Quality Time With Children: Second Kid Edition.

This morning, Nora slept in.

Not major news in any sense (nor is it that odd of an occurrence), but right around 7:45am I noticed something. It was my younger kiddo, Susannah. And she was staring excitedly at me.

"What do you wanna do, pal?" I asked her.

She pointed at her cup. "Dink ma joo." (More excited stares.)

"And after you drink your juice?"

She shrugged and pointed at her juice and drank it some more. More very excited stares. And then I got it- she was stoked to just be with me. No preschoolers having feelings, no parents rushing around in the morning, no angry sleeves because we have to BE somewhere. She wanted to have quality time with her mother without the world ruining everything- again.

So I put aside my computer and phone and the unwashed breakfast dishes and let her take my hand. And she promptly led me on an ambling tour of the living room. We ended up in her bedroom, where she showed me how her ballerina doll did not fit into her wooden firetruck (but let's keep trying). And then she grabbed another little doll and popped out and arm and leg apiece, sadly presenting them to me ("Oh, noooo") which, despite what my sister tells me, does not make her Lenny from Of Mice And Men.

Put down the camera, Mom. I'm in real need of
some quality time, here. Maybe a hand, even.

I got to watch Zuzu just being nineteen months old; figuring out how things work, pushing the the limit of how high she could climb (with an occasional sly look over a shoulder) before I would hook an arm around her waist and pull her back to the ground, and faceplant on the floor because the rug sometimes feels so nice and- hey, look! A thumb! Let's just lie here and suck a thumb for a second, yeah? And then she climbed into my lap, looked lovingly into my eyes...and yanked a book off of her shelf.

"Dis?"

"Sure."

We read that one. And when she grabbed a second, we read that one, too. And a third, a fourth, a fifth, and then...she told me I had a nose. And a mouth. Poke poke poke.

"Ma joo?"

"Sure."

So we held hands and walked back into the kitchen for one more sip of juice, before embarking on the rest of the morning. Which was gonna be just awesome.

Zu was one hundred percent sure of that.

Chicago Is- Briefly- All Full O' Summer.

For the uninitiated, this is what the first 80 degree day in Chicago looks like.

To be fair, this is also what the first 68 degree day in Chicago looks like. (By 55 degrees, we've thrown winter coats into deep storage.) So yeah, it's just as euphoric as it looks.

Take that, nine months of winter!

Today's Happy Thought.

'Cause who couldn't use a happy thought today?

California, A Wedding, And Some Stoked Little Girls.

Since I'm still very much so in the midst of California-vacationin', here's a sneak peek of the awesomeness that has been this week. For starters, I attended a wicked beautiful wedding of some college pals. The venue was on a gorgeous Southern California bluff overlooking the ocean where I kinda want to have my next wedding. (Take notes, Peej. If you're lucky, it'll be to you.) 

There was dancing (led largely by my three year-old). There was fabulousness with friends. And, if you were a certain attendee, there were naps.

Um, you said ALL the single ladies, right?

Nora knows some nice people.

The beautiful bride and groom, a beaming friend, and the love between a girl and her cupcake.

I LOVE WEDDINGS.

Y'all, dance like this.

Weddings are simply exhausting.

Happy wedding, Wilder and Barb. Even happier marriage. (And lots n' lots of naps.) 

18 Months.

Susannah Mae- Suzy, Zuzu, The Zu, Monkey, Buttercup, Little Baby Seester-

Happy 18 months. This milestone is huge for so many reasons, among them the fact that you're no longer a baby and we get to stop annoying non-parents by counting your age with months. (Hey kid- you're one and a half! Wicked.)

Ready for anything.

You are awesomely smart and alarmingly impish. You climb- Good Lord, you climb. Before you came along and other parents bemoaned their little cabinet scalers, part of me thought to myself- Why don't you just tell them no? (Hahahaha.)

You know the word "no." You know time outs. But you also know body parts and animal sounds and what to say when your sister runs into a wall. ("Icee?") You've got buckets of empathy and the easiest laugh this side of vaudeville. You are a clown and a [momentary] thumbkin snuggle and a tiny dancer, spinning and singing soft la la las to yourself behind the curtain.

We love when you act out pages of stories as your Dad reads them to you. We love when you call hippos "hippies." (Because you know what? Maybe they are.) And we love when you stare at your sister with absolute hero worship, ready to squeeze yourself into an impossibly small space at her say so.

Today was your first gymnastics class and, as 18 months was the final cut-off, you were absolutely, positively the youngest one there. But I didn't worry. Because I know you never do.

Strong like bull.

When your teacher asked you to hop up on the high mats, plant those hands and pike, you did it. Never mind how on Earth you learned what "piking" was (although I suspect your sister), I was wildly impressed/not surprised/rather fearful that you just WENT for it.

I hope you always do.

Unless you're diving from cliffs or speeding around a racetrack. Then, I advise you to either wear the maximum amount of protective gear allowed by law, or simply paint a watered-down account for your mother after the fact.

I thank you in advance.

And hey, take your time on that whole race towards "two." I know you won't- because you don't pull any punches with races-

But let's both just pretend that you will.

