a ball of cuteness and terror this little guy is.
He blames his dirty diapers on Talitha. I'll ask "Noah, are you stinky?" and he'll reply "No. Tali pooped." And then I'll check him and say "Noah. You did." And still he'll persist. The evidence is stacked against him and he'll look up at me with his sweet blue eyes and say "Nuh-uh. Tali did."
Last night at the dinner table, Matt told Noah to sit down and finish his dinner. Noah told him no. We've been stern, we've been sensible. Time-outs, sent to the room, whatever. At that moment, however, Matt stumbled upon Noah's true currency: the bink-binks. He loves those plastic germ-fests. Matt picked up a pacifier and told him "If you ever want to see your bink-bink again, you sit down."
Naturally, I thought of this:
A bink-bink hostage situation. Note scrawled in crayon - If you ever want to see your precious bink-bink again, you'll bring graham crackers...
Then today in the store, I put Noah in the cart (while Tali sat in the buckled seat) and threw a couple cans of crescent rolls in the cart. A few minutes later, I noted that he was setting them up like blocks. "He's growing up," I thought with parental satisfaction. A few minutes after that, I saw that he had somehow popped one open and was quietly gnawing on the dough oozing out from the top.
Yes.
A Stroll in the Park
Today my best friend and I took our kiddos to the park. There's a pavilion there where hooligans hang out. Hooligans engaged in shenanigans. So when we got out, I decided to lock the minivan. Unfortunately, it's a really loud beep when you lock it so it announces to everyone "I don't trust any of you. And I have potentially expensive things in my car." Baby wipes, lonely socks, fuzzy gummy bears. I know you want it.
It's always fun taking eight kids to the park, all under 10 and four under 3. If you see the two of us at a park with furrowed brows, it's because we're mentally adding kids - looking at each other in confusion "I got 13. That doesn't seem right. Are they multiplying?"
The park seems to be on a downward trajectory. Aside from the pavilion of hooligans, we noted that her sweet 2 year old was sitting on a park bench with the phrase "F the police" on it.
Katie on the swing shouted gleefully to us "Look how high I am!"
My friend and I looked at each other. Probably lots of people there could say the same thing.
A couple of days before Thanksgiving I went to the store. The gas station in front of the store was crazy. No pumps open, cars circling for an opening. Cue my confusion. Was there an apocalypse I wasn't aware of? Did something happen in the Middle East and now there's a run on oil? Why oh why don't I listen to talk radio?
Then I went into the store and it was a madhouse. Like a bunch of toddlers trying to evade naptime. While hopped up on marshmallow fluff. Then it hit me: it was right before Thanksgiving and people were getting their food, filling up their gas tanks on their way to vacation. It bothers me that every Thanksgiving and Christmas I'm confused by the rush of people. You'd think I would've learned by now. But no, I wander around, feeling slightly put-out that others are impinging on my grocery shopping and wondering why there is so much frozen poultry in the store.
Life with Noah
What a ball of cuteness and terror this little guy is.
He blames his dirty diapers on Talitha. I'll ask "Noah, are you stinky?" and he'll reply "No. Tali pooped." And then I'll check him and say "Noah. You did." And still he'll persist. The evidence is stacked against him and he'll look up at me with his sweet blue eyes and say "Nuh-uh. Tali did."
Last night at the dinner table, Matt told Noah to sit down and finish his dinner. Noah told him no. We've been stern, we've been sensible. Time-outs, sent to the room, whatever. At that moment, however, Matt stumbled upon Noah's true currency: the bink-binks. He loves those plastic germ-fests. Matt picked up a pacifier and told him "If you ever want to see your bink-bink again, you sit down."
Naturally, I thought of this:
A bink-bink hostage situation. Note scrawled in crayon - If you ever want to see your precious bink-bink again, you'll bring graham crackers...
Then today in the store, I put Noah in the cart (while Tali sat in the buckled seat) and threw a couple cans of crescent rolls in the cart. A few minutes later, I noted that he was setting them up like blocks. "He's growing up," I thought with parental satisfaction. A few minutes after that, I saw that he had somehow popped one open and was quietly gnawing on the dough oozing out from the top.
Yes.
 |
| The doughboy. |
A Stroll in the Park
Today my best friend and I took our kiddos to the park. There's a pavilion there where hooligans hang out. Hooligans engaged in shenanigans. So when we got out, I decided to lock the minivan. Unfortunately, it's a really loud beep when you lock it so it announces to everyone "I don't trust any of you. And I have potentially expensive things in my car." Baby wipes, lonely socks, fuzzy gummy bears. I know you want it.
It's always fun taking eight kids to the park, all under 10 and four under 3. If you see the two of us at a park with furrowed brows, it's because we're mentally adding kids - looking at each other in confusion "I got 13. That doesn't seem right. Are they multiplying?"
The park seems to be on a downward trajectory. Aside from the pavilion of hooligans, we noted that her sweet 2 year old was sitting on a park bench with the phrase "F the police" on it.
Katie on the swing shouted gleefully to us "Look how high I am!"
My friend and I looked at each other. Probably lots of people there could say the same thing.
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