Thankful Mama and a Sweet Baby Girl

According to my husband, that last post crossed the TMI line toward the end there. Sorry about that. The good news is that the plumber came the next morning and had everything fixed and running properly within an hour. I really should have trained to be a plumber instead of a teacher or a journalist -- better pay and very appreciative clients.

Anywho, I got a strong reminder yesterday that if my biggest problem is that I had to go overnight without running water while I waited (inside my toasty warm house with my loving husband and sweet children and plenty of bottled water) for the plumber to come in the morning (so that I could write him a check without worry and without having to crawl under the house in the puddles myself), then my life is really good. I have wonderful family and friends, my health and a great new year ahead -- and I am thankful. A little bad luck here and there shouldn't change that.

So instead of giving some kind of rant today about the crazy school board that just did away with assigning students to year-round schools without any review of the economic impact of that decision, I'm going to write a happy little Pippi post instead.

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This morning while I was getting dressed, Pippi was playing in her room -- she's just now getting old enough that she's figured out she can do that. I love listening to her talk to herself and her toys, alternating between random snippets of songs ("Row, row, row,... ream..." followed by "Bimble bell, bimble bell, bimble bell, way!") and general gibberish.

At some point, I realized she was calling for me, so I peeked into her room to find her holding Elmo by the hand (which makes him sing the "Sesame Street" theme in Spanish) with her pretty monogrammed burp cloths spread all over the floor. She had pulled a diaper and a new package of wipes from the changing table and had been wiping Elmo's bottom, but she couldn't fasten the diaper by herself.

"Emmo dia-puh?" she asked, handing me the diaper and placing Elmo's tushie squarely on one of the burp cloths. After I got him properly suited up, she took Elmo into her arms, cradled him with a kiss, then tossed him over the side of the crib. "Night night, Elmo," she called, before dumping every book in her room on top of him, one at a time.

As I struggled not to laugh in front of Pippi (she was being so earnest about taking care of her "baby"), I realized I couldn't remember Junius doing this when he was her age. Maybe I've just forgotten -- and he certainly "mothers" his baby bear -- but the baby-doll instinct (or at least the impulse to keep a diaper on anyone small, which I certainly understand) seems much stronger in my daughter than in my son. Don't get me wrong -- she'll play with cars and balls and blocks, too, but she really loves to put on her dress up shoes, hook a little purse over her arm, and push that diapered Elmo around the house in her stroller.

Crazy stuff, this parenting -- but it's a funny show to watch.

Merry Pumpkins

We got our tree this weekend, much to the delight of my son. I usually have a pretty strict no-Christmas-decorating-until-after-my-birthday policy -- I'm not a fan of losing my big day in everyone else's holiday festivities -- but he's been nagging me for a month and I couldn't take it anymore.

My neighbor was similarly appalled horrified concerned about my delayed decorating plan -- and the fact that my (uncarved) pumpkins were still sitting on the front porch from Halloween. So she took matters into her own hands last week.

One day, when I returned home with my kids after an outing to the park, we found this:

Hilarious! She's brilliant -- and she's got a lot of felt. Have I mentioned how much I love living here? And do you think the pumpkins will last long enough for her to come over with bunny ears in a few months?

Round 1 Goes to the Pip

Today I thought I would be writing a post about how I spent my first night away from Pippi last night -- I had to be out of town for a meeting, so she and Junius were home with my husband and my in-laws. Although I've spent a few nights away from Juni, it was the first time that Pippi and I slept under different roofs in her entire little life.

But as it turns out, my night away was pretty uneventful for both of us -- and I had to be up so early for the meeting that I didn't even get to enjoy some extra sleep.

So instead, I'm going to write about this cute little outfit (shown at left), which is what Pippi was supposed to wear to preschool today. As it turned out, she wore the pants -- along with the pajama top she'd slept in the night before.

Why? Because she flat-out refused to take off her pajamas. I wasn't here to witness the struggle, but apparently neither my MIL nor my husband could wrestle her out of the jammie shirt. My husband (wisely) determined that it was not a battle worth waging.

After I stopped laughing at the vision of Nonna and Daddy trying to pin down our not-yet-two-but-thinks-she's-a-five-year-old daughter, I tried to figure out two things:

1. What about the cute outfit was so offensive to her? Did she remember that (although it's a Carter's brand) I bought it at Costco? Does she think mixing pink with chocolate brown is too trendy? Was she worried the leggings made her tushie look big?

2. How many battles are she and I going to have about her clothes over the next 16 years? And will I have enough sense to let her win the ones that don't really hurt anything so that I have the energy to conquer her stubbornness in the wars that make a difference?

At the end of the day, it really didn't matter what she wore to preschool today. In fact, some of her toddler clothes aren't so different than her pajamas -- and I'm sure her teachers love her no matter what she has on. But I can see the day coming when what she wears (or doesn't wear) Is going to make a difference in how others see her -- a skirt that's too short, a shirt that's too tight, a face-piercing. Ugh. I am so not ready for her teen years.

So I think I'm going to start working out now. Because clearly I'm going to need to be a lot stronger than she is if I'm going to win the wrestling matches yet to come.

When Junius Grows Up...

