tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74584473778976901482024-03-13T10:07:14.314-04:00Laundry is Not a Hobby...<i>...the daily dramas of a frazzled life</i>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.comBlogger701125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-62161130154546900482015-03-25T14:53:00.001-04:002015-03-25T16:03:29.646-04:00Cherish Every MomentThis morning, my mother-in-law and I took Caitlin to this massive garden about 30 minutes from my house, to see all of the spring daffodils before they died off. This is almost every picture I took of Caitlin:<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-48jGfpAj9dI/VRMEHm48ZOI/AAAAAAAAK_c/Lqg3Fiz80JU/s640/blogger-image-606981555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-48jGfpAj9dI/VRMEHm48ZOI/AAAAAAAAK_c/Lqg3Fiz80JU/s640/blogger-image-606981555.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gScFFTf3gR4/VRMEGROUu8I/AAAAAAAAK_U/FMSOCi64-hE/s640/blogger-image--972779800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gScFFTf3gR4/VRMEGROUu8I/AAAAAAAAK_U/FMSOCi64-hE/s640/blogger-image--972779800.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-XIGnLrtZKyM/VRMEI7gnU5I/AAAAAAAAK_k/gnL2wMs0NME/s640/blogger-image-2098908717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-XIGnLrtZKyM/VRMEI7gnU5I/AAAAAAAAK_k/gnL2wMs0NME/s640/blogger-image-2098908717.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-hiXR1TKKsg4/VRMEKB_oI7I/AAAAAAAAK_s/M9BlHPtof8Q/s640/blogger-image-1356404881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-hiXR1TKKsg4/VRMEKB_oI7I/AAAAAAAAK_s/M9BlHPtof8Q/s640/blogger-image-1356404881.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aYc5W6yRE6I/VRMEDxfc0zI/AAAAAAAAK_E/AxtmN1cCTuk/s640/blogger-image-81081771.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aYc5W6yRE6I/VRMEDxfc0zI/AAAAAAAAK_E/AxtmN1cCTuk/s640/blogger-image-81081771.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-42zFTPTc6lk/VRMEFALGxPI/AAAAAAAAK_M/LWE8cB2Alcs/s640/blogger-image-606243039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-42zFTPTc6lk/VRMEFALGxPI/AAAAAAAAK_M/LWE8cB2Alcs/s640/blogger-image-606243039.jpg"></a></div></div></div>Some ladies asked me at one point if she was running away, and I said, 'No. She's just running.' Because that is ALL. SHE. DOES. </div><div><br></div><div>EVER. </div><div><br></div><div>This afternoon, Brigid facetimed me (in the kitchen) from her playroom (which is JUST DOWN THE HALL FROM THE KITCHEN!!!) to tell me that she was hungry and that she wanted me to bring her a piece of string cheese. </div><div><br></div><div>I, being the terrible mother that I am, made her get up and get it herself, so I hope she learned THAT is not going to fly around here, but still...</div><div><br></div><div>You have to admire such a dedication to 'resourcefulness' at such a young age, I guess.</div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-56293881847440500332015-03-23T16:13:00.001-04:002015-03-23T16:13:32.344-04:00Easter Egging<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Brigid had so much fun with all of the Christmas activities we did in December that I've been trying to make sure I have at least a couple of activities on hand for each of the other holidays throughout the rest of the year. We always have a couple of hours in afternoon, just the two of us, when Caitlin naps after school is out, and so far, we've made valentines and spring pictures, decorated foam flowers and shamrocks, and painted wooden butterflies. With Easter coming up quickly, dying eggs was the next obvious activity choice for us to tackle. Since I didn't know when Brigid would be in the mood to dye the eggs (and then hunt for those eggs, since that's just how Brigid rolls...), I bought some of those cardboard eggs that are supposed to be dyeable, just so I wouldn't misplace a real egg somewhere in the house, then forget about it. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Because that is absolutely something I would do, and nobody needs to stumble across something like that a few months down the road...</div><div><br></div><div>Anyway, the eggs took to the dye about as much as I expected, which is to say not really at all, but Brigid had fun with it, and I guess that's what matters in all of this. It's not like they have to be perfect or anything. </div><div><br></div><div>(If I keep telling myself that my projects don't have to be perfect, I'll start to believe it, right?)</div><div><br></div><div>And now, if you'll excuse me, we're off to start training for the church Easter egg hunt, because the organizers seem to frown upon me following Brigid around and blocking her competition from finding all of the eggs, so I'm just going to have to teach her how to throw her own elbows. SOMEBODY needs to be responsible for bringing me some candy home. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-JVDSme59LnY/VRBz6llzgtI/AAAAAAAAK-s/3KuaVhRr6DM/s640/blogger-image-493216688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-JVDSme59LnY/VRBz6llzgtI/AAAAAAAAK-s/3KuaVhRr6DM/s640/blogger-image-493216688.jpg"></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZJkViRqpWK8/VRBz4PNFouI/AAAAAAAAK-c/Al2GWXWnkXQ/s640/blogger-image--859649133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZJkViRqpWK8/VRBz4PNFouI/AAAAAAAAK-c/Al2GWXWnkXQ/s640/blogger-image--859649133.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D7Bj84yi1GM/VRBz5Ve9OhI/AAAAAAAAK-k/go4hpU4kXYw/s640/blogger-image--1035643282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D7Bj84yi1GM/VRBz5Ve9OhI/AAAAAAAAK-k/go4hpU4kXYw/s640/blogger-image--1035643282.