Creating an inaccurate monster

It turns out, if you correct your daughter's grammar often enough, even an almost three year can get very opinionated when it comes to certain conjugations. Too bad she's wrong.

Marianne: I don't want no more strawberries, Mommy.

Me: You don't want any more strawberries. Say "any more", not "no more."

Marianne: I don't want any more.

(a few seconds pass, then, in a defensive, you've-corrected-me-too-many-times-on-this-one voice)

Marianne: LAY down.

Me: What?

Marianne: It's lay down. Not lie down. LAY down.

Me: Well, that depends. You lay something else down, but you lie down.

Marianne: No! I lay down.

I have to imagine that Nathaniel was struck at that moment with a sharp pain through the heart, since that's the one verb he repeatedly corrects me on.

A shopping story

My senior year in college, over fall break, a few girlfriends and I took a trip to a lovely Caribbean island. One of us (Ginny? me?) had brought along a "Book of Questions" in case of a rainy day. One evening we played for a while, and one of the questions we asked was something to the general effect of, "If you could have one designer design your wardrobe for the rest of your life, who would you choose?" Clearly the author expected this book to be more popular with the female crowd.

Bridget, to nobody's surprise, said Ralph Lauren, or maybe I just remember her picking him because it was such an obvious choice for her. I don't recall who Ginny picked. She's always been much more knowledgeable about the fashion scene than I, so it may have been someone I'd never heard of. I picked Ann Taylor. I've seldom in my life been able to afford clothes from Ann Taylor or even from the Loft, but I love what they sell. I pass a Loft and an Ann Taylor on my walk from my bus to my office every morning, and it's a nice chance to gaze longingly into their windows.

Until recently. A couple weeks ago they began displaying things like this:

And no one in her right mind would design, with me in mind, this:

Belted sweaters? Suspenders? I realize I don't get to decide what's cool, but it's not the 80s and I have no desire for the 80s fashions to come back into style. Look at pictures of people from the 80s. They looked BAD. Why would we purposely choose to relive that?

Back to the Loft, though. There was still one thing in the window that called my name. So during my lunch break yesterday, I walked down to try on this dress:

It fit me perfectly and I looked, if I do say so myself, lovely in it. Lovely like a beautiful, glowing, three months pregnant woman. You know, like I wasn't actually showing yet, but somehow you could just tell. For the record, I'm not pregnant, so this isn't really a look I'm shooting for. It does cross my mind now, though, that it wouldn't be a bad dress to have around for future pregnancies, but I don't have the money to spare at the moment.

On the other hand, I found this one:

It's hard to get a good feel from the little picture, but if you click on the link you can zoom in to see the details of the wrap-style top. I picked it up on a whim, since I was trying on some other stuff, and now I'm wishing I'd never seen it. That dress was MADE for my body. It's a dark brown that complements my skin tone and hair color perfectly and it fit exactly the way it should. I didn't want to take it off. But it's $80, and I can't justify that. However, if anyone (Mom?) is considering Christmas gift options, this would be a very welcome gift. I'd have to get some new brown shoes, since I haven't had much brown in my wardrobe in the past decade, but it would be worth it. Size 12. I'm just putting it out there.

While we're on the shopping subject, as a heads up to my mom-friends, The Children's Place is having a very good sale right now. In my depressed, I-can't-afford-anything-for-myself mood, I wandered into the Children's Place next to the Loft, and found some excellent deals. 30% off all the stuff already on sale. I don't shop there much, but every now and then they have awesome end of season sales and I can stock up for next year. Buying a bag full of adorable $5 shirts and pants does a passable job of curbing my desire to buy more expensive clothes for myself. Check it out if you have one near you.

Four dead bugs

We went to the post office a couple weeks ago to mail birthday gifts to our nephews. Nathaniel did his best to keep the girls out of trouble (despite the still unexplained fact that every time Marianne ran through the little shoplifting, security gate things, she'd set off the alarm) while I packaged things up and waited in line.

In her investigations of the merchandise hanging on the walls, Marianne spotted a postcard with Simba and Mufasa on it, so clearly she simply HAD to have it. For $.25, we weren't going to argue with her over it. It was cute and said "Friends are Forever" across the front (cause, you know, Simba and his dad were bestest friends forever, or at least until Mufasa kicked it 20 minutes into the movie). Our deal with Marianne, though, was that if we bought the postcard she had to write on it and mail it to a friend. Without the slightest hesitation she announced that she would mail it to Morgan.