One of my favorite books to read with Junius is I Want to Go to UNC by Ripley Rand and Jorin Garguilo. Although I didn't grow up wanting to go to Carolina (in fact, it was my last choice -- but that's another story), it's never too early to get Juni on board with the Heels -- particularly given his track record of supporting, ahem, other ACC schools. I like the book because it introduces him to important places in Chapel Hill; he likes it because it rhymes, has fun illustrations and references lots of career and college options.

Tonight while we were reading, he kept pausing on each page (a ploy, no doubt, to put off the inevitable and impending bedtime) to discuss what he might want to be when he grows up. It was the first time I'd heard him discuss what's on his list, so I was curious to know what he was thinking about. Keep in mind that the options were inspired by the careers in the story, but I just wanted to take a moment to capture them now in case he actually becomes one of them later on:

• jet pilot
• dentist
• pediatric nurse
  
• car mechanic
• tuba player ("For when I'm bery, bery growed up, Mommy.")

I think it's a great list -- surprisingly technical and medical, two areas in which I was never interested. My guess is he's probably thinking more about having cool tools than about solid career paths. Can't fault the kid for liking the accessories

Making Music Together

When I was four years old, my mother took me to Kindermusik classes -- some of the first in the U.S. My mom then became my first piano teacher, starting me on lessons that would last through three other teachers until I graduated high school. I also studied flute and sang in school and church choirs. Later, my mom became a Musikgarten teacher, singing and dancing with other moms and babies.

Given that history, and the fact that my kids really love all sorts of music and dancing, I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I finally took Junius and Pippi to our first music class last week. But better late than never -- all three of us had a great time singing, playing, dancing and jumping along with Ms. Angela and the nine other mommies and 12 other children. In addition to being great fun in a musical learning environment, it's also one of the few activities I could take the kids to at the same time -- not a lot of kids programs are open to both a 4-year-old and a 19-month-old.

During the class, Ms. Angela encouraged all the mommies to sing regularly to their children. "No matter what you think your voice sounds like," she said, "your children will think it's the most beautiful sound they've ever heard." I liked that advice and decided this was a good time to stop listening to NPR in the car and start singing along with our new Music Together CD.

So on our way to Nanna and PopPop's house last week, I put in the disc -- the kids were smiling and clapping and trying to sing along. And I'm thinking what a great mommy I am that I can take them to this fun class and then sing with them in the car and how happy they must be to hear my beautiful voice.

Then Junius pipes up from the back seat. "Mommy," he says. "When you are singing...?"

And I'm waiting for him to say how much fun it is when I sing and he can sing and Pippi is learning to sing and how much he loves me...

"Mommy, when you are singing," he says, "I can't hear the music. Mommy, please don't sing."

His comment left me speechless, thus having the desired effect.

I'm just hoping he won't complain when I start singing even louder in class this week.

Image from Music Together.

Super Junius Strikes Back

Yesterday afternoon at our neighborhood pool (which was poop-free, thankyouverymuch), Junius was having a grand time with his newest skill -- jumping into the shallow end while I stand in the pool with Pippi and cheer. Although it might not sound like a lot, it's a big deal for a little boy who was not the least bit interested in the big pool at the beginning of the summer.

While I was trying to keep Pip entertained (she was much less interested in being in the big pool than her brother was), another slightly-older kid in the pool must have made some sort of age-related comment to Junius. I missed what she said, but when I tuned in, this is what I heard...

"I'm not a baby!" he shouted, flashing his sternest, most angry-eyes face. "I went to Superhero camp last week! Rrrrrrarrr!"

Then he splashed the water and shot her another tough-guy look, while he hopped up and down because he's only just tall enough to touch in the big pool.

"That's right, you tell 'em," I said to Junius (I wasn't being mean, I was just trying to encourage him -- he's not usually very assertive, so we've been working on his ability to stand up for himself). "You say, 'I am Super Junius and I am four!'"

"No, Mommy," he said, as if explaining to a baby. "I'm not four yet."

Oh, right. Two more days of being three. My boy is all imagination, but he's still a stickler for accuracy.

Photo taken last summer when he still required swimmies and catching and lots and lots of coaxing.

Is that poo in your pants or are you just excited?

Some of you have already seen what I'm posting here, either because you go to the same pool with me or because you saw my status on Facebook. But two days later, it still cracks me up, so I've decided to share it here.

It's the opening paragraph from an email sent to pool members by the pool managers on Monday. Not sure if it was intended to be hilarious or not, but I laughed until I snorted the first time I read it. Also, I think it's relevant to the story to know that the pool managers are a married couple with school-age children and she is a former NASA engineer and science teacher, i.e. they're "grown-ups" and not teen-agers.

Seems that we had a "code brown" at the neighborhood pool on Monday -- the second since the pool opened a month ago. So our pool managers are understandably frustrated because of whatever de-tox/sanitation process they have to go through to be able to re-open the pool.

And now, without further ado, the excerpt (emphasis, mine):

"We had to close the pool this afternoon because of another fecal incident. Our apologies to anyone who showed up during pool hours to yet another locked gate. These things do happen, but you could help us by reminding the younger kids to use the bathroom before they come to the pool and during the rest periods. It is a wonder of childhood that you can be having so much fun that you don't realize you are about to crap in your pants."

Did I mention how much I love my neighborhood?

Image from FreeDigitalPhotos.net.