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-88777961990491071382015-03-17T14:34:00.001-04:002015-03-17T14:34:24.599-04:00My Little Leprechauns!A happy St. Patrick's Day from my favorite little Irish babies!<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fDuBsIcABnE/VQhzqpodXlI/AAAAAAAAK-E/Ex572BhHeN4/s640/blogger-image-292150454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-fDuBsIcABnE/VQhzqpodXlI/AAAAAAAAK-E/Ex572BhHeN4/s640/blogger-image-292150454.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-B86TBRtxHX0/VQhzm-hPiDI/AAAAAAAAK9s/kTuRHC0rw5w/s640/blogger-image--2017665697.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-B86TBRtxHX0/VQhzm-hPiDI/AAAAAAAAK9s/kTuRHC0rw5w/s640/blogger-image--2017665697.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-hWTUNGrihSg/VQhzlcHzlMI/AAAAAAAAK9k/GDTObPBaulQ/s640/blogger-image-1085139101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-hWTUNGrihSg/VQhzlcHzlMI/AAAAAAAAK9k/GDTObPBaulQ/s640/blogger-image-1085139101.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jP7AUKR3uDE/VQhzoIzfKpI/AAAAAAAAK90/71bRwwRnE4E/s640/blogger-image-347499471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jP7AUKR3uDE/VQhzoIzfKpI/AAAAAAAAK90/71bRwwRnE4E/s640/blogger-image-347499471.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e1QcQijpYnI/VQhzpSGHOZI/AAAAAAAAK98/1-Ql5q62ITU/s640/blogger-image--399538263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e1QcQijpYnI/VQhzpSGHOZI/AAAAAAAAK98/1-Ql5q62ITU/s640/blogger-image--399538263.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EABegQlZgDo/VQhzrkO4hxI/AAAAAAAAK-M/ULt4QqZYyfE/s640/blogger-image--347541080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EABegQlZgDo/VQhzrkO4hxI/AAAAAAAAK-M/ULt4QqZYyfE/s640/blogger-image--347541080.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-11993202420972048482015-02-26T10:56:00.001-05:002015-02-26T10:56:05.455-05:00Snow Day! Again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">This is my 8th winter in Georgia, and thinking back on all of this time, I've realized it has snowed more years than not since that move. This?</span></div><div><br></div><div>This is not what I signed up for when I moved to the south. </div><div><br></div><div>I guess it's a good thing we bought the girls cheap snow suits when we were up in Indiana at Thanksgiving, because at least <i>they</i> seemed to enjoy it...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5GxC85afkPY/VO9CE_T52TI/AAAAAAAAK8I/yKazGlneqfU/s640/blogger-image--1889144168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5GxC85afkPY/VO9CE_T52TI/AAAAAAAAK8I/yKazGlneqfU/s640/blogger-image--1889144168.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5Hfl1sUOi7w/VO9CBftH5iI/AAAAAAAAK7w/wq4U_q4HQbc/s640/blogger-image-923956024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5Hfl1sUOi7w/VO9CBftH5iI/AAAAAAAAK7w/wq4U_q4HQbc/s640/blogger-image-923956024.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-CMAjqTebOj4/VO9CDwambPI/AAAAAAAAK8A/xTBcuI-pyIM/s640/blogger-image--1776114821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-CMAjqTebOj4/VO9CDwambPI/AAAAAAAAK8A/xTBcuI-pyIM/s640/blogger-image--1776114821.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GwjjeQ4t2SA/VO9CCsJJDfI/AAAAAAAAK74/1DmrVsLo26A/s640/blogger-image--1770678723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GwjjeQ4t2SA/VO9CCsJJDfI/AAAAAAAAK74/1DmrVsLo26A/s640/blogger-image--1770678723.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div>(She threw that snowball at me. She's out of the will, obviously.)</div><br></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-90821159069010441582015-02-18T16:28:00.001-05:002015-02-18T16:28:58.595-05:00She'd like you to start calling her Queen Elsa, if you don't mind.Our trees have been ice covered since early Monday evening. It's not ideal, as the icy branches have wreaked havoc on the power lines across our county (We had no electricity overnight on Monday, but we were lucky. My in-laws STILL don't have power, almost 48 hours later.), but it's been kind of pretty (Spoken only as someone not still without power could could speak...). Plus, Brigid woke up with a fever on Tuesday morning, so all of the school and activity cancellations nicely corresponded with what would have been a couple of sick days, anyway. But still...<div><br></div><div>I'm ready for it to all go away now. </div><div><br></div><div>Unfortunately, it's supposed to get down to something like 17 degrees tonight, so I doubt that's going to happen. </div><div><br></div><div>Brigid, when she looked out the window yesterday and realized that the ice wasn't going anywhere, moaned, '<i>Why, Elsa?!? WHY?</i>'. So at least we know who is to blame for this debacle. And at least we know the ice isn't affecting anyone's imagination around here... </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OyHd6gj2y4g/VOUEGLOlEYI/AAAAAAAAK7c/gAR57j7-ZNk/s640/blogger-image--1968053409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OyHd6gj2y4g/VOUEGLOlEYI/AAAAAAAAK7c/gAR57j7-ZNk/s640/blogger-image--1968053409.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-85763620961028067722015-02-17T17:04:00.001-05:002015-02-17T17:04:43.981-05:00CaitlinEnough said. <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-uHkYFgEUzZs/VOO6-pBYDII/AAAAAAAAK7I/RERDb5TXm5Q/s640/blogger-image--329748834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-uHkYFgEUzZs/VOO6-pBYDII/AAAAAAAAK7I/RERDb5TXm5Q/s640/blogger-image--329748834.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-33382053633050629632015-02-04T15:09:00.001-05:002015-02-04T15:09:12.586-05:00I will never get tired of this...Caitlin is on the move, nonstop. She jumps from one activity to another, from one place to another. She still doesn't talk, which is partially a bad thing, because she definitely <i>should</i> be talking by now, but also isn't the worst thing in the world, because I can't imagine how quickly her brain jumps from one idea to another, and I'm scared that once she stops talking, she won't ever stop. And honestly, Brigid talks more than enough for both of them, so I'm good with the way things are right now.<br />
