You Are Brilliant and Beautiful

Watching out the kitchen window.  Our 3:45 PM ritual.  After a long day of playing with just me and Magda, Greta is ready for Noah to come home from school.

A year after one of my more notable parenting fails, my girl's hair is long and even enough again for real hairstyles.  Like pigtails.  Noah told her once a couple of weeks ago that he really liked her hair [in pigtails] and her dress.  I overheard it from a room or two away, and I couldn't see her face.  Mine was fully astounded.  Noah not only noticed his sister's appearance, but even complimented her on it?  Unheard of.

Greta has worn pigtails more days than not since the Day of the Compliment.  She chooses dresses and leggings to wear every morning.  I am delighted.  My daughter is lovely and confident.  Still, I admit that I'm a little hurt.  I tell her she is beautiful and brilliant every day.  My words clearly don't have the same significance as the brother's.

This is the day that I learn that kids don't hear their parents in this way.  Not only do they not hear, Sit at the table and eat dinner with your family, and,  Please put your shoes on and get in the car, but they learn to tune out You're one of the most amazing souls on this planet and Your face so perfect it makes me cry.  I try not to flash forward to the days in middle school when some kid makes some off-handed comment that crushes her self confidence.  Or backward to the days in middle school when some kid did the same thing to me.  Who is that mean kid anyway?  How many daughters do I have again?

I have a headache.

Mags, before you can't hear me anymore, you need to know something(s):  you are smart, you are kind, you are full of joy, and you are so very, very loved.

About to Lose Her Lunch

Remember our Christmas card from a few months ago? The one with everyone soaring through the sky, but Maggie looking a little nervous about her air travel?

I think she's feeling more comfortable these days.

We haven't dropped her yet.

Wolves Howling, Owls Screeching

February got away from me before I got a chance to post pictures and stories of Noah's first winter camping trip.  March is about to do the same.  So, back to some winter for a little bit.  May this be the last snow I see for many months.

Check out that sweet tent.  It's not ours - it belongs to a friend of Kevin's.  This is luxury winter camping with heat.

The state parks don't get a lot of camping traffic in the wintertime.  Trails are wide open for snowshoeing and roads can become sledding hills.

The days were sunny, but the nights were cold, even in the heated tent mansion.  Or so I'm told.  I was home with the girls, all of us cozy in our beds, while the guys were up north in the snow, wishing they'd brought cots to keep them off of the cold ground.  Noah came home telling stories of the wolves and owls he'd heard in the woods in the night.  They did exist, according to Kevin, but the boy slept right through the action.  He can remember them if he wants to  - it's OK with me.

Road sledding.

After 60 hours without these faces, I missed them terribly. One of them let me hug and kiss him when he walked through the door. The other one wiggled away to be reunited with the Mario Kart he'd missed more terribly than me. Which is probably what the first one actually wanted to do, but he knew better than to fight me.

Sparse

It is such a comfort to know that babies cannot be spoiled at this age. If I were asked to limit the number of kisses planted on those cheeks...

...I think I'd be overdrawn until 2089.

Photogreta

Photogreta, noun;  1. Pictures Greta took.

In my entirely unbiased opinion, G has quite an eye for color and angle.

They're so peaceful when they're sleeping.

Capturing the rainbows on the wall in the morning.

Grandma's violet.  Needing some love.

My mug.  Needing more coffee.

Pile of pillows.

A portrait of Greta today.  Ears stuck in headphones, listening to the William Tell Overture on repeat.  The weird version from A Clockwork Orange.

Running at top speed outside in the sun and rapidly melting snow.  That's right.  Greta.  Running.  Quickly.  Like, miles ahead of me.  This is so not normal.  Normal is more like:   

Where's Greta?
Oh, you mean, Glacial Greta?  She's way back there somewhere.  
[tiny indignant voice from somewhere in the distance] I'm noooot Glaaaacial Greeetttaaa!

Today there is sunshine and an almost warm breeze and rivers of puddles in every direction all around the neighborhood.  Puddles are Greta's bliss.

Later, more CandyLand and probably dress up.  She'll want to help with dishes and make Maggie laugh while I work on dinner.  I have to get some video of that.  Sister's giggle is fantastic and contagious.  Imagine the soundtrack to this photo.

And Now I Will Drink Hot Chocolate And Eat A Slutty Brownie

My March Fourth / Forth Resolution: to post some words and pictures to the blog.

Not, like, regularly or anything. I'm not up to that kind of commitment. Just, you know, today.

Done! Now I can sit back and bask in the glow of a resolution carried out for the rest of the day. Feels pretty good.

Here are some photos from our hike at Afton State Park last weekend. There was enough snow on the trails for the kids to wear the snowshoes that Santa brought them. Barely.

How a 3 mile hike with the littles goes:
   Mile 1 ~ Snow!  Downhill! Let's run!  This is awesome!
   Mile 2 ~ Mom, carry me.  Dad, carry me.  Mom, I need a piggy back.  Dad, I need to rest.  Mom, I need water. I hate going for hikes.  I want to go home.  Where's my water?!
   Mile 3 ~ Blissful silence.  Because I have tuned out the whining and can hear only the white noise in my head.  Except for Maggie's snoring.  The whole forest can hear that.  Sister loves to sleep in the backpack.

Greta found a good walking stick.  And there was no fighting over walking sticks this entire afternoon.  Not that I heard anyway.  Blissful silence.

Everyone had a great time.  This is the end of the hike.  Noah is super sad that it's over.  He doesn't want to go home and play Mario Kart at all.  He wants to hike another three miles.  Poor kid.  We force him indoors way too much.

One of the best loved pieces of baby gear we own.

One of our best loved babies.

Kid snowshoes.  They only made it out twice all winter.  What a sad winter to be a snowshoe.

And now, since I have realized my March Forth! Resolution, I should probably reward myself with a slutty brownie.  It's a real thing.  I'm not just making it up.  But I did make them because they sounded a little naughty.  Here is the recipe if you want to try the naughty brownies too.  Please call me and remind me to run five miles tonight. 

Best. Dad. Ever.

Perhaps Kevin has been away from the Phish tour scene for too long. I think he misses the mad general admission race to the sweet spot in front of the sound board. His heart aches for some line to be first in. Today, he brought home a win.

Long before this girl got up to have her Quaker Instant Oatmeal ("Just like at Grandma and Grandpa's house!" she exclaims, gleefully. Have we really never had instant oatmeal at our house before? Guess not.), the dad was in line at the Montessori school, elbowing other parents out of the way to land his daughter one of only nine spots in their four year old kindergarten this fall. Seriously, I think he left the house at five am. I can't confirm this, because I refused to open my eyes all the way when he came in to tell me he was leaving. Registration started at eight. I think it's safe to say Greta will be rocking Ms. Ruthie's Children's House in September.

Someone buy that man a Summer Tour ticket.