Ah, Spring

What may have been another long, weary weekend afternoon has turned in to a relaxing, delightful one. About 10 minutes after putting Zoe down for her nap, Owen woke up from his. Great. Just when I thought I would get a break myself. BJ suggested I bring him outside for a bit while he mowed the lawn.

Owen and I wandered the yard, layed with dandelions and then plopped down on a blanket to watch BJ. He toppled over and then lay on his back in the sunshine, just chilling. I shaded his face and took off his shades. He didn't move. He was just still and calm. So, BJ set up Zoe's princess patio table and umbrella to give him more shade. He eventually fell asleep and I got to put my feet up and read a magazine. It was wonderful.

What a little sun baby.
~Kate~

Get In My Belly

You know, sometimes you make a meal that is so yummy you can't wait for leftovers the next day. And sometimes there aren't enough leftovers for you and the spouse, so you start making bargains. Negotiations ensue.

To the outsider, last night's dinner was nothing special - ground beef tacos. Seasoned with Lawry's mild taco seasoning. But, piled with Mexican four cheese blend, onions, fresh made guacamole, and Archer Farms pineapple peach salsa? A little slice of heaven, my friends.

I was totally the winner on this one.
~Kate~

Irony welcome here

After much waiting, a little pleading and hint-dropping, and a lot of patience, I have a smartphone. So now, like the rest of the world that doesn't have an iPhone, I have a crack - I mean, BLACK - berry. I love it. I have not let it loose charge once.

But, that's not what's ironic. See, part of this process, part of the delay, was simply that smartphone plans aren't cheap. BJ and I were heading towards the end of our phone contract and, well, it was cheap. Like, hold-over from the old days cheap. We had a family share plan with, get this, a whopping 300 minutes. And we maybe used 40 of those in a month. Combined. So the enormity of the plans I was looking at was giving BJ heart palpitations.

Finally, after quiet persistence (and, truly, research) on my part, he relented. But, we were going to drop our family plan, send me out on my own, and he was going to have work provide him a phone. Fair enough - if he wasn't calling me to say he was coming home from work, he was receiving texts from this server or that (or something - I don't really know). I figure he was just getting another phone. I mean, when he was ordering Blackberries for the staff at his work he went on and on about how he never wanted one of those things, people could reach him if they wanted, who needs email on a phone . . . Plus, at one point he said to me, "You don't need a data plan on it, right? You just want the calendar." What did he come home with? A Blackberry. A souped-up, my-phone-is-better-than-your-phone Curve 3900 or something.

But it doesn't stop there. Oh no. The man who threw fits when my friends would send me text messages, who didn't quite seem to see the wonders of the wireless data services . . . that guy? He's texting me, like, all the time*.

I feel a little smug.

*Totally an exaggeration. But, 15 times in 2 weeks doesn't sound very impressive. It would look impressive, though, if I graphed his texting behavior over a 2-year period.

5 Months

Dear Owen,

Hey there, little man – I think we’re actually having some fun! You are, amazingly, five months old this week and I think I like you now. That sounds harsh, I know. To anyone who has not gone through raising a newborn, it may as well be blasphemy. Even to some people who have because, well, they are baby-raising robots or something. But, your mother is not a fan of the early months, and neither you nor your sister has made great strides in changing my opinion of those first 20 weeks or so. In fact, it is almost as if you two saw it as your mission to insure that I never became a fan of the newborn stage. Job well done!

But, we’ve seemingly passed that hurdle and our time together is so much more enjoyable. In the last month, it is like you yawned, stretched and woke up to the world. Where once you really only enjoyed looking at and “talking” to people, you now realize there are things around you. Things that make noise, or light up, or taste good in your mouth. Make that and taste good in your mouth. You like to grab whatever you can reach, stare at it intently, and concentrate very hard on working it between your gums. While everything is deserving of at least a taste, you do have your favorites. The blue chime-y elephant is one you especially like. In fact, blue elephants seem to be a theme when it comes to favorite toys: there’s the blue elephant that shakes and rattles when you pull it (attached to your car seat), the soft blue stuffed elephant that snuggles with you in your crib (whose trunk is easily directed into your mouth by holding the ears), and the blue chime-y elephant on your “play gym.” Interesting . . . Owen, I feel like I need to tell you now that I may disown you if you become a big game hunter.



