It's a Party!

In our old neighborhood, there was a family across the way from us that had, by far, the best Halloween set-up around, with a bunch of skeletons sitting around a campfire with beers and marshmallows. It was fantastic, and I think Steve was always a little jealous that he hadn't come up with the idea first.

So, when we moved into a new neighborhood? You'd better believe that idea came with us. I went to Costco on opening weekend to load up on skeletons, because these suckers sell out if you're not quick to the pallet. It turns out that six skeletons is the maximum number that can be loaded into a Costco cart, and you'd better have someone coming along with you, because there's not way you're navigating all of that creepiness around the store on your own. You just push that cart and pray to all that nobody accidentally stumbles into your path, because they WILL be run down by six boxes of bones.

The yard turned out amazingly well, though, and all of the neighbors now think Steve is just the MOST creative Halloween decorator there is.

Come on over! You know you've always wanted to go camping with a bunch of creepy people...

Scenes from a birthday party...

I know myself well enough to know that I don't have the emotional fortitude needed to plan an outdoor event. I don't do well with uncertainty, and since weather is nothing BUT uncertainty, I know that I need to plan all of my parties for indoor spaces. I need to have control of every detail or else I will do nothing but fret about what I don't have control over.

I know this about myself. And yet...guess who didn't let this knowledge stop her from planning a fifth birthday party at a farm where the only shelter was a roof large enough to cover six picnic tables in the middle of a field? And guess who did this planning for the middle of October, which can either be 80 degrees and hot or 50 degrees and raining?

Yes, that would be me.

In the two weeks leading up to Brigid's outdoor party, it rained significantly almost every day. I checked the weather EVERY SINGLE DAY in those two weeks, hoping that the day of the party would have a magically dry day, in the midst of our monsoon season. For the last two days, I checked the weather once an hour, hoping for a change.

It, uh, didn't change. We were guaranteed to have rain on the day of the party.

The morning of the party, Steve was relatively convinced that it would stop raining in time for the party in the afternoon, but I couldn't relax enough to think he might be right. So, I spent all morning texting everyone to tell them we might be moving the party to our house. I spent all morning cleaning the house for the potential move. Steve went shopping for party games and face painting supplies since I was convinced I wouldn't have the farm activities I'd planned to have to entertain the kids. We both checked the weather every five minutes. It finally seemed like things were clearing up right around party time, so we made the last minute decision to have the party at the farm.

And then we got to the farm, and it started raining harder. I was...not pleasant to be around at that moment, I'd imagine.

It did finally clear up, and I think that the party was a relative success. There was a petting zoo and a playground, some bouncy houses and a corn crib. Brigid got to run around with her friends, and everyone got cake and a whack at a pinata. And I only took about 6 years off of my life worrying about the rain.

Next year? I'm taking everyone bowling.

(Thanks, as always, to my brother-in-law, Greg, for taking better pictures of the event than I could ever hope to...)

Still Here

Steve asked me the other day if I've given up on this blog, since I haven't been posting nearly as much as I used to, now that I'm staying home with the girls. And while I don't want to let it go entirely, finding time to post anything now that all of my free time involves either the girls or working through the part-time job I still have, it is getting harder and harder to find time to document our daily life. When I was in the office, I could take 20 minutes out of my day while I was eating lunch to post something short and sweet about whatever we'd done that weekend, or something Brigid had said the night before. Now, when I'm eating lunch, I'm usually also emptying the dishwasher or feeding the dogs, or urging Caitlin to eat quicker so we can go pick up her sister from school on time for once.

But, this is exactly what I'd hoped for when I decided to take a step back at work, and I am enjoying (almost*) every minute of it.

So, that's where I am right now. Still here, sort of, and trying to figure out how I can keep up with a space I love, even in the midst of all of this change. In the meantime, maybe I'll just post  nothing but pictures for the next month?

*There's, uh, quite a bit of whining some days that I could do without, but I had that in the office, too, so I'm not complaining all that much.

Five

Brigid turned five this week, and I think someone is playing a cruel trick on me, because there is no way it's been five years since this beautiful little girl was born.