Up until yesterday the postcard has migrated between our dining table and the buffet next to the table as Marianne admired the pictures and talked of how one day she would mail it. Yesterday she was ready to take the next step. She got out the markers and I explained which parts of the card she could write on and which were for the postman. She started by coloring the already orange picture of Simba orange again, because that's her favorite color and her favorite character, so what could be better?! Then she drew several more things on it. The first, she explained, was a dead bug. We'd had a run in with a bee that morning, so I wasn't totally surprised. Plus, Simba eats bugs in the movie. Then she added a big square, a little snake, several other unidentified blobs, and at the end she had me help her make an "M" to sign her name. I addressed it, she picked out a Batman stamp, and we walked it to the mailbox down the block.

Last night, I suggested she tell her dad about her postcard for Morgan. When he asked what she drew on it, she said she colored Simba. "And what else?", he asked. "And four dead bugs."

Lucky girl, that Morgan.

Just a girl and her blankie

Here's an illustration that should have been with my post from the other day. Ruth's blankie is becoming more loved by the day. Which is good because for some reason (growth spurt?) she's falling down and banging herself on stuff more and more often, so it's nice to have a comfort item to offer. When all else fails, grab something soft and fluffy and snuggle down into it. That seems to be Ruth's rule of thumb, and it sounds like a good one to me.

Freakish weather patterns - less fun with kids

I love Colorado. I love Autumn. I love the combination of the two, for the most part. When you leave your house to a brisk 40 degrees, and come home in the late afternoon to a sunny 78, though, it proves a fashion challenge. Layers! I know! Trust me, out here, there's no question about it. Your typical Colorado 20-something (a category I can cling to for another 6 months, thank you very much!) is sporting jeans or shorts with a t-shirt, a micro-fleece, and a wind-breaker and is probably carrying some sort of hat and gloves if not wearing them. That same person is likely wearing Tevas (or, ugh, Crocs), but our feet are like rocks out here - we don't notice the chill.

I can work with that. I can layer up on my way to work and shove the extra layers in my shoulder bag for the trip home. The problem is dressing the girls. Nathaniel takes the girls to daycare in the mornings, but I'm the one who lays out clothes for them the night before, and I'm the one (except this morning, when I forgot) who fills a bag with a couple back up outfits in case of accidents at daycare. This time of year I make sure to check the weather before picking clothes, but there's no guarantee that the forecast won't change dramatically between 7pm one day and 7am the following morning. Plus, I don't know what they'll be doing at daycare - will they spend a lot of time outside? Usually they walk to the grade school to pick up the one little girl who's in Kindergarten, so I have to keep that in mind. How warm does the daycare lady keep the house? I only know what I experience when I pick them up, and that varies day to day. So I send them in layers, too, but I don't want to make it a huge hassle for the daycare lady. She doesn't need the extra work of repeatedly adding and removing layers from my kids to keep them comfy. Marianne can do some of that herself, but she's not perfect and Ruth's not even close. Ruth can't really even express when she's hot or cold, so I want to find that balance in which they'll be comfortable through whatever the day throws at them. With a 35+ degree temperature swing between drop off and pick up, though, that's not really feasible. So I fill the back-up clothes bag with options. Shorts, just in case it gets really warm. Long sleeve shirts, short sleeve shirts, jackets. It's all there, should they need it.

As much as I love Autumn, this is just about enough to make me look forward already to the colder days of winter, when a turtleneck, sweat and jeans are suitable from morning to night.

*****

Dare I say it... Marianne is very nearly potty trained! I can hardly believe it myself. She still has some accidents, don't get me wrong. But she's had several days without any accidents in the past week, and she's even opting to wear her big girl pants to her naptime and coming away from it dry. I've begun to take her on errands with her big girl pants on, with frequent reminders from me that she needs to tell me if she needs to potty, since the bathroom is, invariably, on the far end of the store from us. She is doing GREAT, though! I'm so proud of her. And she is extremely proud of herself. I can see the glow she puts off when she tells me about the perfect, accident-free day she's had at daycare, or how many times she poo-poohed without needing new pants. (Have I lost all my non-parent readers yet?)