I think the delightful change in your attitude, your mood, is in large part due to how much more in control you feel. You can grab and move and chew your toys. You can sit up a little and look around. You can even roll over and squirm across the floor. Small distances. Very small distances. But, hey – you did it on your own! It cracks me up how proud you get of yourself. Sometimes, you will be laying on the floor playing with (inevitably) the blue elephant. It gets tossed (“Hey – how’d that happen?”), you track it with your head, then roll over towards it. Then you prop up your little head and look at me as if to say, “Did you just see what I did? I totally just did that!” You are so pleased.



You continue to grow. And eat. I suppose a boy as active as you are needs a lot of fuel. You are now eating three meals a day, just like the big kids. A bit sooner than the pediatrician “advised”, but we cheated anyway by starting the solids at – what? – 13 weeks. You are all about the fruits, mostly because I haven’t gotten around to making many veggies. And yogurt – you love yogurt. I know there are some people who will judge and condemn me because I gave you yogurt before you were six months old. I am a horrible mother. I feed my child a food. That he likes. Oh, and it is organic and healthy for him. You don’t fuss much during the day anymore, but, when you do, it is apparently because the trip the spoon makes from your mouth, to the bowl, and back to your mouth again is not fast enough.

But, truly, Owen, the best part about this month has been the sleeping. Up until about 2 weeks ago, napping was not exactly your strong suit. We’d gotten the bedtime routine down (the 3 Bs: bath, boob, bed), and you were sleeping through the night. Mostly. But you were still treating daytime sleep like the enemy. I wanted to get you napping, but knew Gram didn’t have the cajones to really stick it to you. I mean, you needed to nap! If you slept well during the day, you slept even better at night. So, over spring break, since you were home with me, I set about “nap-training” you. Hurrah! Success! Now you take 2 fairly predictable naps every day. And there is much rejoicing. It is so good for all of us.



The best part of my day is coming to fetch you and Zoë after work. The open-mouthed, gummy, whole-face smile you give me is an incredible reward for even the most trying days. It is funny how you will look and babble at Zoë in the backseat as we drive home. She remains your favorite person . . . sometimes, I think you jabber at her thinking she’s your translator. Like, “You look like someone who can speak my language. Can you tell these people what I’m saying?” You really get a kick out of “chasing” her – I will hold you in a standing position (something you love to begin with), and bob you along the floor after her. You grin and razz and bubble the whole way, until we get her. Then you grab at her face or her hair and lean in close.

So, yeah – I guess it’s been a pretty fun month! Right now you’ve got a cold, again. And despite your snuffliness, you are just as delightful and playful as ever. We won’t talk about last night. Ugh. We haven’t had a night like that in a looong while and I know it was just because you didn’t feel well. But my head is not happy about it today. Come morning, though, you were cheerful and smiling. My “little gentleman.”



What a difference a month makes.

Love,
Momma

3 Years

3/26/09

Dear Zoë,

Three years old. Three years ago today you reluctantly entered the world. I say reluctantly because, well, you didn’t seem to want to be born. At least not at that day and time. But enter the world you did and when you did the world tilted on its axis just the tiniest bit.



At first, you did not seem too happy with me or your father. Oh, the crying. And the clawing. And the not-sleeping. Almost as if to say, “You’ll pay for pulling me out of my cozy home.” It was so hard, there were times I was not sure if I would make it to the next hour. But, I did. And then I made it to the next day, the next week, the next month . . . Somewhere along the way, you became our daughter and fell in love with us as much as we were in love with you.

Looking back on those early months is a bit surreal. Someone wise – another mother, I’m sure – once told me that it was good I was writing down what it was like adjusting to you because someday I would forget how hard and heart-wracking it was. At the time, I thought that was utter nonsense. But, it makes sense now. I certainly will never forget the experience, but the context is so different now. You are so different now.



You are a good kid. You are a great kid. Wait – that’s just it – you’re a kid! Holy cow . . . there is no way anyone would ever refer to you as a baby. In addition to being a bit tall for your age, you are quite simply your own person now. You have ideas, and dreams, and preferences, and you tell us about them. More than that, you are so aware of the other people around you – how they’re feeling, what they might like, and (though it pains me to see it so soon) what they think about you.

