Gratuitous Halloween photos

DIY Halloween at our house – these are our construction paper bats and coffee filter spider webs that adorned most of front windows. We also did little fabric ghosts in the trees. Stella was so enamored with her pumpkin once we gave it a little face that she named it “Little P” and started carrying it around the yard and giving it hugs.

We made spider web cupcakes… much to her enjoyment, but I think (luckily) she only ended up eating about 2 in the course of a week. Our neighbors got to enjoy most of them.

Steve’s parents gave her this National Park Ranger outfit this summer, after they heard how much she enjoyed camping. She has enjoyed playing dress up in it.

And this was Stella’s Halloween costume. She wore it to the costume parade at her preschool (back shot above) and then on Halloween night before we left to visit the neighbors, she refused to be photographed. Seriously, ran away into her bedroom. Then she found a walking stick that she had been playing with all week, and said I could take a picture of the stick. Not her costume. Thus, horse holding stick. At least the neighbor (whose horse she was emulating) enjoyed the costume.

At the midpoint

A family friend, and fellow family blogger, writes letters to her children on their birthdays and at their half-birthday. I love this. Because at this age, by the half-birthday, so much has changed that a yearly updates seems inadequate. And since I repeatedly remind myself that this blog is the best baby book Stella is going to get, here’s to Stella’s half birthday.  (you know… some days, I really feel bad about that… I’ve saved her cord stump, a lock of her hair from her first haircut, some drawings, really, I have… her early moments are not are virtual!)

At two and a half, Stella has finally started to look like a little girl. Which scares the crap out of Steve and I (how did we get there this fast?) She’s hilarious. And dramatic. Overly dramatic. (We only have ourselves to blame). We go through Band-aids (Hello Kitty, mind you) like they are going out of style. Last month, she continually got “booboos” on her knee. Same place. Every day. This month, she keeps hurting her fingers. Mostly the thumb on her right hand. I need a kitty band-aid, she’ll announce. Why Stella? We were literally just sitting here. “No, I hurt my finger, see?” Um, yah, sure. We roll with it. While her language acquisition has grown in leaps and bounds since her 2nd birthday, I am still a little attached to the words that she does not totally comprehend or say properly. Like “I dood it.” We hear I dood it a lot around here. Her desire to help in the kitchen, which I encouraged so much, is almost to the point of getting bossy. On Sunday when we made homemade raisin swirl bread, she informed me, “No Mommy. I pour flour, okay?” She loves to eat the dry flour, loves to sprinkle spices (we almost ended up with turmeric in the bread because she can reach all the spices in the cabinet now), and is obsessed with pouring. She grabbed my 10” chef knife off the cutting board last week while was I at the stove and waved it at Steve, “Daddy, I cut now too?” Maybe this means that my love of cooking has already worn off on her and she’ll become the most efficient (and bossy) executive chef the world has ever known.

Her zest for life, for projects, for doing most of anything is infectious, and I hope that we can continue to match her excitement. She loves camping, the moon, swings, being outside (anywhere, anytime), the rain (when we get it), big dogs, and giving anyone “big hug!” I love to watch her with her stuffed animals and baby doll – although she hasn’t seen me with another young child (not yet, ha!) she is unbelievably gentle and nurturing with her “friends.” They each get wrapped lovingly in a blanket, sung a lullaby, rocked in her arms, and then it starts all over again. She even did this last night in the bathtub with a plastic water toy and a washcloth. Seriously.

Her memory retention for things scares us sometimes. She only listen to a library book once or twice, and then she can remember sections or phrases and repeat them to me when we read it again. (I hope this means she is good with facts and figures and not memorizing plays or dialogue.) I know she will be a voracious reader – more than just a stalling tactic at bedtime, “one more book” is truly what she wants, and sitting and reading picture books until she fell asleep in my arms would keep her a happy girl.

She sings all the time. Nonsense songs. ABCs, Twinkle Twinkle, Wheels on the Bus, random phrases over and over again. Steve and I woke up the other morning and turned to each other and laughed as we heard “Scuppy a good boy. He not a puppy anymore.” Scupper made the morning song finally, I said. Yup, Steve replied. He’s now part of the club. We love the morning songs. (Definitely much better than the occasional alternative, which is plaintive whining of “Mommy…. mommy….”)

This week, Stella’s preschool is slowly moving her up to the “Rainbow fish” classroom – the room for 2.5 – 3.5 year olds. No longer will she be a “Green Turtle” with the 18mo- 2.5 yr olds. She said to me today, “Mommy, I hang out with the fish today.” I asked her how that went. “Good.” but then not a second later, “I like being a Green turtle.” I told her that if she still wanted to pretend she was a turtle, that was ok, but being a Rainbow Fish was pretty neat. And they have better blocks and a play kitchen. She seemed satisfied with that answer today. Everyone at the school was amazed that she seamlessly transitioned today, but I warned them that not every day as they try it over the next few weeks might be like that. Routines are so ingrained in Stella that we have trouble convincing her some nights that it’s ok if Daddy reads books and Mommy gives a bath instead of the other way around. (If Daddy reads books, I’m still the “closer” and sing a few songs before she gets put to bed).

I hope that her pleasant mood, her love of big hugs, her silly songs, and her energy continue throughout her early childhood years… and help her through the big sister transition she will evitably go through soon. After watching her tend lovingly to her stuffed animals the other night, I think we’re going to do ok. So here’s a very merry unbirthday to you, my dearest one. We will try our hardest not to eclipse your real birthday in April over the craziness of adding another one to the family. You will, as you know, always be the first.