She makes me happier than I ever thought I could be, while simultaneously driving me crazier than I ever thought possible. She is stubborn, she gets ridiculously crabby when she's tired, she overreacts to the slightest thing that might mean she's not getting exactly what she wants. But she is also the greatest big sister there is, helping me with Caitlin's diapers and baths, holding her hand in the car whenever Caitlin starts fussing, and entertaining her in her crib when I can't get to her the minute she wakes up. She loves to cuddle. She is so happy when Steve gets home from work, I can actually see her vibrating with excitement. Her teachers tell me she's one of the sweetest kids in the class.

Apparently, there is a 'clique' of girls in her class that Brigid is a part of, but she manages to 'stay above the drama', so that's nice. I'm a little worried about the fact that there's already drama to be dealt with in pre-k, but at least she's staying out of it so far?

She is funny. She loves to dance. Her newest favorite movie is Isabelle Dances into the Spotlight, and she spends an hour after each viewing, running around the house and imitating the choreography from it. You should see her double pirouettes. She's remarkably proud of them.

Elsa is her favorite princess in the world, and she knows every word to every song on the Frozen soundtrack. She wants to go back to Disney as soon as possible; today, actually, if we can make it happen. She's a picky eater. She adores the ten-year old girls that live next door, following them around for as long as they tolerate her. She want's nothing more than to play with all of her friends in the neighborhood everyday. She still tells me how happy she is that I am home with her every morning, even a few months into it. She fights us on bedtime EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. which is awful. She would eat nothing but sugar if I let her.

She loves Hello Kitty, which I don't understand, but I imagine there's going to be a lot of that happening in the coming years, so I just go with it.

I asked her if she wouldn't mind staying four for another year, instead of turning five, and she told me, "Mommy, I don't think it works that way. But you can PRETEND I'm your baby forever, if you want."

 I think I'll do just that, kid.

I love you more than anything else, and I hope you will always know that, everyday of your life.

 

Happy birthday, Bug.

Sweetheart

At some point, every day, I look at Brigid and tell her she needs to stop getting so big, so fast. I tell her she needs to stay little, forever, to make me happy.

Her response?

'I don't think that's going to happen, mommy. I can't control it, you know.'

Whatever, kid. You'll always be my baby to me.

The Teenaged Toddler

I don't know what it is about a pair of toddler jeans, but the minute you put them on your baby, that baby starts looking like a 13-year old.

You know, if your 13-year old still wandered around, chewing on her pacifier, I guess...

(LOOKIT!!! LITTLE BLONDE BABY CURLS!!!!)

When we pick Brigid up from school, Caitlin insists on holding her hand as we walk to the car. And then when I'm getting them buckled into their seats, she fusses at Brigid, until Brigid holds her hand in the car, too. These two, man. I hope they always love and enjoy each other as much as they do right now.

Fall is Here! (Sort Of?)

Last weekend, Brigid managed to guilt Steve into taking the whole family apple picking on Sunday by telling him that she was sad he had spent all day Saturday watching football. And that would have been decent manipulation on her part...except for the part where it wasn't true. In fact, we spent a significant chunk of that Saturday all together on a boat, before taking her to lunch at Waffle House, which has somehow become her first choice anytime we ask her where she wants to eat. Then she got to play with her friends in the neighborhood for a short period of time, and only THEN did we make her watch the Notre Dame game for a little bit before she had to go to bed.

All of which to say...her powers of manipulation are formidable, and I am frightened for my future.

Anyway. Apple picking.

The funny thing about apple picking is that even though it's the season for the good apples, the apple farm won't let you pick the good apples yourself, choosing to (I guess?) release their own professional pickers on the good trees, so they can sell them to you for maybe a little bit more money in the apple farm general store. So, while we did the following things on Sunday:

* Bought apple fritters. (I ate almost an entire fritter by myself when we first got there, and when Steve asked for a bite later, I laughed at him. It's like he doesn't even know me after all of this time.) (He had to go buy his own. I do not leave apple fritter behind.)

* Bought cider donuts.

* Bought apple bread. (Which, uh, I also ate by myself. But it was over the course of several days. So...it doesn't count?)

* Bought kettle corn. (There IS still some of that left. I'm not completely out of control.)

* Raced a pig. (We went to watch the pig races, and Brigid was handed a card that marked her as one of the pig race participants. She was assigned Hamgelina Jolie as her racing pig, and there was a gold trophy at stake for the winner. Unfortunately, Hamgelina lost out to Lyndsay Loham, so Brigid had to settle for a ribbon. I told her I liked the ribbon better, and she agreed, but I was lying. I really wanted that pig trophy.) (The other pig race participants were Brad Pig and Britney Spareribs. Har, har har.)