In the past year, your greatest love has been for all things horse. If it has a horse, if it is a horse, hoof-prints, horseshoes, cowboy hats, cowboy boots . . . “Momma, I like horses.” No kidding, kiddo. Anyone who lives in the greater Kendall County area knows that you like horses. Strangely, you have a particular penchant for black horses. Your dad and I discovered that the carousel at the mall is an awesome incentive for you because it has horses. To ride! More specifically, a black horse. “My black horse,” you call it. You do have a very clear understanding that those horses are not real horses, that you are “not big enough” to ride a real horse. You so wisely tell us that, “When I get bigger, I will ride a black horse.”



That doesn’t stop you from asking for a real horse, though. I like to think that one of my best calls as a parent this year was to inform you that Santa Claus does not deliver live animals. Not only did that put a stop to the real-horse-for-Christmas requests, it pretty much negated any future requests for any other furry/scaly, eating and pooping creatures. Go Momma! Unfortunately, you’re too clever for your own good. You’ve given up asking Santa (or the Easter Bunny) for a horse and have gone straight to the source – Momma and Daddy. The excuses we give don’t seem to hold much water for you: that we don’t make enough money, that the home owners’ association wouldn’t allow it, that we don’t have enough room, etc. To curb your appetite, I’ve found myself taking more and more circuitous drives home to make sure we pass at least one ranch or pasture full of horses.

Thank goodness for the housing slow-down.

Have I mentioned that you tell us about things? If there is anything that defines your third year it is the talking. From the moment you get up to the moment we put you to bed – okay, even after we put you to bed – you are talking about something. And true conversation. Complex sentences. Fifty-cent vocabulary. All of it. There is not a week that goes by that your dad and I don’t look at each other and say, “Did she really just say that?”



I am not sure where you get some of it, but school has had a definite impact. When you sat down at dinner several months ago and said, “Mangia! Mangia!” I couldn’t believe my daughter was speaking Italian, all thanks to the adorable mealtime routine you learned (to say nothing of the Spanish and Mandarin you’ve picked up from Noggin). If I have to hold down a job – and, honestly daughter, I do, for reasons way beyond financial – it is an absolute comfort to me to know that you love school. The relationships that you have developed there are so wonderful for you, both with your teachers and your little friends. And you are learning so darn much, I can’t stand it sometimes. Just a week ago, you moved into the Preschool classroom. We knew this was coming, and in some respects it was hard simply because I knew how much you would hate to leave your “2’s” teacher. But as your mom, to walk into that Preschool classroom and see a classroom . . . and then to be told at the end of your first day that you are working on writing your letters . . . it was a bit much.

That transition was definitely a minor source of contention over the past six months or so. Would you be potty trained by your third birthday? Every time someone would ask me about potty training, I would heave a great sigh and proclaim, “Potty training is the bane of my existence.” I realize that all things come in time, kids have their own schedule, “No one’s gone to kindergarten in diapers,” and all, but you had me stumped. Your dad, too. We just didn’t get it. None of the tricks worked, nothing motivated you, and yet you are such a smart, independent little girl. Frustrating to say the least. And, honestly, I know some of my own issues were interfering. I worried that you would be like I was – chronic urinary tract infections, problems with wetting, endless antibiotics, endless doctor visits. (Now that I think about it, that may be one of the bigger challenges of parenting: getting over your own childhood issues.) But, guess what? You’re not in diapers anymore. You have made so much potty-progress in the last 2 months, it was like someone flipped a switch. Or maybe you decided you’d strung us along long enough.



Kiddo, I can’t recap the last year without a mention of the biggest development – you became a big sister. I’ll admit your dad and I are a touch proud of the way we prepared you for Owen’s arrival. You were involved practically from the moment we found out he was on the way. I wanted you to know that he was as much your baby as Mom and Dad’s, that you would have a very special role as big sister. You take that role very seriously and I’m so proud of you. You are gentle with Owen, you are attentive, and you are interested. I hope when you’re older you remember some of this time – how Owen will only “talk” to you, how you like to feed him in his high chair, how you show him how to roll or crawl, and even wipe up his spit. I know at some point he is going to annoy you. But, I hope the special relationship you two are forming now will run constant, even under the antagonism to come. Because it will come. And soon – he adores you so, as soon as he can walk I know he is going to be chasing after you. Be patient with him, honey.



