Let sleeping babies be

Henry's last day in an infant carseat.




Growing up a little more each day.

Preschool blues

First day of preschool for Elliot. We were a little nervous because she is just not a morning person.





I don't know. I think it went pretty well.

Geesh. September must be a birthday month.

Happy birthday to me! And to (uncle John)

The real tragedy of today was not getting winded while going so fast on the bike (with kids in the back trailer) trying to get to the store to buy the thing on hold that i swore to Elliot she would have today...getting there 5 minutes before they closed...only to learn that they closed 10 minutes early (bummer moment for a 4 yr old).

Nor did the tragedy occur when my untied shoelace (hurry too much to stop and tie it) caught in the bike chain and my gracious dismount looked like a bike-kristen-pavement sandwich in front of no less than 6 other ladies and 2 sidewalk fixing gentlemen.







No. The real tragedy* occured when we got home and i started to get dressed to go out (finally) to an adult-centered dinner (finally).
I needed bandaids (triage, seriously) for my wounds. Bandaids options: My pick of star wars or toy story themed. My lovely summer dress and heals, a buzz lightyear elbow, and woody on my ankle. Not quite the vision of adultness i had been shooting for. Sad me.



*tragedy in the light hearted sense...clearly. Not meant comparitively to other pressing world matters.

Moving down the block.

The end of July saw us move down a few blocks. A bit rushed and under planned. I found it too hard to pack with any sense of organization with 2 littles underfoot... And with Izaak out of town up until we moved.

To streamline and simplify our lives, we tore out the kitchen, bedroom closets and most of downstairs the day before getting a uhaul. Ha ha.




Really. We moved into a rental that had been treated very roughly by the last couple of tenants. It is a work in progress. Needs some tlc before going back on the rental market.

It is nearly impossible to tell. Yet, the pic in the upperleft corner is showing you the bottom of the ugliest fan ever, and seafoam colored sponge-painted walls. Terrible. The two pics on the right are of the kitchen. Dreamy, right?

Solid chaos for the first week or two. (right, Maia?) We lived with our stuff in two rooms upstairs while Izaak added flooring. A bit like camping. Camping without smores is nearly totally without appeal.


Henry is a climber and our stuff was stacked in towering towers of climbable fun. I spent hours corraling and pulling him off of shelves.

We transitioned from a tidy and tiny place...doubled our square footage (or more) but nearly all of it needed some work done.

Needless to say the kids were a little disoriented with the change of space and routine -but all is good now :)

Elliot's lemonade stand.

Elliot has been desperate to have a lemonade stand, ever since we stopped at one earlier this summer.

We obliged and facilitated. With 2 looming and dark caveats.

#1) she had to make and sell her own products with as little adult help as we could get away with. NO store package of cookies or carton of Newman's limeade.

#2) she had to work and hustle her booth. Solo. Mama would not be an employee of the stand.

Hard work. And reward. She was also told that she could decide how to spend the money. If she works to earn, she can decide how to spend. (easy to say because we thought she only make a few dollars to blow on candy and a juice box)

Game on, sister.



She made an easy sugar cookie recipe that I found for her. Mama directed and did oven duty. But little lulu has moves in the kitchen. Colored sugar was the best part.

She spent a week posing with her table and chair to get the feel of free enterprise.

"do I look like a real lemonade stand girl, mom?". A thousand times a day.

She also used cloth napkins to practise picking up cookies with touching with her fingers. Because that is a gross violation of safe food handling.




Oh. And sister hustled. She sang charming ditties. She flagged over cars and blocked in oncoming bikers and runners. She upsold and made package deals for bulk buyers.

She also gave her mean face to cars that raced by without pausing.

She worked in the sun for hours until a gallon of pink lemonade and 2 dozen cookies found new homes.

And the financial rewards? What pittance did she scrounge together for a trip to the candy store? Oh you wonder.

She made more than I made at my first job. Nearly $10 an hour. Candy store plans got scrubbed because there were some Star Wars action figures just calling to her. Luke now has all his buddies...and a Darth Vader to boot.

