All Strung Out on Apple

There were four days between last week and this one, when I had no iPhone.  I know, I know.  It has taken a great amount of bravery on my part to come out and speak of such tragedy.

Magda has claimed Ruby as her baby.  Greta, seeing what a wonderful mother she is, has allowed it.

I realize that I spent twenty-five years of my life with no mobile phone.  At least thirty years with no always-in-my-pocket camera, and letsjustsay thirty-something years with no iPhone camera compulsively nearby.  It only took three hours for the anxiety to build.  Two and a half of those hours were spent in a movie theater, where I sat blissfully unaware of the angst that was to come in the days that followed.

New after school ritual: sun room dance party.

I have changed.  If something is happening and I am unable to capture it insta-digitally, I am very grouchy.  Even when I am not clicking the nothinghappeningatall moments, I feel incomplete.  When six whole days of my childrens' lives are wiped clean from .jpg format, I am desolate.

Peek-a-YOU

I sincerely hope the apocalypse does not happen in my lifetime.

Hoot!

Practicing phonics

Bunk bed fishing game.  The fishes have instructions on them like, "Do a cartwheel," and, "Call your grandma and tell her you love her."  It's a popular game.

We've had two it's-too-cold and it's-too-icy for school days in the last two weeks.  These two are loving the late morning PBS kids programming.

Sunrise over Superior

Peanuts Gang

There comes a time in every baby's life when he becomes u n a b l e to function without his blanket.  Or maybe I'm just raising a brood of Linuses.

April 2009

Even in the most inappropriate of circumstances - like the dance floor at a wedding reception - these large and unweildy blankets m u s t be present.

November 2009

Magda has arrived.

January 2013

All of our blankets were made by the same Great Aunt Ruth.  She has perfected the dimensions and fabrics to make her baby blankets irresistible to my children.

And now that I've spent my entire morning gawking over the last seven years of my life in photos, maybe I should go see what the rest of the family is up to.

I'm Gonna Get You

Three words that my one-and-a-half year old can speak clearly and intentionally:

Momma.

Best heard when she has been set in her crib, blanket pulled up to her chin, just before you leave the room and shut the door.  Even if you're Poppa, you get one last Momma for the night.

Ball.

She can throw it.  She can kick it.  She can sing it.

Go.

More like, Goooooooooo!  Steady enough now on her feet to play chasing games around the house with the big kids.  Vocal enough to add to the noise.

Three words my one-and-a-half year old understands and takes immediate action on, without need for context:

Bath.

If you say bath and you're not prepared for a nakey baby in 1.3 seconds, it's your own fault.

Phone.

Oh yes, there's an app for her.  She accidentally calls grandpa with surprising accuracy, but Siri can never quite make out what she's looking for.  I didn't quite get that.  Did you say, Arrrgggghh?

Imgonnagetyouyoubetterrun.

Fine.  It's not one word.  But it might as well be for all the super speedy toddling and squeals of happy.

Dreaming of Snowflakes

I know I vowed to make peace with winter and all.  No lie, I have been a remarkably content girl so far this season.  I can feel myself getting itchy, though.  It's been ages since one giant snowstorm dumped piles and piles of snow on us, and in the meantime a couple of just-a-bit-too-warm days have erased all of it but the dirty patches with bits of grass poking through.  C'mon winter.  We need a fresh coat of this:

Our neighborhood sledding hill is kind of perfect.  When it has snow.

She does not fear cold.

How many more runs before the sun goes down?

 

Headlamps.  We use them more often than you'd think.  Here: night (7 PM) snowshoeing.

I am a puddle.

How awesome is a toothless grin?

Bring back the snow.  Please.

Striking Fear Into the Heart of Mom

This is the email you don't want to get -  e v e r - from your kid's teacher.

Greta:  They checked my hair for bugs today.
Me: {holding breath, trying to still the heart pounding in my ears}
Greta: All they found was glitter.
Me: {exhale, vow to buy that girl more glitter}

This One's For You, Triple-G

Hi, Great Grandma Genevieve.  Remember us?  We're the ones who love you.

Heart shaped box.

No, I will not share my delicious cookie with you.  How about you take this reindeer and scram?

With intensity that is pure Noah Woods, the boy is immersed in chess.  Before school.  After school.  Under his covers on the iPad at night.

My mom tells me periodically that she loves this blog.  Which is nice, coming from the one who is maternally obligated to stand and applaud everything I do.  My grandma occasionally lets me know that she's watching too, and that she really appreciates the photos and words she finds here.  Which makes me blush, and nearly explode with sheepish gratitude.  I think she has figured me out.  She knows people, presumably because she has been circling the sun for enough years to have a lot of us all worked out, with a special interest in those who are fortunate enough to be her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.  She gets that this is something that I like to do, and that for the kids, I need to do; even in spite of all the other obligations and demands on my (precious little) free time.  One tiny word of praise is all it takes to keep me from abandoning ship on this childhood-documentation project.

In my next life, I will be a full time mom blogger.  If I can figure out cold fusion, or string theory, or write the great American novel, or become an art thief, I could probably do it in this life.  Til then, here is the bi-monthly post.

I am trying to learn what to do with sibling v sibling rage.  It gets pretty intense sometimes, and my approach has historically been to leave them alone and let them work it out.  Sometimes I'm not so sure that's the best policy.

Don't worry Tiana, we will find your head.

Why is building forts so much fun, and tearing them done so un-fun?

I know Mom hopes that Lindsey will appreciate Greta's love of the fashion plates.  Funny how she always puts her models in color coordinated outfits.

You know what is great fun when you are a feverish and grouchy baby?  Nothing.  But a new set of bright pastels doesn't hurt.

Excuse me, but I made the sexiest cookies I've ever made this month.  Recipe from, of course, some other mom blogger.

Ginger, chocolate, and small enough to eat a few.  Handfuls.  

Under very close supervision.  Never know when a sister's gonna try to squirrel away some blades in her skirt for a secret hair salon experiment.

Dear God, Maggie is in love with books.   I n L O V E, I tell you.  Good Night, Gorilla is her current favorite.  And by favorite, I mean that it is 11 o'clock in the morning, I got home from work four hours ago, and we have read it nineteen times today.  This is the part after the zookeeper's wife has turned out the light, all the sneaky animals have said, "Goodnight," and she opens her eyes wide in the dark room.  Maggie gasps, then shakes her head at the sassy gorilla.  All nineteen times so far today.

Back soon...