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She drags Steve over to the couch the minute he gets home from work, where she'll sit with him for maybe three seconds, tops, before she jumps off the couch and runs into the other room. She doesn't even really expect him to follow her when she leaves, and I'm starting to think she just likes to know that he will be in the same place she left him, when she decides she wants to go back to him. She'll sit on the floor, and pat the spot next to her, until I sit down, too, at which point she jumps up and runs off. She brings me books to read to her, but I have to read fast, because she wants those pages turned, and she wants them turned RIGHT NOW. She wants us to sing to her while she does the hand motions she associates with the songs we're singing, but she wants to do the hand motions for the <i>next</i> verse of the song, not the one we're on right now, and she'll start clapping for herself when <i>she's</i> done with the song, not when it's actually over.<br />
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She has thoughts and opinions, and she's becoming such a little <i>person</i> all of a sudden. It's kind of scary.<br />
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But when she's sleepy? She'll finally slow down. She'll let me hold her, and rock her, and sing to her, and sniff her head. And then she sleeps, and she'll always be my sweet little baby.<br />
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Tattoos and all...Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-86318126367909430982015-01-23T16:55:00.001-05:002015-01-23T16:55:23.245-05:00Kids Are Weird, Part 809Brigid lives on nothing but string cheese and air. She will eat chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese from a box, and every once in awhile I can get her to eat green beans by referring to them as green french fries and letting her dip them in ketchup.<br />
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Beyond that? She won't eat much at all. If I'm making chicken for dinner, hers has to be plain and include the ketchup dipping sauce. Even if the chicken is basically plain, but it was cooked in some kind of green herb? She won't eat it unless I've picked every last speck of green off of it. Green flecks on pizza? Won't eat it. Green flecks on noodles? Nope.<br />
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She won't eat rice or anything that resembles rice. No veggies, no spices, nothing interesting at all.<br />
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If it's something that would appeal to almost anyone else in the world, she is not going to eat it.<br />
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Which is what makes living with Caitlin so much more strange, because that kid? She will eat pretty much anything you put in front of her. I've seen her eat sushi, pork belly, plain spinach leaves, and various spicy sauces. She just likes food. She eats more variety than Steve and I do, now that I think about it, because I won't touch pork belly, and Steve wouldn't be caught dead with a piece of spinach.<br />
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She actively chooses bell peppers for snacks. It's depressing when you realize that your still-nonverbal-2yr-old makes better life choices than you do some days.<br />
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Of course, today when I went to get her up from her nap, I found her standing up in her crib, completely naked, after she'd taken all of her clothes and her diaper off in protest of how long it took me to get to her. So maybe I shouldn't feel <i>too</i> bad about her life choices?Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-15911661475216394242015-01-22T16:54:00.002-05:002015-01-22T16:54:23.486-05:00StylishHipster Brigid wants you to know she liked Frozen <i>before</i> it was cool...<br />
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<br />Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-14082095429575213572015-01-20T11:48:00.003-05:002015-01-20T11:48:49.863-05:00Mixed LoyaltiesRaising a Notre Dame fan in the heart of SEC country can be tough, but we've done a pretty good job of it, I'd say. When Notre Dame and Georgia played in back-to-back bowl games about a month ago, Brigid was dressed appropriately for each game. But underneath each jersey was the same ND t-shirt, because even if we cheer for Georgia every once in awhile, we're still Irish underneath it all...<br />
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(I just can't get over how old she looks now. She is just such a little PERSON, and I'm not entirely sure I approve.)Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-60177825574750545322015-01-14T16:37:00.002-05:002015-01-14T16:37:50.683-05:00What Was Happening While I Was GoneLife got more than a little busy around here at the end of the year, between work deadlines, holiday activities, traveling, and the general mess of Christmas preparations, and as a result, I took an accidental break from blogging that went longer than I'd expected. And even though I missed it (and even though my mom and dad missed it enough to ask me when I would be getting back to it...), I'm glad I took the break.<br />