Yee Haw. Henry is 1.

Cupcakes for breakfast, served with a bib from Grandma. Day is off to a lovely start. Happy birthday, darling boy.



Nothing like a old western theme party to get the creative juices going. Saddles, lassos and chaps. Oh my!



So nice to have a handy hubby around. When I say tepee, he says how big. Perfect. Elliot got a chance to wear her dad's hand-me-down chaps. Henry wears baby Izaak's little ol'vest.
































Asking Izaak to take pictures results in a lot of him...with guests. That's just fine, honey. But none of the cute cake I made. Not a one.






























And way late into the night. The sun itself already asleep for hours. Another son has set for the night.

Congratulations o Husband of mine.

Sure, I am a couple of weeks belated.  BUT the sentiment has not faded. 

CONGRATULATIONS TO IZAAK!!!

He did the nearly impossible (or at least fairly complex task) and completed his college degree.  Yah!  go graduate! 

For those that didn't know....Izaak started back at BSU in January 2009  as a nearly 29 year old college freshmen. He went full-time year-round and as of May 2011 he finished!!!  Yippee. 

And Yippee to me. (huh?) You know that iconic image of a poor college student surviving on top raman, coffee, and cheez whiz?  Right?  Now add a wife (me) and two children.  Yippee that this phase of life is past (until grad school, but that is another story).  Note: being a college student is much easier when done at 18 with no independents (my version) rather than at 30 with a family (Izaak's version).   However, we have had fun on this ride and are the better for it

AND the end is the same.  HE is oh so educated now!!

Henry and my Anne Sullivan moment

I am getting my morning manna coffee and I hear a squishy squishy sound.  Henry, sitting on my hip, has taken his hand out of his (teething drooling) mouth.  It is drippy wet. Squish squish.  His little fist is pumping.  Thumb up in the air.  Squish squish. 

“Henry” He looks at me, smiley toothy grin.  I make the same fist pumping motion back up him. 

He erupts in monkey noises.  Ooo-eee-hehehe.   Bouncing on my hip.  Okay.  The coffee can wait (not really, I'll just bring it with me).  

What just happened?  Henry is hungry.  And for the first time in 7 months is asking for me to feed him.

  

Baby sign language. 

He is a caveman.  Ugh, what is this magical flame I have just found.  Lo, I have made fire. I am so clever.

I am Anne Sullivan:  Yes Yes Henry. It is water.  Waaaa-ttteer.  Water.  (No.  Yep.  I know that it’s water.  I’ve been trying to tell you that for months now.)

Breakthrough. 

We did baby signs on our 1^st lap through parenting (with Elliot).  Not terribly purposeful before solid foods (“cookie” sign is a hard sell to a 3 month old baby)  BUT we loved that she could communicate with us more easily when she was first learning how to talk.  It was a way of supplementing her early and pre-linga skills.  Maybe we averted some toddler frustration because of it.  I don’t know.  Elliot was just so chill that not much rattled her with or without sign language.   

We liked signs because she could talk when her mouth was full.  Because I could prompt her to say thank you from across the room without anyone noticing (or without me yelling).  It was a nice tool in our parenting batman belts. 

(I also think that it aided her language acquisition.  But I will let others write articles about research in that area.  My population sample size (of 1) is not sufficient to comment)

AND.  That brings us to this morning.  Henry finally got it.  And by the time I sat down to type this post – He had asked to nurse 3 TIMES in 20 minutes.  Because he can.  Because he is like a caveman and invented fire and wants to keep lighting fires.  And I keep feeding him because I am Anne Sullivan – sign language teacher to babies (well.  Really.  Sign language teacher to my  babies…and only about 15-20 signs.  But still - I’m cool.)  

That is so my Elliot

Here is a video that Izaak took of sneaking into Elliot's bedroom in the middle of the night.  Seriously it was after midnight.  four and a half hours after she had gone to bed. 

Unbeknownst to us (at least until the sneaking into her room with a video happened) she was awake 'doing her lessons' in bed with a notebook, a crayon, and a flashlight.  She is three.  She doesn' t have any lessons.

um.