* Went down a big slide. (Just Brigid)

* Jumped on a big trampoline. (Again...Brigid)

* Admired a moonshine still. (This was what Caitlin and I were doing while Brigid was on the trampoline. I wasn't taking any chances with C trying to climb up there with her.)

* MILKED A FREAKING COW! (I am still a little shocked Brigid did this. You could not have paid me to get close to that cow. Also, she said the udder felt like poop. I didn't ask her to elaborate.)

Oh. And...we bought some apples. We wanted the good apples, they brought a freshly picked (I don't know...maybe?) batch in while we were in the general store, so we just decided to take those home with us. We did not pick a single apple on our apple picking trip.

Of course, we then went home and put up some Halloween decorations, because once you start doing fall things, you can't stop doing them, I guess. Even when it's still 88 degrees out and not fall-like, at all.

(Don't judge us. Our next-door neighbors have had ghosts on their front lawn for 2 weeks now, and neighbors across the street from us have a skeleton on their front porch, too. IT'S NOT JUST US.)

Prima Ballerina

We are one week into Brigid's return to ballet lessons, and she's already complaining that having to wait for a whole week between her classes is just toooooooo LONG to wait, and why can't we have ballet every day? and why can't I wear my tap shoes around the house? and how many days until it's Tuesday again?

And even if we've had this conversation for the last three days, we are still going to have to have it again and again until Tuesday finally arrives, because she just. won't. stop. asking.

And the thing is, she could go more than once a week, if I wanted to sign her up for a 'Hippity Hop' class on a different day of the week. Or maybe she could take this 'Superstar Track' program that the studio offers, where they add something they're calling a 1-hour choreography based class to Brigid's schedule each week, but...seriously? Is that something I need to do? I mean, she's four years old. She could change her mind in three weeks and decide she never wants to go back again to the one class she's already taking.

As it is, I'm already trying to decide if I want to pay the $50 they're asking so she can participate in some holiday show in December, in addition to whatever other recital they do at the end of the session next spring, so I don't think I'm really the stage mother they're looking for when they're offering up all of these additional classes to the student population. I'm too tired to be that stage mother.

Of course, if I ever hope to get Brigid on So You Think You Can Dance, thus fulfilling my dreams of meeting Cat Deeley and convincing her that she and I are meant to be the absolute best of friends, maybe I should sign her up for as many classes as possible, right?

 

Caitlin Goes to School

Things I have learned about Caitlin this week:

* Her teachers have to feed her before anyone else at lunch time, because while she will eat everything put in front of her, she will also proceed to eat anything put in front of someone else if she doesn't get her food first. I think maybe she might get that from me...

* She participates in all of the school activities, but she sometimes participates a little too avidly. Her teachers pointed her finger painting out to me, and casually mentioned that they had to stop her from painting a little sooner than some of the other kids, because she kept trying to eat the paint. I'm going to say she gets that one from Steve. (Also, I've been referring to her as Tommy Boy for the last month, and this just serves to further my argument that she might be Chris Farley reincarnated.)

* Her teachers consider her to be the joy of the class. I'm partially convinced this is because she is one of only a couple of kids that don't cry every day, but I know it's also because she's just such a darn happy kid. I could not be more excited about the way she's taken to this whole school thing.

* She naps incredibly well after four hours of running around, destroying a classroom.

First Day Of School!

When we were looking at enrolling Brigid in school three years ago, the Catholic church across the street from our neighborhood required that the child be two before he or she started school, which meant that my missed-the-cutoff-by-a-month little girl was almost three when she started. We sent her to a M/W/F class, as the school recommended for all older two-year-olds, and I can clearly remember how easy it was to drop her off on the first day. She walked in, took note of all of the new kids and toys, and barely even said good-bye to me when I left. Of course, a few days into it, the newness started to wear off, and Brigid spent some time in the preschool director's office, to calm down away from the rest of the kids while she had meltdowns around not wanting to be there anymore.