I joke about training Ruth as soon as Marianne fully gets the hang of things, but I'm not so sure it's a joke anymore. Ruth loves to sit on the training potty while Marianne uses the regular one. She frequently volunteers for a diaper change as soon as hers is wet. And, the kicker, she often announces when she needs to pooh. Before she does it. Last night Nathaniel ran her to the bathroom when we realized what was happening, but we hadn't really been on the ball so it was too late for her to use the potty. I'm not totally thrilled at the thought of potty training another after six months of working on Marianne, however the notion of a house free of diapers is very tempting!

For those of you wondering what the tried and true method that finally worked with Marianne was, I'm going to have to go with perseverance. For a while, giving her marshmallows to celebrate was great (or peeps, when available). For a while, reading the potty book I wrote was a big hit. For a while, and even some now, putting star stickers on her calendar really inspired her. As so often seems to be the case with this potty-training gig, though, I think she was just finally ready to let it happen. She has finally taught herself to hold it for a decent length of time so we can let an hour or even two pass without constant fear of the mess to come, and she has developed the ability, once she feels herself starting to go, to stop and hold it till she can get to the potty. That's what she was missing before, and no amount of bribery or praise was going to teach it to her.

Now watch, I'll have jinxed myself and when I pick her up from daycare I'll find out she had accidents all day long.

Blankie, take two

Ruth appears to have officially chosen a "blankie" of her own. Marianne, with no prompting on our part, began giving preferential treatment to one blanket in particular by the time she was a year old, I think. I can't even recall when it started for her, but I vividly remember realizing that what she was asking for time and time again, while pointing at her crib, was her purple blanket. From then on, she wanted her blankie to sleep, to tend her ouchies, and, very rarely, to take with her in the car on long or stressful trips.

We've been cautious about the whole blankie issue. Neither of the girls showed any real interest in a pacifier or other trinket, so we've managed to avoid most of the big attachment battles. With respect to the blankie, Marianne can have it with her in the house as she pleases, but seldom is she allowed to take it outside ("You don't want your blankie to get dirty, do you? Then you wouldn't be able to sleep with it tonight..." usually does the trick). If she's going into a new or stressful situation, most notably a new daycare, we have her dig through the pile of blankets on the changing table and select a different blanket that can be her special blankie for the new place. She still has her daycare blankie at her current daycare now, a year after she first started there, and that's the one she naps with daily. The big upside to this system is that, on the occasions when Marianne has gotten sick in the night and made a mess of her bed, she's amenable to the idea of selecting a new blankie and new stuffed animals to sleep with while the others are laundered. Marianne's blankie is now a subtle shade of lavenderish-gray and has loose loops of yarn that are probably strangulation hazards, but it solves most emotional breakdowns and some physical pains as well as a kiss from Mommy, so it's a nice back-up to have around.

Ruth's blanket choice is unorthodox, because it's not actually hers. It's a blanket that Marianne's Godparents gave her when she was born. Marianne used it in her crib, but it just wasn't the one. I've always loved it, so when Ruth was born I started using it for the baby on a regular basis. In the early days, Marianne would steal it away from her, but once Marianne moved into her big girl bed while the blanket stayed in the crib... Out of sight, out of mind. Marianne seems to have forgotten that it was hers to begin with, because she's not really into sharing her stuff with Ruth for more than a few seconds at a time. I look at this as Ruth's first major coup as a little sister. Marianne will actually pull it out of the crib for Ruth when she wants it but can't reach it. As a baby sister myself, I can appreciate the irony of that.

Mixed feelings

Today was the day! That's right - the one you look forward to for half the year. Look forward to with a deep-seated sense of dread, that is. I had my bi-annual teeth-cleaning appointment today. If you're anything like me, this appointment generally represents the first in a string of dental appointments to repair all the damage that the evil plaque has wrought in the past six months. Since I was going into this appointment with a specific complaint of discomfort on a particular tooth that has been my constant frustration since my senior year of college, I knew the tidings would be bad.