I really blanked on a post title.  There is a space for one.  But sometimes a post doesn't need one.  Or, doesn't easily have one.  Or, (which is more true) I can't think of anything snappy enough.  Like Henry standing at window  sounds lame.  Even though that is totally what this post is about. 
Yep. 
So here is a good title: Here is Kristen, yet again, showing off her kids and attempting to make you wildly envious. 

I just was wishing that I could make that sound catchier. 

Without further ado.  My amazing son.




walk into bedroom to find the littlest man looking out the window.



This guy is always happy to see his mama

close up on the FATTEST BABY FOOT EVER.  seriously.  They barely make socks to fit those sausages...let alone shoes.

one-handed show off

close up of his cute face (and yummy elbow dimples)

Something exciting must be happening outside.

Hey. Henry.  Say hi to your mother for me.

Ballet continues to thrill us

Caption (from top left clockwise) Elliot and someone else, Elliot and other people, Elliot stretching, Elliot and some other girls.

Also, I learned (the hard way) today that Henry's hit myself on the with a maraca cry is almost identical to his finger stuck in the handle of a Tonka truck cry.  But both of these cries are different than his boxed myself into a corner and don't know how to turn around so I am totally frustrated cry. 

Silly baby boy. 

Lesson in opposites and the ever incredible Inchworm

The Inchworm goes

 



 

Up. Down.

Cutest little play romper, right? A shout out of thanks to my Aunt Pam. I can't believe that it fits him already.

Happy.  Sad. 

It is frustrating when you put in a lot of effort and don't hardly move at all.  You should have heard his sound effects.  The wind up purr, the growl, the howl of frustration. But he tries.  Oh boy, does he try. 

Hello mama.  *Muah*

 

Bye Bye baby. 

Can you picture me sadly waving as his little tush scoots past me?

 

My Girl.  My Boy. 

Do you see that stream of drool off Henry's chin?!?  That is what we are living with.  Crazy wet baby kisses. 



And that folks is your lesson in opposites for today.  Thank you for your rapt attention.  Please stay tuned for all of the other interesting stuff that you could learn here. 

Boise Over and Out

When an army crawling hunter spies a treasure for himself

I think Henry's internal monologue was saying something like:

Oh lookie papa's water bottle just. out. of. my. reach. No wait.  I think I can get it.  And triumph  Yum Yum Yum. 

Suddenly his vision scans to the right

whoosh.  what is this? Knitting basket.  just. out. of .my reach.  No wait.  I think I can get it.  And disaster.  

Hello Tooth.

Do you see it?  Hidden in the darkest dark and wettest wet of caverns.  There is a solitary tooth. 
A bit hard to see in photos because the reflection off of the drool obscures the view.  Oh.  And the tongue.  Serious that tongue is everywhere at the same time.  We have a very Freudian Oral stage happening in Boise.  (riveting, right?)
Close your eyes and think of a slug leaving a slime trail where ever it goes. Do you see it?  That's Henry.  Totally Henry. 
So, betwixt the slime and the tongue, I fought the good fight trying to get a decent photo of The Tooth.  The number of photo close ups of Henry's mouth that I took is a wee bit embarrassing.  I mean if someone were to steal this computer and scroll through the recent photos they would be aghast at my collection of pictures of the lower half of Henry's face.  Seriously.  I need to delete some of these.

Lens on her world

Elliot had some fun with mama's camera the other day.  She was able to capture the couch, the living room, the side of my face, her foot, the couch piled with bills I set out to pay, her guitar and tool box (see the camera strap hanging across the photo, so cute),  my pants (multitasking: nursing Henry, knitting) and a door. 

She was so proud of herself.  As well she should be.  Gorgeous shots, babe. 

In other news, Izaak and I are suffering miserably from The.Worst.Head.Cold.Ever.  The little ones are unscathed from it surprisingly.  But let me tell you.  Being home alone with 2 kids and T.W.H.C.E is ridiculously hard.  Ack.  (Pity party invites are in the mail). 