I look forward to everything this next year will bring – even the inevitable frustrations, on both our parts. The world is just starting to open up before you, and I am so glad your dad and I get to come along for the ride. And, I promise, there will be a ride. On a horse. A black horse.

Love You,
Momma

4 Months

A month of Owen . . .

She knows her music

Zoe and I have been spending a lot of time in the car together lately, now that we go pick up Owen from mom every day. Some days she listens to her Disney Read-Along books/CDs. Other times, I've had enough of Lightning McQueen and Cinderella, so we listen to my iPod. She has her favorites, of course - "Mr. Roboto" gets heavy rotation, as does "the belly dance song" (a piece by Balkan Beat Box). But lately, I couldn't be more pleased. She loves Tom Petty. Specifically, the Highway Companion album. Even more specifically, "Flirting with Time". She knows all the words - it is adorable. Just this morning she asked to hear "Time Baby, again!"

Can I just express a teensy bit of pride that my daughter asks to listen to artists like Tom Petty, Sting (she loves "Roxanne"), Johnny Cash and - heck - even Styx. We may have a little Laurie Berkner, David Weinstone and (of course) Backyardigans. But, by and large, Zoe listens to *our* music. We rock.

"It Sucked and Then I Cried"

Seriously - it's too bad dooce got there first, because that could be the title to my memoir on breastfeeding, where the "it" refers to my baby.



My husband's hilarious, isn't he?

Will be heading out tomorrow to try to score some face time with the one and only Ms. Armstrong. I must say I am one lucky girl because the gal my brother picked to marry not only reads many of the same blogs I do, she has the gumption to go with me to a blogger book signing.

(Oh - hi Stacy! Guess what - you're gonna be in the family? You're gonna be in the blog. I'll be nice, though.)

Like, OMG, I am SO not wearing that!

While I work diligently on the kiddos' latest newsletters (I get a 3-year-old and a 4-month old in the same week? Yahtzee!), here's a little Zoe anecdote:

I'm getting her dressed this morning and, per usual, she wants to wear a skirt. Or a dress. With tights. So, I grab her Lands End corduroy skirt that Gram gave her, striped tights (who doesn't love an adorable little girl in striped tights?), and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I get the skirt on her body and she glances down at it. She picks up the sides, lifting them ever-so-slightly.

"What's the matter?"

"This skirt is too big."

"Too big? I guess it is a little long. But it's okay."

"I don't like it, Momma. It's too big and baggy."

Okay, so this skirt is a bit fuller than your average skirt. And a bit longer - past her knees. I'll give her that. But, "baggy"? Did she just say it was baggy?

"Do you not want to wear it?"

"No. I want my denim skirt." With that, she starts tugging down the corduroy skirt and heads to her laundry basket to find the denim skirt. And yes, I have a not-quite-3-year-old who requests a "denim" skirt specifically. She finds said skirt, holds it up and says, "See? This one is shorter." She grins.

I laugh, in spite of myself, and help her with the newly selected skirt. Then, as I get it straightened and buttoned, she says, "The other skirt is too big. Nobody will like it."

Yeah. That's my daughter. Already concerned with what *other people* will think of what she's wearing.

Say what?

http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/chi-biz-sears-tower-name-change-willis-march12,0,7014962.story

This is just terrible. I have a real connection to the Sears Tower - my dad, a Sears employee from the age of 17 until a forced retirement during one of the last economic downturns, was involved in the construction of the tower; I was actually onsite during the raising of some of the famous white antenna towers, I've been on the actual roof, I used to work on the Skydeck . . . it's a major part of my history. And for someone to think they can just rename it? Is nothing "Chicago" sacred? I don't get it - this Willis company needs to step off. I mean, it's still Wrigley Field, even though Tribune Co. owns it (for the moment). Gah! I'll tell you right now - I am going to make sure my kids grow up calling this building by its proper name: Sears Tower.