As background for those of you who weren't there to witness my dental work ordeal throughout the 1998-1999 academic year, let's just say that it was a long, long year for me. I didn't have dental insurance, but some pain led me to schedule an appointment with an excellent dentist in Mishawaka. What he discovered upon inspecting my mouth was that all the dental work I'd had done at home over the past several years was, um, a tad shoddy. In a series of appointments (that were most definitely not free) he proceeded to replace all my existing fillings and add several of his own to patch up the newest cavities. This one tooth - the one referred to above - was a big problem for him. He told me that I really ought to have a root canal (yippee!), but since I didn't have insurance, he didn't want to do that to me. Instead he came up with some crown-like insert to block off the problem temporarily, then put a filling over it. That, my friends, is a good time.

You would be correct if you guessed that I'm not a fan of my twice yearly check ups. I inherited horrible teeth from my dad (thanks, Daddy!) and all my brushing, flossing and mouthwashing can't control the mean plaque monsters.

However... are you ready for this?... Today I had NO NEW CAVITIES!! That's fantastic! Woohoo!!! There are few things the dentist could have said to make me happier.

Oh, but wait. There's still that tooth that's causing me discomfort every time I brush or eat sugar. There must be a cavity, right? No. Instead, I get a receding gumline. I know it's something a gazillion other people suffer from, but I have very mixed feelings about this diagnosis. I was anticipating, over the past several weeks of pain, a sure fix to the problem. Yes, it would mean getting that horrible, awful, haunts-my-dreams injection in the gum to deaden the area. But in the end, all would be well. I could brush with the toothpaste of my choice and eat all the caramels and gooey candy I wanted without worry. What I get is an explanation that the problem won't go away but if I brush more gently and use one of those sensitivity toothpastes, it will hopefully make it more bearable.

I'm thrilled to have no new cavities and get complimented by the dentist on my good work - there's a first! I'm bummed, though, that I just have to live with this annoying spot on my one annoying tooth. Ah well. There are bigger problems in the world, so I guess I'll go try out my new sensitive-tooth Crest sample and stick to chocolate over gummies.

This, that, and the other thing

I feel so neglectful! I have anecdotes and quotes and musings pop into my head every day that I'd love to write about, but work has me swamped these days. Home days are always crazy, and I've chosen for the past few days not to let myself slack off on the computer when there are chores that need doing. In an effort to catch up, here's a lovely list (I refrained from using bullet points) for your reading enjoyment.

*****

Did I tell you the one about the butterfly and the praying mantis? Over Labor Day weekend, my mom took the girls (mine and my niece, Elizabeth, who's a little older than Marianne) onto the screened in porch to see a butterfly. As they watched the butterfly crawl around the screen, Mom noticed a praying mantis in the corner, inching his way toward the butterfly ever so slowly. To make a long story short, the girls witnessed a little Nature program live and in person. The mantis snagged the butterfly out of the air and chomped down. The butterfly didn't have a chance. The next day, my aunt reported that Elizabeth was concerned because Marianne told her that the praying mantis would "eat her eyes out". I don't know where she got it, but that was only the beginning of a long string of threats to our eyes. Marianne shakes with excitement as she proclaims that a "monster is going to eat my EYES!!" and other graphic fun. Yeehaw!

On the upside, Marianne saw a similar butterfly the day after the first one met it's sad fate, and happily reported that his mama must have put a bandaid on his ouchies, because he was all better now.

*****

I finished reading a few books in the past month. None were super deep, but a few were very enjoyable. I reaffirmed that I enjoy reading Jodi Picoult's work. I read "Plain Truth", and it was a solid page turner. Good for an airplane trip or bus commute.

I also read a pair of books by Emily Giffin, "Something Borrowed" and "Something Blue". I don't want to give too much away, but the first book is about a girl who's having an affair with her lifelong best friend's fiancé. Don't worry. That all starts in the first chapter or so. The main character is more lovable than the engaged friend, but it's a tough read at times because it's clearly bad behavior. And there are, in the first book, a few scenes that give a little more detail than necessary about the cheating couple. The second book is from the perspective (during the cheating incident and beyond when the first book ends) of the engaged friend. It's a unique concept at the very least. It's basic chick-lit, nothing that's going to end up on a reading classics list. But I enjoyed the first book a lot, and the second was even better. If you're looking for a beach read next summer, keep these in mind!

*****

I'm working on plans to visit my friend Ginny in a few weeks. The trip would include a roadtrip to ND for the UCLA game. I haven't been to campus in probably five years, and it's "a happy thought, indeed" (name that movie for extra points!). As if hanging out with Ginny for a long weekend isn't enticement enough, her husband volunteered his game ticket to sweeten the deal. Bryan, you rock! I hope to see you both soon!

