another side benefit to midwifery

Going in for a physical and also getting to chat with a lovely mentor-type person. For like an hour.
I've had doctors I knew before, but they never have that much time...

for dinner

The most summery menu ever:
Pesto pasta with fresh tomatoes, peach and plum cobbler.

Thank you, God.

the sweetest thing

I wish I could bring you a picture of this, but it's not feasible. So:
Imagine one large bed, with two small girls in it.
And me in-between them, at least for a while.

My smaller girl is big enough to sleep with her sister. Her sister is not quite sure about it, yet, since it is hard to let go of dominion of things. And yet she falls alseep just fine with her sister in it.

And me? I get to put them to bed with one on either side of me, getting severely awesome snuggles.
These are some of the best bedtimes ever.

Night, night, girls.

earthshattering events

Today: I asked: "Lucy, get ready."
You know what? She did it.
Today, I said, "Please clean up."
Suddenly, she was putting things away.

Do this? "Yes." Can we? "Okay."

Does being FIVE make everything easier?


Blessed girl, happy birthday. Whether you're feeling cooperative or not--you are always my girl. Though I must admit, I'm liking five so far.

you know what I like about babies?

That you're so used to holding them that their weight is particular to you, the way they fit on your hip or rest their head against their shoulders. The weight that is theirs, but also yours, it is so familiar.
That's what I like.

a whole world full of books part II

The books, they are all over my floor. All the time. I know, I know, a good problem to have, but still.

I need a logistics company to handle the inventory.

A whole world full of books

I suggested "Little House in the Big Woods" to Lucy after we went to Old Town. We tried it; she loved it. We finished all but the last chapter (lyrical, but slow) and I saw "Mary Poppins" on the shelf. So we started that.

Just think: there's a whole world full of lovely books we can discover together.

worth it

Making soup noodles from scratch? Unexpected.
Dried store-bought pasta is simple, sure,
but after tasting hand-made? No return.

tourist trapped

Today, we went to Old Town. It's a state historical park in San Diego with old-timey houses and lots of Wild West fonts and at least two Wells Fargo stagecoaches. I'd mentioned it as an aside to Lucy as a possible outing. When really, I was thinking it might be better when she was eight, and then only slightly.
Because the truth is, I've been to Old Town before, and have never left impressed.
Old buildings with museums in them with lots of fine print? Dusty streets, with little shade? Many (many) tourist trap restaurants and stores? With a kindergartner and toddler?

No thank you.

But Lucy heard about it and would not let it drop. So it was that we pulled into the (notoriously overfull) parking lot...

and immediately found a space.

Thus began a charmed morning.

The first thing we wandered towards was the blacksmith shop, where a small sign hung out front. "Special event," it said.
What they had were real live blacksmiths who made Lucy a little funny face out of hot iron and then handed it to her to keep. Talked with us for about 15 minutes and showed her how everything worked, their tools, horseshoes, anvils, whatever. We were the only ones there, and Lucy's face was shining.
Then we walked past donkeys, who brayed quite convincingly, through tackle and rein displays, into a schoolteacher "show", in and out of old houses with old toys and clothes in them, saw a chamber pot, walked through the courthouse and appalling jail, and finally, visited a school house, where Lucy sat in a desk and saw a slate.
We ate some extremely touristy mediocre Mexican food (the only disappointment), then went home.

She had been fingering her blacksmith memento and talking about it ever since.

That was just about the coolest historical park I've ever been to.
Sorry for doubting you, Old Town. Trapped isn't quite right. Captured is better.

first aid

Someone in our house has a little obsession with band-aids.

Scene 1:
Julia: Na-na. Na-na. Na-naaaaaaaaaa! (No, she's not asking for a banana. Sometimes it takes me a while to figure that out).

I give her a band-aid. She tears it open, peels off the sticky tabs, plasters it on her skin. Her eyes glaze over with bliss.

Then she takes it off and throws it in the trash.

Immediately:
Julia: Na-na. Na-na. Na-naaaaaaaaaa!