When we moved, and enrolled Brigid in the school at the Catholic church near our new house, I noticed that they had an 18-month old class available, which meant that technically, Caitlin could go to school this year if we wanted to send her. I'm not sure I would have considered it, if not for my new work arrangement and my desire to not have to spend four hours every night working if there's an option for me to get more done during the day. And even then, I was very 'OH, MY BABY!' about the whole thing, until I took her with me for Brigid's open house before the start of this year. She was just so happy to be there, to be playing with toys that weren't hers, to be around all new kids, to be meeting so many new people. At one point, Brigid was sitting in a circle with a couple of other little girls from her class, and Caitlin just kept walking around the circle, patting all of the girls on the head while smiling at me in excitement.

In fact, she was having so much fun, I talked to the preschool director about whether there were any openings in that 18-month/2-year old class, and since there were, I decided on the spot to go ahead an enroll her, too. I took her to the open house for that class a few days later, and I knew, watching her run around her new class, that I'd made the right choice.

We're only a few days into school (or two days for Caitlin and three for Brigid), and they both seem to be loving it. On the first day, Brigid walked right in, found her nametag at her seat, and sat down like she owned the room. I actually had to remind her to say goodbye to me. Caitlin ran into her room and didn't look back. I finally looked at the teacher and said, 'Ok...I guess I'll go now?' I didn't want to make a big deal about leaving and create a problem that wasn't there, but it still felt weird to just leave, with no acknowledgment from C. I did it anyway, and when I went to pick her up that afternoon, about half of the class was in full meltdown mode, while Caitlin sat on the floor, playing with blocks. When she saw me, she smiled, and started throwing blocks in my general direction. As one does. In the words of the preschool director: That one is a force to be reckoned with.

(I joke that anyone that's spent any amount of time with her loves her to death, but every single person that knows her also gives us the 'better you than me' sympathy nod within the first few minutes of meeting her.)

Brigid actually tells me about her day when she gets home now, and Caitlin's teachers have nothing but good things to say about her so far. She hasn't cried once on drop-off, and she's just as happy when she's being picked up as she was when she got there four hours earlier. They think it's funny that she calls everyone mama, which yeah, of course she does. It's the only thing she calls anything. Brigid has won two games of BINGO, and she can't wait for Friday, because Friday is when they get into the prize box. As she's told me every day that she's come home. They're both thrilled to be there, they're both learning new things and meeting new people, and I couldn't be happier with the way things are going so far.

Now, if only they could maybe teach Caitlin to talk already...

Golf Lessons

One of the more positive points of my new part-time from-home schedule is that I have much more flexibility around signing Brigid up for various activities. I never did get her signed up for swim lessons this summer, but I think there might be an indoor pool/rec center nearby, so that might still be an option this winter. (She's old enough to take lessons without me getting into the pool with her, right? Because if I have to get in the pool with her right after Christmas cookie season, we might just wait until next summer.) However, I did finally (FINALLY, according to Brigid) get her enrolled in a ballet/tap class that starts in two weeks, and we've been taking advantage of living on a golf course by going to the weekly drop-in class for Brigid's age group that the course pro holds every Monday.

(Fun fact: The golf pro grew up 2 hours away from where I did in Indiana, was/is a big Notre Dame fan, and went to the same university as my youngest sister. Small world and all of that jazz.)

She is...entertaining, let's call it...at these lessons. She's only been doing it for three weeks, and she's actually holding the club correctly now, which is a HUGE improvement from where she started, but I can't quite shake the feeling that she may have inherited my grace and coordination (note: I have NO grace OR coordination), especially when I watch her sail the club over the top of the ball repeatedly. But the golf pro has an IMMENSE amount of patience with these kids, and he's teaching them etiquette/life lessons around making eye contact, shaking hands, being polite, sharing with each other, and taking turns (she's getting a lot for $10, now that I think about it...), and Brigid hasn't fought me once about going, so I think we'll keep it up as much as we can through the end of the schedule in October.

Besides, she conned Steve into buying her pink clubs and balls to match, so somebody needs to get some use out of them...

(Please note her course appropriate clothing. Pink glitter Converse sneakers are totally valid golf shoes, right?)