As an added perk, it's a trip by myself. I haven't been away for more than a night, and that only for work, since Ruth was born. I love my girls, but I can definitely do with a kid-free weekend! It's not set in stone yet (we're working through some Mileage Plus issues with the folks at United Airlines), but I'm very hopeful now that we can make it happen.

*****

Speaking of good old ND, they stunk it up this weekend against Michigan. If you missed the game, consider yourself lucky. It was truly painful to watch, and I only saw bits and pieces. Maybe now that people aren't expecting quite so much from us, we can go on to have a good rest of the season...

Best. Hug. Ever.

Ruth is a lover. She's always been affectionate, tucking her little arms under her to snuggle up on my shoulder when she's tired, or giving kisses freely and frequently. Lately she's developed what I truly believe to be the best hug in the world. She'll wrap her arms all the way around my neck and squeeeeeeze. I mean really, with impressive strength, she hugs. I can't resist, whenever I pick her up now, saying, "Ruth, can I have a squeeze?" She knows what it means and is happy to oblige. Sometimes she'll reach around the sides of my head, her cheek against mine, and squeeze that way, too. I wish she'd never get so old that giving her mommy a squeeze would no longer be cool. I know she will, though, so I'm cherishing each and every squeeze while they last.

*****

Marianne, on the other hand, is Little Miss Attitude now that she's inching up on three years old. She can't ask for anything, or tell me anything, without it being a HUGE drama. Probably half her "discussions" involve screaming or breaking down in tears. Our most frequent request to her (okay, second most frequent, following "Marianne, please listen to what I'm saying") is "Marianne, please ask that in a nice, calm voice."

Our new punishment, as opposed to 15 time outs a day, is to take away her stuffed animals. We put them on a knick knack shelf on her wall, so she can see them there, well out of reach. If she starts listening to us, and doing what we ask, and being nice (a tall order on the best of days), then she gets them back half an hour or so later. We had to clear most of the decorative stuff off the shelf, though, because most days we end up with pink bear, baby bear and brown bear up there at some point. And heaven help us all if they get taken away too close to naptime or bedtime to reasonably get them down before she's supposed to go to sleep. That's a nightmare that is quite possibly not worth the fight. We'll let her pick other animals to sleep with, but if one of her favorites is on the shelf, she ends up crying herself to sleep. I hope she's learning something from the lesson, but I can say I'm convinced that she is yet.

*****

Yesterday, shortly after Marianne woke up, she decided we should go to the park. It went something like this:

Marianne: Is Daddy going to work today?

Me: Yes.

Marianne: Are you going to work today?

Me: No. I'm staying home with you.

Marianne: You and me and Ruthie are all staying home?

Me: That's right.

Marianne: I have an idea! We should go to the PARK today. That's my BIIIIIG idea!

Since it sounded like a good BIG idea to me, we went after naptime. I asked Marianne if she'd rather walk or ride in the stroller and she opted to walk. It's nearly a mile each way, but she's walked most of it before, so I let her. She got out hats for herself and for Ruth to wear. She took her hat off a couple times on the walk when we were in shady place, but when the sun was on her she'd put it back on because it was too bright. As we got close to the park, she asked if I'd brought her sunglasses. I told her I had not, only her hat. Then, just as we rounded the corner so the park came into view, I heard her cry out from about 10 feet behind me? I looked around to see what the matter was, and she'd stopped dead in her tracks. I asked what was troubling her, and she mumbled something I couldn't quite understand in a sad voice. Then she gave the biggest possible sigh, complete with inhale, shoulder shrug, and drawn out, audible exhale, and turned to walk away down the sidewalk.

Me: Marianne, where are you going?

Marianne: Oo my ome.

Me (crouching down to talk to her): To your home? Why, sweetie?

Marianne: Be-ause. It's oo unny. Dere's no shade in dat park!

Me: There are no trees making shade, but there's shade under the slides. And remember last time? There's that little counter where you made "cookies"? That'll be in the shade still if you want to play in the sand.

Marianne (taking a long, scrutinizing look at the park to see whether I'm telling the truth, and giving one more big sigh before continuing on toward the park): I'll be oo ot, dough...