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But I still need to document my fun times, because if a family has fun, but it doesn't appear on the internet, did the fun actually happen? I don't want to test that theory.</div>
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First, we Fall-ed and Halloween-ed. We made our annual trip to the pumpkin patch, (reluctantly, in Brigid's case) carved the pumpkins we picked up there, and trick-or-treated with the other 15 kids in our cul-de-sac on Halloween, dressed as Vampire-Elsa, of course.</div>
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Oh. And I had this guy watching me through my office window all fall. So, that was something...</div>
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For Thanksgiving, we drove up to Indiana for the week, which I think will become our new annual tradition, so that we can be at our own home with the girls for Christmas morning every year. Plus, this gives us a chance to celebrate Caitlin's birthday with my family during the years when Thanksgiving falls later in November. I would like it noted that I did a MUCH better job on Caitlin's second birthday than I did on her first, and I think I should get points for that. (Even if I did just recycle Brigid's 5th birthday theme from two months earlier...)</div>
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And we went ahead and visited Santa Claus, while we were up there, for the annual picture my sisters and I have taken for our parents. It's kind of funny to think about how the number in our group has doubled since the first time we did this together, maybe 10 years ago. And yet, it's still nothing but girls in my family... </div>
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When we returned from Indiana, there was Baby's First Dance Recital (and if you try to tell me that Brigid doesn't still qualify as a baby, I will tell you to shut your mouth right this very moment...) waiting for us. I have never, ever seen Brigid look as cute as she did in that dance recital costume, and considering just how cute she is all of the time, that's really saying something.</div>
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Oh, hey. Then we went to Disney for a few days. We hadn't been since we were there last year during the home-sale crisis of 2013, so I was excited to get back, at Christmas time, when I was in a better frame of mind. And I <i>was </i>in a better frame of mind...until Caitlin spiked a fever and had another febrile seizure AS WE WERE WALKING IN TO HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS. That was not the best time.<br />
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But, uh, the rest of the trip was good...</div>
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Then there was Christmas, involving a trip to see Santa (again) (and apparently Shrek and Donkey live in the North Pole, now? I don't even know.) and more presents than my two little stinkers probably deserved. </div>
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And that was the rest of our 2014. I think maybe I'm caught up now? Here's to staying a little more on top of things in 2015...</div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-60408606750057711242015-01-12T16:30:00.001-05:002015-01-12T16:30:45.427-05:00I Refuse to Lose TwiceSince almost the day she was born, Steve has been dressing Brigid in the orange and black of the Bengals every Sunday of the NFL season. I didn't fight it, because I didn't think I needed to fight it. I thought, as Brigid got older, she'd realize that the Colts were the far superior team, and she'd do the fighting for me. <div>
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As it turns out, I was wrong, and Steve's propaganda campaign has been strong and successful. As Brigid told me on Sunday, when she refused to put her Colts shirt on until gametime, even though if the Bengals had been good enough to still be playing in the postseason, we all knew she'd have had <i>that </i>shirt on all day, "I do like the Colts, Mommy, unless they're cheating against the Bengals. I just don't want to wear that shirt."</div>
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I will not make the same mistake twice.</div>
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(Ordinarily, I would be fundamentally opposed to the pinkifying of sports shirts for girls, but LOOKIT HER!!!! She is adorable, and I'll make an exception this one time.)</div>
Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-11673176591393905142014-10-28T16:08:00.000-04:002014-10-28T16:08:34.842-04:00It'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.<br />
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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.<br />
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The yard turned out amazingly well, though, and all of the neighbors now think Steve is just the MOST creative Halloween decorator there is.<br />
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Come on over! You know you've always wanted to go camping with a bunch of creepy people...<br />
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<br />Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-38655421666444729702014-10-27T16:16:00.000-04:002014-10-27T16:16:15.851-04:00Scenes from a birthday party...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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 <i>don't</i> have control over.<br />