Scene 2:
Actual injury sustained: a tiny, heart-breaking blister on the pinky toe.
Julia: Na-na! Na-na! (Points to knee).
Heather: You want a band-aid for your toe?
Julia: No!! (Points, more deliberately, to knee.)
Heather: You want a band-aid for your knee?
Julia nods, happy.
I get the band-aid. She grabs it, opens it, and sticks it to her forehead.

Scene 3:
Ointment applied to the bandaging area provides extra relief from symptoms. Ointment is also known as "cream".

Julia: (Still sporting blister) Na-na! Keem! Na-na! Keem!
Heather: (Fetching items). You want them on your toe?
Julia: (Pointing to cream) Mine?
Heather: You need the cream? (Unscrews jar lid. Thankfully, the jar is nearly empty).
Julia: (Sticks finger in. Looks at it with pure joy, then lifts up her shirt.) Belly. (Rubs it in).
Heather: Do you still want this band-aid?
Julia (Nods, grabs. Sticks it to her forehead.)

Bliss.

oh, bath

Oh, bath, you are calling me
I'm coming. Just as soon as the childrens are quiet.

note to Julia

Waking up at still-dark does only one thing for me:
Helps me catch up on bad reality television.

Please, little one, just sleep in already.

sissy ja-ja's

Sister's pajamas catch magic in seams;
clearly, Julia can wear nothing else.
Try: sneaking off shirts when eating.
Try: leaving off pants when diapering.
Try: putting anything else on.
No.
Error, error, error, error, error, error.

Try: buying new pajamas; matching pairs.
Sister pajamas in two different sizes.
Also: matching flowered dresses and tights.

Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes.

listen

Here's something I'm thankful for, Julia:
You aren't quite two. So sometimes, you lose it. You just do--your face is red, you scream, and a thin, glistening string of saliva drips down your chin. Your eyes say: ANGRY! Your eyes say: NO!
Your eyes say: I WON'T!
Then, just then, I say, "Can I talk to you?" I say, "Can you be quiet for a minute, sweetie?"
And you do. You try. You listen, just for a minute. A lot of times, I can help you understand, and things are not so bad.
Thank you dear one, for trusting me to tell you something worth being quiet for.

too much of a good thing

We live within walking distance of a lot of things. So we walk. Not every day, but often enough. Except I've realized that I throw in the long walks on days that we've alredy had enough walking, thank you very much, and then we go out to run a quick errand, too, and by the girls' bedtime, I am ready for bed too.
I need a Segway.

creative

I don't just start one project. No. When I start one, I think, "Oh, I'm doing so well! I could also start x!"
That goes decently too, so I add Y.
Z looks pretty good too.
Then I give up.

The end.

magic time

We read books today. Also, we got take-and-bake pizza and watched The Great Muppet Caper. And got to watch our daughter hop up and down as the Muppets catch the jewel thieves red handed.

Sometimes, it seems like we shouldn't be allowed to have so much fun.

speak up, please. Actually, don't.

Baby says WAAAAAAA. Lucy says, "Mama?
I have a question. (About everything)."

Always, they speak at once. Loudly.

going back for more

Today Julia was dancing on the bed with her sister and Dyami. She fell forward and hit her head pretty hard on the corner of the dresser. Screaming ensued.
Dyami brought her downstairs to me, and I held her. For about ten seconds. Then she pulled away. Still crying, she said, "Dance! Dance!"
She's a maniac (maniac) that's for sure.

golden, then black

Lucy came home from camp, and we played for nearly thirty minutes. Games she learned in camp, then games made up, inspired by the camp ones. Wax works and body moving and freezing and balance and trickery. We laughed. We reconnected. It was golden.

Then I realized it was also very quiet.

To the kitchen! Where Julia was discovered with a Sharpie and some (very dry) drawings on our lovely dining table that Dyami refinished.

I was very, very bummed. I scrubbed with rubbing alcohol and then baking soda. I made the marks--and also the finish--more dim. But I did not remove either completely.

Now, writing it, I realize something: sad as I am that the table is marked, it will always remind me of my husband's hard work, and also both of my daughters. Vividly.

Those golden minutes of play. So precious. So (really) worth it.