"those" people...

I think I may have titled a blog post about us being "those" parents before... but sometimes I consider us "those" parents... (no, not "those" parents that I overheard at the playground on Monday... the mom that literally said, "Yah, I know, she comes up to me and is like, read me a book, and I'm like, oh, right, I'm supposed to be reading to you 15 minutes a day. Right. Reading." Seriously? But I digress).

No, we are "those" parents that have an absolutely ridiculous bedtime routine. Most people take a nice warm bath, brush teeth, maybe play calm and soothing music, usher in the night time with quiet tones and calm books. Us? This is what we do before we wrestle Stella to the ground to put on pajamas and read a slew of books.

When you don’t get a babysitter…

You treat yourself to a fancy meal since you might as well spend a little money on good food. Steve has been craving lobster paella ever since I read him a recipe in a Bon Appetit from about 4 months ago. Whenever I ask him what he wants for dinner (even on a week night) he would jokingly say, how about lobster paella? Yah, like I can just whip that up on a Tuesday at 6pm.

A few weekends ago, after a late afternoon trip to the fish market found us with lobster tails and mussels, perfect for that paella he had been craving. Years ago I picked up a 18” copper paella pan at a yard sale, and usually it just hangs from the ceiling collecting spiders and dust. We finally cleaned it off, got it ready, and made proper summer paella over a charcoal fire with soaked apple wood.

Damn. It was good. and really only cost us about $18 for the seafood, and the rest of the ingredients we had on hand in the pantry or the freezer (even homemade stock!). That’s what I call a tasty date night.

Plus one…

We are excited, yet full of trepidations. It seems to be always on our mind, and yet, we aren’t thinking about it as much as one would assume. We planned this, and we know that many people in the world do this – and handle it – and survive, and yet, we wonder how this will change things. We learned what the “new” normal means, and now we fear and welcome the “new new” normal.

We, my friends, are pregnant. Or I am pregnant, and Steve and the rest of the family have to deal with the repercussions of such pregnancy. Like the mood swings, and the twice-weekly cravings for traditional, in a pot with oil and butter, white popcorn. Like the readjustment to the new body, that I remember so well, and yet after 2 years of working hard to lose weight, get in shape and run after a growing toddler, is proving to be a hard adjustment. Like the desire the nest already and yet no energy or time in which to do so because after making dinner, bath, books, songs and bedtime, all we want to do is crawl into bed instead of knit things and make upcycled sweater monsters. (Doesn’t everyone need one of these?)

It sounds like I’m complaining. And I supposed this is an awkward way of announcing a pretty darn exciting thing. I’m not trying to complain, but rather to share the precipice on which we stand, peering over the edge, wondering what April 11 might bring. Or April 2. Or April 5 or 9. You know, ‘cause we don’t like to come on time around here.

Steve had a mid-morning doctor’s appointment last week and stayed home until he had to go. We sat on the front porch as Stella had her morning snack, watching her grab handfuls of cheese or raisins and run into the yard, yelling, chase me Scupper! Chase me! Lucky for her, with a handful of cheese, Scupper was happy to oblige. I turned to Steve, and both of us said at the same moment, Yep, she needs a sibling.

And then all of sudden, all was right with the world. The scariness of the unknown, the nagging worries of proper fetal development, the tenuous knowledge of the preciousness of fetal life as well as birth. It all seemed conquerable. It all seemed fine. Just fine.

Oh – and I’m totally making this shirt for Halloween this year.

What Daddies are for…

Background: Remember the Outkast song “Roses?”

The refrain is:

I know you'd like to thank your s--- don't stank
But lean a little bit closer
See that roses really smell like poo-oo-ooo

This was a running joke between Steve and I for years after we heard the song because *someone* like to sit in the bathroom for HOURS and read and someone else doesn’t understand how you can just sit in there and smell that!

Cut to:

Stella! Wow, that poopy really stinks. (as I’m changing her diaper). We really should be sitting on the potty, remember? “yes, my poopy stink. Daddy’s poopy no stink.” Of course Daddy’s poopy stinks!

“Nope. Daddy poopy smell roses!”

After I practically lose it at the changing table, I yell into the other room, “Steve! When did you teach her that?”

Cue impish grin and then choruses of “Daddy poopy roses!”

Stella, unplugged

Stella is pretty good about going into her room and entertaining herself. Sometimes, after we’ve taken Scup for a morning walk, painted or baked something, I think she just gets sick of the interaction and wants to do something on her own, so as I’m cleaning up, she’ll run off to her room, and then I realized 5 minutes have gone by and the house is strangely quiet. I’ll peek into her room, and she’s happily playing with her doll, her stuffed animals, cars, etc and enveloped in her own world.  I usually quietly sneak away, not wanting to disturb this wonderful moment (for her – and for me! Yeah 5 minutes of not having to be “on”.)

This morning, as I was running around getting dressed and brushing my hair, I suggested to Stella to put her doll down for a nap before she headed to school. So she did. I heard her in there, and I stuck my camera around the door jam to catch her unawares.

(A note: the book she is reading to the doll is a book about Daddy that comes home from work, finds the baby awake and takes care of the little baby while the rest of the family is asleep. They end up going downstairs and the daddy sings the baby a song about rocking in arms, keeping baby safe from harm – some of the words that Stella repeats here).