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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?<br />
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Yes, that would be me.<br />
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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.<br />
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It, uh, didn't change. We were guaranteed to have rain on the day of the party.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Next year? I'm taking everyone bowling.<br />
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(Thanks, as always, to my brother-in-law, Greg, for taking better pictures of the event than I could ever hope to...)<br />
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<br />Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-415917321372244872014-10-20T16:22:00.000-04:002014-10-27T15:52:21.740-04:00Still HereSteve 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 <i>is</i> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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<i>*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.</i>Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-63307984062085999762014-10-10T15:37:00.003-04:002014-10-10T15:37:45.695-04:00Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>already </i>drama to be dealt with in pre-k, but at least she's staying out of it so far?<br />
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She is funny. She loves to dance. Her newest favorite movie is <i>Isabelle Dances into the Spotlight</i>, 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I asked her if she wouldn't mind staying four for another year, instead of turning five, and she told me, <i>"Mommy, I don't think it works that way. But you can PRETEND I'm your baby forever, if you want."</i><br />
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I think I'll do just that, kid.<br />
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I love you more than anything else, and I hope you will always know that, everyday of your life.<br />
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Happy birthday, Bug.Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-41853812768566993412014-09-23T10:00:00.000-04:002014-09-23T10:00:06.907-04:00SweetheartAt 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.<div>
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Her response?</div>
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'I don't think that's going to happen, mommy. I can't <i>control it</i>, you know.'</div>
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Whatever, kid. You'll always be my baby to me.</div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-86164987500926274422014-09-22T10:00:00.000-04:002014-09-22T10:00:05.123-04:00The Teenaged ToddlerI 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.<br />
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You know, if your 13-year old still wandered around, chewing on her pacifier, I guess...<br />
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(LOOKIT!!! LITTLE BLONDE BABY CURLS!!!!)<br />
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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 <i>in</i> the car, too. These two, man. I hope they always love and enjoy each other as much as they do right now.<br />
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<br />Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-13023738794255460392014-09-19T10:00:00.000-04:002014-09-19T10:00:00.630-04:00Fall is Here! (Sort Of?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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 <i>decent </i>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 <i>THEN</i> did we make her watch the Notre Dame game for a little bit before she had to go to bed.</div>
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All of which to say...her powers of manipulation are formidable, and I am frightened for my future.</div>
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Anyway. Apple picking.</div>
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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 <i>pick</i> 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:</div>
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* 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.)</div>
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* Bought cider donuts.</div>
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* Bought apple bread. (Which, uh, I also ate by myself. But it was over the course of several days. So...it doesn't count?)</div>
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* Bought kettle corn. (There IS still some of that left. I'm not <i>completely</i> out of control.)</div>
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* 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.)</div>
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* Went down a big slide. (Just Brigid)</div>
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* Jumped on a big trampoline. (Again...Brigid)</div>
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* 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.)</div>
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* 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.)</div>
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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.</div>