I don't know why that struck me as so funny at the time. Maybe because she's so spf conscious already (do I put too much sunscreen on her? not possible!), or just because she came across as so persecuted. She's way too much of a pre-teen for a two year old. I really had no idea that girls this young could cop this much attitude.

"...and these are the marks from when Mommy pulled on my arm."

Nursemaid's elbow. Ever hear of it? It's when a child's elbow pulls out of place and the tendon gets stuck in the joint. I'm fond of the definition linked above because of the example cause they give for the elbow pulling, "such as by an adult tugging on an uncooperative child".

Marianne was diagnosed with nursemaid's elbow a couple week's after Ruth was born. It was the first time we'd had to take her to an emergency room, and it was no one's fault when it happened. I mean, unless you say it was our fault, as parents, for letting her jump on our bed. But no one was touching her when it happened. She was happily jumping on the bed, with her Aunt Ellen supervising, and on one of the jumps she landed wrong and suddenly wouldn't move her arm. It was very lucky for us that Grandma Sherri and Aunt Ellen were in town, as Grandma had extensive knowledge of nursemaid's elbow from when Ellen had suffered from it as a child and was able to set our minds at ease about the severity (or non-severity, is that a word?) of the problem. It hurts the kid to no end while the tendon is stuck, but with a properly administered pull and twist of the arm by a doctor, the tendon is free and the pain is almost instantly relieved. Hooray!

The biggest issue is that once a child has shown a tendency for nursemaid's elbow, it's much more likely to rear it's ugly head again. With this in mind, we've spent the past year and a half being very careful with Marianne. We don't swing her by her arms when we're walking. We don't fly her by an arm and a leg like an airplane. We don't help her get up from the ground by pulling her hands. We've only recently relaxed our stance some to let her hang from monkey bars and the like.

So tonight, as I'm trying to coax the girls into the house before dinner, Ruth in one arm and Marianne by the hand, I didn't think much about it when she pulled away from me. I tightened my grip, and she dropped herself to the ground in protest. I picked her up and set her on the ground inside, and she started to wail. And wail. And wail. At first it was accusations of "you pulled my arm!" and I apologized for hurting her hand but explained (as we've been doing all the time lately) that she needs to listen and follow our directions better. But the crying didn't stop. And she was holding her arm just so, in a way that brought back bad memories. And if I tried to straighten her arm the crying went up a notch. I called Nathaniel in to have a look, and his reaction was in line with my thoughts. Off he went to the emergency room to have the doctor pull and twist.

The quote in the subject line is a real one. According to Nathaniel, while Marianne was sitting on the counter and he was filling out paperwork, Marianne lifted her sleeve and, pointing out her owwies to the nice nurse-lady, said, "...and these are the marks from when Mommy pulled on my arm." There are no marks there, thankfully. And Nathaniel kindly clarified that I had pulled her hand, not her arm. Thanks, babe.

I'd better go. I think I hear social services knocking on the door.

(She's fine now, by the way. No residual pain whatsoever - she came home to her cooled down soup and is now sleeping peacefully.)

Shaking down that thunder

I take back my comments earlier about nervousness over how the Irish would play today. We're almost halfway through the fourth quarter and this has been a lovely football game! We've gotten some help from bad luck on the part of the Nittany Lions (what the heck is "Nittany" anyway?), but our team looked awesome! Hooray! Maybe this season really will be fun.

I wish I had one of those green towel things that Coach Weiss gave out at this game. Cool.

It's THAT time of year again!

Behind those crazy "cheeeeeese" smiles are some hard core Irish fans. Marianne can cheer along to a football game with the best of them, and though I haven't heard an official "Go Irish" from Ruth, I'm sure it won't be long.

Don't worry. We're not really going to be THOSE parents. The ones who spend the children's first 18 years inundating them with school paraphanalia and telling them to get the grades so they can go to a specific school. They'll get to pick for themselves. Heck, once they get old enough to care what they're wearing, we won't even force them to own ND apparel if they'd rather not.

Then there's the added point that they probably won't be able to afford to go to ND anyway. Just take a look at all the dental work in their future with Ruth's tooth grinding smile and Marianne's teeth packed into her mouth like sardines... We haven't started any college savings for them yet, and at this point I'm thinking an orthodontics savings fund is more pressing. They may just get to go to school wherever Daddy happens to be a professor, assuming the school gives a good deal to the children of employees.