Cuddle Time

Lately, we've fallen back into some old bad habits that have Brigid in bed with Steve and I at some point most nights. We'd gotten better about having her sleep in her own bed for awhile (mostly because we included sleeping in her own bed for the entire night on her behavioral chart, and she really wanted to earn all of the stars she needed to get the Elsa ice castle she was promised for good behavior...), but it has started to get out of control again. Every night, at some point in the bedtime process, she tells one of us, 'but I wanted you to cuddle with me for the WHOLE night!'

And the problem that we keep running into? It's that I really have no problem doing just that.

See, I know the day is going to come where she sleeps in her own bed. I know that there will come a time when cuddles with mommy don't hold quite the same charm for her that they do right at this moment. And when that day comes? I will be devastated. So, for now, I don't fight her as much as I should when she asks to sleep with us. I don't make the effort to walk her back to bed when she comes to me in the middle of the night to ask if she's been in her own bed long enough. Because when she sleeps with us? I wake up to a little arm thrown across my neck, or a small hand resting on my cheek, or the smell of baby shampoo and coconut conditioner coming from the head resting on my shoulder. And at those times, I wish there was a way to capture the feeling, the actual physical touch, of a moment, because when these moments happen, I know there will be no way to recreate them down the road, and I want, more than anything, to remember the feeling of that sweet girl snuggling with me every morning.

Even if I DO have to fight her for the blankets every night.

The Beach

My family was down in Florida last week, for one last dose of the beach before the summer ended and my mom and sister had to head back to school. Steve didn't have any vacation time to use, but I didn't want to pass up a beach opportunity since I hadn't spent any significant amount of time on one for at least a year and a half at that point (This is...not good for me. I kind of think I need a good dose of sand and water every few months to maintain my sanity, but I haven't really had that option recently. And I wasn't about to say no to this one...), so the girls and I decided to make the trip alone.

Caitlin isn't exactly a great car kid. She gets fussy and bored and wants constant attention to keep her shrieks from reaching the levels of shrillness that only dogs can hear, and when we travel long distances, I have always sat in the backseat with her and Brigid, between the two car seats. It seems that a constant supply of snacks and cell phone videos is the key to a quiet ride. To take my place in the snack department, at least, we moved Caitlin's car seat to the middle of the van, so I could run food and entertainment from the front seat, through my forward-facing 4-year old, to the angry little gremlin stuck facing an empty wall of leather car seat.

It worked much better than I expected.

We stopped once on the way down because I needed a break, and twice on the way home because Brigid needed a break (including one emergency 'MOMMY, I NEED TO POOP!!!!! about an hour and a half away from home, on a not-so-great-for-stopping stretch of highway), and my car was an absolute disgusting mess of discarded (mostly by Caitlin, although Brigid added some to the pile, too, I think) grilled cheese, crackers, popcorn puffs, cereal, and cookies by the end of the trip, but we made it, there AND back.

And now I'm so impressed by my success, I'm ready to start taking us on midweek trips to the beach whenever my parents' condo is sitting empty. I'm sure Steve won't mind at all...

(Mini golf, calm water to allow for plenty of swimming and sand time for both of the girls, a REALLY long sea kayak trip with my sister, plenty of bubble gum chewing, and baked oysters to round out the whole trip. Vacations are good, you know?)

Brigid and Her Pets

Brigid has decided that she needs a new pet. Even though we already have two dogs, and two cats, and a whole freak-load of fish that I fought against repeatedly but was overruled by my but-I-had-fish-when-I-was-a-kid husband, she keeps telling me she needs a puppy of her own.

Actually, her exact words were 'Mommy, I want to adopt a puppy for awhile like grandma (Steve's mom is currently fostering a rescue dog for a local shelter), but I also want one that I can keep until it dies.'

So. That's not morbid at all, right?

Anyway, I keep telling her that she can have any of the animals that we already own all for her very own, but she's insistent that she wants to pick one out for herself. She gets her stubbornness from me, I think.

Luckily, I have YEARS of practice at that stubbornness on her, so in spite of her nonstop badgering, a third dog is not in the cards for us, at all. She's just going to have to make due with the animals we already have.

I think she's going to be fine... 

Getting Settled

I am now making my way through my second week as a work-from-home mom, and although I'm no longer going into the office these days, I still haven't transitioned to my new part-time position, as my boss asked me to stay as full-time as I could until the end of August, to fully support my replacement.

So that's what I am doing.