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Of course, we then went home and put up some Halloween decorations, because once you start doing fall things, you can't <i>stop</i> doing them, I guess. Even when it's still 88 degrees out and not fall-like, at all.</div>
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(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.)</div>
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<br />Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-47166532194573336832014-09-12T15:26:00.003-04:002014-09-12T15:26:36.507-04:00Prima BallerinaWe 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 <i>toooooooo LONG</i> 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?<div>
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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.</div>
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And the thing is, she <i>could</i> 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 <i>1-hour choreography based class </i>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.</div>
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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.</div>
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Of course, if I ever hope to get Brigid on <i>So You Think You Can Dance</i>, 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?</div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-39279625580839403982014-09-11T16:07:00.001-04:002014-09-11T16:07:46.589-04:00Caitlin Goes to SchoolThings I have learned about Caitlin this week:<div>
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* 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...</div>
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* She participates in all of the school activities, but she sometimes participates a little <i>too</i> 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 <i>might</i> be Chris Farley reincarnated.)</div>
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* 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.</div>
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* She naps <i>incredibly</i> well after four hours of running around, destroying a classroom.</div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-51595508865879735942014-09-04T15:15:00.002-04:002014-09-04T15:15:43.232-04:00First 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.<div>
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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.</div>
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In fact, she was having <i>so</i> 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.</div>
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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, '<i>Ok...I guess I'll go now?</i>' I didn't want to make a big deal about leaving and <i>create</i> 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: <i>That one is a force to be reckoned with.</i></div>
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(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.)</div>
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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.</div>
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Now, if only they could maybe teach Caitlin to talk already...</div>
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-82116267622062951392014-08-28T16:27:00.000-04:002014-08-28T16:27:53.241-04:00Golf LessonsOne 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 <i>did</i> 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.<br />
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(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.)<br />
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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 <i>quite</i> 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.<br />
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Besides, she conned Steve into buying her pink clubs and balls to match, so <i>somebody </i>needs to get some use out of them...<br />
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(Please note her course appropriate clothing. Pink glitter Converse sneakers are totally valid golf shoes, right?)Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-63581883520480658362014-08-25T16:13:00.003-04:002014-08-25T16:13:30.769-04:00Cuddle TimeLately, 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!'<br />
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And the problem that we keep running into? It's that I really have no problem doing just that.<br />
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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.<br />
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Even if I DO have to fight her for the blankets every night.<br />
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Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7458447377897690148.post-71474711697471097282014-08-15T14:57:00.004-04:002014-08-15T14:57:34.381-04:00The BeachMy 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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It worked much better than I expected.<br />
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We stopped once on the way down because <i>I </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.<br />
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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...<br />
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(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?)Tarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05250632985834571729noreply@blogger.com2