Houdini

The other night, while we were in Caitlin's room going through her lengthy post-bath/pre-bedtime book reading and toy playing routine, she opened the door from her room into the bathroom, and I swore a lot of swear words. Loudly.

Because while Brigid has always been relatively well-behaved and has (up until these last few months, anyway) tended to listen to us when we've told her no, Caitlin has never really had any moment when the word no has made any sense to her, other than already knowing that if she makes a really sad face and starts crying when she hears it, she can at least get hugs out of the deal. And while we have no hope in stopping her, we have at least managed to contain her behind closed doors, when we just haven't had to energy to stop her in her quest to destroy every room of the house on a daily basis. And now that hope is gone. GONE, I TELL YOU.

Oddly enough, my dogs ALSO know how to open these doors, and we're already in the habit of keeping our back door locked, so various creatures currently living in my house can't let themselves in and out of it without my knowledge. And while I'm fairly confident I don't have to worry about the dogs learning to unlock the doors in order to get them open, I'm guessing I don't have that luxury with Caitlin, and she'll learn to use that lock well before I'm ready for that to happen.

I'm going to have to take a page from my friend Jen's book, and deadbolt every door in the house, at Steve's height level or something, just to keep her from wandering the neighborhood on her own.

She's going to be...fun...as she gets older, I think.

Brigid and the Fire Truck

We went to a birthday party a few weeks ago at our neighborhood clubhouse that was a Fireman themed party, complete with a visit from a fire truck. Brigid was so excited when the truck pulled up because it was 'just like what Papa has!'

Apparently, our last trip to Indiana, when we visited my dad at work at the fire station, really stuck with her...

It Starts Early

Steve and I would never try to influence are children's individuality. We want them to grow up to be their own people, to make their own decisions, to choose their own way in life.

But if using the Notre Dame alma mater as a lullaby since birth, and teaching Brigid the words to the Notre Dame fight song as soon as she could talk, and dressing the girls up in their Notre Dame finest every fall Saturday, and forcing them to forego cartoons for an afternoon of football just so happens to turn them into Fighting Irish fans, then who are we to argue with the decisions that they make?

Also, Brigid would like you to know that Saturday's loss to Oklahoma really bummed her out.

'Take a picture of me looking sad, mommy!'