It has been a process, trying to develop a new schedule that can accommodate everything I need to get done in any given day. But even though I still feel a little all over the place sometimes, since there is still SO! MUCH! TO! DO!, I haven't been this happy in a long time. I like being home with the girls, I like keeping my house somewhat organized during the week, I like grocery shopping and running errands instead of being in the office. I even like the work I do when I'm at home and my girls are right there in the next room. It turns out, whatever stress inducing elements might still be in my life, I can handle them much, much better when I'm spending my days with two of my most favorite people in the whole world.

Staying Home

Sometime last year, Brigid developed a standard list of wishes she used whenever throwing coins in fountains. The list included new clothes, new toys, and having mommy home with her every day.

In December, I told my boss I wanted to leave my job, because both Steve and I were in positions of increasing responsibility, and it was creating tension at home around which one of us would be responsible when things came up with the girls, since we were both so fried from work most days. I felt like the girls were getting the short end of the stick, and I wanted to be there for them more than I was at the time.

I told her I would stay a few months into 2014, though, since I didn't want to leave her completely shorthanded because of my decision.

In February, she asked if I'd consider staying on the team, as her boss had suggested creating a part-time, from-home position for me, handling a lot of the monthly reporting that my boss has been trying to get off of her desk for months. The team and process I have been managing for the last two years are a team and process I've developed from the beginning, and they didn't want to lose my knowledge around either thing.

Feeling honored that they appreciated my hard work and grateful for the opportunity to keep some tie to the company (plus, excited that I wouldn't be abandoning all of my years at the company after working so hard to get where I was), I agreed to the opportunity. Plus, I told my boss I'd stay through the second quarter of the year, to help close out what I could for 2013.

Last week, while walking with my mom, Brigid apparently made a wish on a dandelion fluff that I would quit working sooner. When Mom told her it would be soon, Brigid said, 'Yes, but I wish it was sooner.'

On Monday, I was packing my work bag, when Brigid asked what I was doing. When I told her I was getting ready for work the next day, she gave me a sad face. I told her it was my last week, though, and that I would be staying home when the week was over, and she grabbed both of my hands and made me jump up and down in excitement with her.

Last night, I told her yesterday had been my last day in the office, and she told me, 'I know. You told me that already.'

This morning, when eating breakfast, she looked at me, smiled, and said, 'Mommy, I'm so glad you're staying home with me every day now.'

Me too, kid. Me too.

Eighteen Month Check-Up: Caitlin Edition

I took Caitlin in for a check-up weeks ago, and in the most glaring example of my current inability to keep up with the documentation of my poor, neglected second baby's life, I haven't posted anything about it.

Not that there's anything interesting to post about it, really, but if I'm going to keep an online baby book that I can use in the future to look back fondly on this time with my girls when they were little, then I should probably do it right. Or, as right as posting some terrible iPhone pictures a couple of times a week can be considered, anyway.

Eighteen month stats, Caitlin:

Length: 33.25 inches (89th percentile)

(Eighteen months - 31.75/85th)

(Twelve months - 31.25/95th)

(Nine months - 28.5/78th)

(Six months - 26/67th)

(Four months - 24.75/69th)

Weight: 24lbs 0oz (45th percentile)

(Eighteen months - 22lbs 6.5oz/43rd)

(Twelve months - 20lbs 15.4oz/42nd)

(Nine months - 19lbs 3oz/54th)

(Six months - 16lbs 6oz/59th)

(Four months - 13lbs 4oz/56th)

Eighteen month stats, Brigid:

Length: 33 inches (80th percentile)

(Eighteen months - 30.5/55th)

(Twelve months - 30.5/90th)

(Nine months - 27.5/50th)

(Six months - 26.25/75th)

(Four months - 25/80th)

Weight: 25lbs 3oz (65th percentile)

(Eighteen months - 24lbs 6oz/75th)

(Twelve months - 22lbs 14oz/70th)

(Nine months - 20lbs 14oz/80th)

(Six months - 17lbs 9oz/85th)

(Four months - 14lbs 10oz/75th)

The doctor went through her general spiel around whether Caitlin was walking, talking, and getting into things, at which point I decided hitting two out of the three isn't bad. When I told her that Caitlin wasn't, in fact, talking AT ALL, the doctor started flipping through her medical history, trying to see if there was anything that would point to a reason WHY this wasn't happening. But...Caitlin has been a relatively healthy baby (KNOCK ON ALL OF THE WOOD EVERYWHERE!!!), and there isn't any history of ear infections or poor hearing or anything else that might explain why my girl isn't talking, other than she just appears to be a really, really stubborn baby who won't pick up new tricks on anything other than her own (sloooooooow) schedule.