But that's all really off the subject. My big point here is to say that it's a perfect football day (at least in CO it's 65 and sunny - I can only hope it's close to this nice on campus), and I'm excited for the game today. Our ND flag is flying and we're decked out in our new t-shirts. The girls will be napping during most of the game if we're lucky, but they'll be cheering in their dreams. I'm a little nervous for the outcome given last weekend's rather weak showing, but I'm keeping faith! Go IRISH!! Beat Penn State! Onward to Victory... and all that jazz.

Feeling guilty, but only a little

I've been training a new person at work for the past couple days. She flew out from LA, so it seemed only fair that I would move my workdays around to be there for two days straight in order to spend more time with her. Plus, the result was a Friday off from work, and that's never really a bad thing. Throw in that my daycare lady offered to keep the girls today as well as the two days earlier this week since there was a day last week that I paid for but didn't use, and I have a very pleasant Friday ahead of me.

On the downside there's the "But I don't want to go to daycare today, Mommy. I want to stay home with you!" that I got to hear yesterday AND today. There's the general guilt of not taking advantage of every possible opportunity to spend time with my girls on days I don't have to be at work. There's the 45 minutes I spent at a coffee shop reading a book before heading to the grocery store this morning that was pure luxury (okay, so it was actually a donut shop that happens to sell coffee). The result is an underlying layer of guilt over taking the day for myself. One of the reasons I set up my work schedule the way I did was so that the girls would only have to be in daycare every other day, or for two days in a row if, for some reason, I had to rearrange things one week. So to send them for a third day straight, immediately following a week of being with them non-stop (read: spoiling them with my presence), goes against that in a big way.

BUT... we have the weekend ahead of us to enjoy as a family. We have even more time together this weekend because I've already done the shopping that usually happens on Saturday. We have piles of clean laundry instead of the usual dirty ones (and they'll even be folded soon, I swear!). We have a clean bathroom, and if I'm on a roll, we'll end up with some other clean rooms as well. We'll even have a jump start on sanding a bunch of lumber in the garage to repair the trim on the house if I manage to get to that this afternoon as I hope to. So yes, I'm taking a day "for myself", but it's not like I'm out spending the day at the spa. I might be, if we could afford it... but for today I took the me-time to enjoy my favorite food and a good book, and then I'll accomplish a lot of things that will result in my being a better and more attentive mother over the weekend. There. I've talked myself right out of those guilty feelings!

(Truly, I feel very little real guilt about the whole situation, but you know how it goes when you have a beautiful little girl begging to stay home with you... it makes it hard not to hear that voice in your head saying "but just this once, you could have let her!")

What I haven't been telling you

I've been keeping a secret from you. Blame my parents - it's their fault for reading the blog. It meant, as much as I wanted to share fun things as I made/bought/thought of them, I couldn't tell you about them because that would have ruined the surprise!

I went to a scrapbooking store find the pretty paper for the invitations. It was my first time inside one of the stores, as I’m not at all creative enough to consider scrapbooking (I cringe every time I see or use that word as a verb). But I have to admit that the store was inspiring. There was row upon row of truly lovely, thick, tempting paper. If I had the money to throw around, I might consider trying my hand at the hobby.

The party, as noted in the invitation was a cookout at a church parish hall. I saw an idea in Real Simple to use frisbees as paper plate holders to add a splash of color to summer cookouts, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. My family has always been fond of a good frisbee-toss... So I scoured the internet till I found someone who would personalize them for me without forcing me to buy 300. They were a huge hit and totally worth the effort!

The venue was simple, but perfect for the number of people who were able to come. With the help of a lot of family, we were able to slip away and decorate without my folks noticing our absence (at least not in a way that made them really suspicious – though our hour and a half run to the local grocery store for diapers raised a couple eyebrows).

Despite a couple family gatherings (including an alcohol-heavy wedding dance) prior to the birthday party, my parents were completely shocked and confused by the party when they arrived. I am exceedingly proud of all my family for keeping the secret for weeks, or in some cases, months.

As the party wound down, several of my cousins, along with my niece and nephew, made good use of the balloons by sucking down helium from easily 18 or more balloons. Classy, kids. Classy. But hey, at least I can say with confidence that a good time was had by all.