Elliot was throwing a fit and instead of swooping in to nip it in the bud - I was like yah you go for it, girl.  I hear what your saying, This sucks, yell it out.

I had a fit with her vicariously.  Because - I know I'm the adult here -but I've been wanting to throw a fit all day 'cause my nose and my ears are plugged.  I think I am slowing suffocating.  And a fit would be so refreshing. Maybe, a bad mom moment but my face hurts and this totally sucks. 



Antics and semantics

This is what happens when a love for Laura Ingalls morphs to all things Pioneer and then to cowboys.  And then when let's play cowboy-pioneer becomes let's play cowboy and hunt pirates.  An obvious evolution. 
 

swinging her lasso

And when a parent tries to de-violence-ify cowboys & pirates it is not very easy

Elliot:  Let's play cowboys and kill all the pirates (poised with toy 6-shooter, thanks Maia)
Izaak:  Well, let's not kill them, we can just disarm them. 
Elliot:  Okay we will hunt pirates and chop off their arms. 
(get it arm/disarm.  ha ha)

Discourse on food, robots, and ballet.

In my new series titled Kristen lured me here with pictures of her children and then assaulted me with her opinions about stuff. (what? you fell for that?)  Well.  I now bring you FOOD.
 
Firstly.  May I start this off by saying.  If eating is so primal and instinctual why is it so confusing?  And, oh vey.  The vasts quantities of books on the subject.  The bookstore has major sections for recipe books, another for nutrition and diet, and in parenting we find a subsection on weaning/nursing.  There are best sellers on whole foods, or the obesity epidemic.  Now in addition to deciding whether you want to ascribe to whole foods, raw foods, ovo-lacto-pesco foods.  NOW my pseudo-hippy creds are challenged by the locavore and slow foods.  ( as a side note: the slow foods tagline is "good, clean and fair food" and my brain brought up images of funnel cakes).  Time OUT.  Can't we just eat FOOD?

And here is the part where I pepper in photos to keep you entertained. 

Elliot and a gaggle of small girls (old friends of 5 minutes) excitedly waiting for her FIRST BALLET CLASS.  Giddiness in the air...10 minutes class begins.

Elliot in the middle- smaller than her peers.  But already well studied.  She got a ballet lessons on dvd from the library and watched in 700 times.  She is an expert on plee-ins and first position and all the warm up stretches.  Ready to start on advanced choreography.  Hope she wasn't disappointed.  (2 minutes until class begins)

Sometimes when I hear food-talk it sounds like people are programmed robots...with our scientific robot programs that mathematically redact our bodies until all we are is metabolism, thyroids, proportions, ratios, and scenarios.  On further insult our food is distastefully reduced to scientific units of calorie, carbohydrate, and fat with corresponding charts, tables and trends (Malibu, Adkins, Hollywood juice). 

Anyone think that perhaps we are oversimplifying in the wrong direction?  Maybe.  Throwing out the proverbial baby and not the bathwater?


Stay with me.  This may not be profound enough for some of you.  BUT there are more photos to come. 

Why not just real food for real humans?  Pop Tarts (brown sugar flavored) be damned but if you can't garden it or raise it...or if you can't go out and hunt, fish or forage it...may you shouldn't eat it?  Just saying.  Maybe it isn't food?  Or, maybe (at the very least) it warrants a second thought before mindlessly partaking.
Thinking that we could measure our food in steps removed from nature.  Like carrot sticks = 0 and pop tarts are at 1000.  With everything else somewhere else on the spectrum.  And then we seek to eat as close to 0 as possible...with a few funnel cakes now and again.
 

That is Elliot mid-plie.  Teacher asked them to just stand there...but when you know stuff you should show off stuff. 

Otherwise , doesn't food get redacted to scientific units and numbers...it's almost enough to make me loose my appetite. 

We went to a paint your own pottery place.  Elliot spent an hour and a half getting the switch cover just right...then I stamped on her initials. 

Hey.  Aunt Jennie.  This picture is for you.  See that brass tiger?  I've tried to make it disappear about 6 times already but it keeps magically appearing on this shelf.