But! I told this doctor that I'd had the exact same conversation with Brigid's pediatrician at her 18-month check-up, as well. She laughed, and asked me if I was worried. I told her no, she said fine, and Caitlin got some shots.

The end.

And now I have six months to try to get her talking before her 2-year check-up, which is the next time we go in...

(Er, FIVE months, that is, since this all happened over a month ago, and Caitlin is no closer to talking now than she was then. Five months, Caitlin. Let's do this.)

To Grandmother's House We Go

In trying to distract Brigid during one of her many (I-hope-I-can-blame-it-on-the-fact-that-she's-four) tantrums this past weekend, I made the mistake of joking with her that since we were going to visit Nana and Papa soon, she needed to start packing now, so she wouldn't forget anything.

Not only did she take me up on this suggestion, loading her suitcase with something along the lines of one pair of underwear, one nightgown, and every toy she happened to come across in the process, she proceeded to carry that suitcase around with her all day, while begging to have us all leave for Indiana immediately. When Steve and I explained that we weren't leaving yet, because we still had a few days of work before the trip, she instead suggested we fly her up there that night, then fly home for work right after we dropped her off.

We told her that flying up and back like that wasn't really an option for us, but if she was in such a hurry to get to Indiana, we could ship her and Caitlin up in a box. I...I kind of think she considered taking us up on that option...

(Please note, she wanted to make sure we sent her with snacks. In case her and Caitlin got hungry on the trip. She plans ahead, that one...)

To make things even more crazy, we kind of had to tell Brigid that she was going to be able to ride a fire truck in my hometown's 4th of July parade, to make sure that it wasn't something that would freak her out when the moment came. She asked if I would come with her, and I told her that I wouldn't be on the truck, because I would need to stay with Caitlin, but that Papa and maybe even Aunt Mary would ride with her, so she wouldn't be up there by herself. And that's all it took. She's in.



Yesterday, she randomly sighed, and when I asked her what was wrong, she said, 'I'm just so excited!'

When I asked her what she was excited about, she looked at me like I was an idiot, and exclaimed, with as much condescension as any four-year-old could muster, 'The parADE, mommy,' like I was just supposed to know that's all she had been thinking about for 24 straight hours.

Like I said...she is IN.

In the Tent

Brigid (who I swear went from 4 to 14 overnight at some point, and who I will never allow to sleep again out of fear that she'll age another 10 years on me...) wanted me to take a picture of her and her American Girl doll in their new matching pajamas, with their equally matching pink hair. Even though you can't actually see her pink hair in the pictures, I assure you, it was PINK.

And then, I noticed Caitlin...

Seriously. That is just so...Caitlin. I love that kid and all of her goofy ways.

Picking and Choosing the Battles

Last night, Brigid told Steve she wanted to sleep in our bed because she didn't get to see him all last weekend, and she wanted to cuddle with him. Guess who won that round of emotional manipulation?

This kid:

Caitlin will only go to sleep if you rock her or walk her or just generally hold her until she falls asleep on her own schedule, but the ONLY TIME she will let you snuggle her is when she's tired enough to be rocked to sleep. Guess who will get exactly what she wants until the day she decides I can't even snuggle her when she's sleepy anymore?

This kid:

I'm not even mad at the fact that I am not the boss in my own house at this early stage in parenting, I'm just impressed. Way to own the room, ladies. That will come in handy someday, I'm sure...

Two Sides

Look, I'm not saying that there are certain times when I love Brigid more than other times, because I love her wholeheartedly, all of the time. Of course I do.

I'm just saying...there are times when things are more...peaceful...than others.

(I think this is a phenomenon that just comes with the whole parenting-of-children territory. I mostly have just as much fun with the Brigid-ness of the process as I do with the peacefulness of it, really. Mostly.)

(Except this past weekend, that is. This past weekend was tough. There was just so much whining. SO MUCH WHINING OMG!)

(SO MUCH!)

(GAH.)