(I love you, Monkey.)

The Evolution Of A Day's Outfit.

Night attire, obviously. Butterfly sundress, polka dot blouse, pink stretch pants, moose socks.

Midmorning play clothes (chosen by 17 month-old): A perfectly acceptable
cozy outfit, plus maroon tutu, plus bandanna, plus pink Red Sox cap.

Post-nap ladybug dress over striped pants, with the addition of at least one glitter flip flop.

Checking themselves out in the mirror- once Zuzu chose her own ladybug dress, obvie.

Ladybugs with flip flops. "We should really see if someone's outside, we look incredible."

17 Months Is The Best Age [For Face-Planting].

Baby's first ponytail. Baby's second colander. 

This girl. This teensy tinsy person who bodily flings herself over the side of the couch. (Again and again and again...) And then the other side of the couch. And then the back. All the while, she points between herself and the couch, shaking her finger and admonishing herself "Nonono."

And the one who climbs the radiator to push herself onto the windowsill with her elbows- pausing like a deer in headlights when she thinks I'm approaching- sticking her chubby diapered bottom up into the air like it's the most natural position in the world, like no, this is not what a person looks like who is about to climb a radiator and a windowsill.

The smallish person who eats spicy tamales verdes with both fists. And eggplant. And pasta and beef and veggies dipped in blue cheese dressing...but who will angrily sign noTHANKyou when someone makes the mistake of offering her a lemon square. Oh, she'll eat it. And then spit it out into her hand and present it to you, seeming to say "You're the jerk who tried to poison me, you clean it up."

The excitable little lady who hears her favorite song on the stereo- or, let's be honest, Nora's favorite song and the one Zuzu's been convinced by her sister is the one they really should be listening to- and reaches her arms up, up to be lifted and spun and snuggled. Until the next song. The one where she needs to be firmly on the ground so she can stomp her foot like a miniature caller at a hoedown.

The snuggly not-quite baby who requires her monkey and his backup for all quiet times, passing the furry hands back and forth to herself, trying to smell which is the "right" one for naptime and which one gets the distinct honor of sleeping under the small of her back.

The pint-sized Picasso who would happily spend an hour sorting Play-Doh colors into their respective cans- and she does not need any help from anyone. Unless you want to roll some Play-Doh balls for sorting. Or open this lid. Or that one. Or the other one. Could you pick that speck up from the ground for me?

And the one who is pretty sure her sister hung the stars and moon and skies. Until her Dad comes home and flies her upside down. Or unless someone is going for a walk or making a snack. (Then they're her favorite.)

I just love her a crazy amount. Even on days when she doesn't nap and hasn't quite adjusted to the time change and is instead walking around like she just got off a red-eye from Japan.

I love her because she's got A Plan. And  a super-cute blonde with A Plan? Yeah, you should always keep one of those close by.

I keep mine on the windowsill.

Trust me.

It's The Quiet Ones You've Gotta Watch Out For.

I came upon this scene between the 3 and 1 year olds yesterday, in Susannah's bedroom:

Nora, facing her little sister (fiercely): What's cooler than cool!?
Susannah makes a big show of wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.
Nora: No, Zu, you say "ice cold."
Susannah: Brr.
Nora: What's cooler than cool!?
Susannah pauses, certain she's got this one.
Susannah: Brr.
Nora: Ice cold! You say 'ice cold!'
Susannah shivers.
Nora: That's right.

I shouldn't be too surprised by how street these children are. After all, their mother has been known to bust out with "Hey-o-hey-o-hey-o-hey-ohh..." during breakfast prep, only to have their father belt out from the hallway "Hey-o that girl looks good..."

To which their various children reply with frighteningly advanced eye rolls that seem to beg the question: What the heck is a "diggity?"

At the Valentine's Day school party:
Me- What're you doing, Nora?
Nora- Just holdin' my sister's hand and sawin' my leg.

But today is not for bustin' rhymes, it's for playing a new game which they've deemed Bangers and Shots. Is this game:
a) a rather violent English pub
b) a wildly inappropriate video game
or c) a medical clinic where I hope you never, ever find yourselves?

It's c), the walk-in health center that makes a spin in County seem like a day at Canyon Ranch.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm awaiting a vaccination into the chest to treat a manicure.

Winter Games. (For An Hour.)

On Saturday, we took the girls sledding. In case you're curious, here's what sledding in Chicago looks like. Careful, it's pretty extreme.

First, you bundle your offspring within an inch of
their lives. It's cool, they love this part.

There are zero chair lifts. But that's fine, it's good
for them to learn how to walk at a 10 degree angle uphill.

There will be snowflake eating. (A few sticks, too.)

"Lemme tell you about Chicago weather, Zuzu..."

Braving the elements. 

And if you're wondering what the actual "sledding" looks like? Behold. Pretty sure this is why people used to think that the world was flat.

Give 'Em Some Wigs And They're Practically Barristers.

This is what happened the other day.

Here is the story behind it. 

They were playing so nicely- so nicely- the kind of playing where they actually held hands and spun and sang made-up language songs and I felt- if only for a moment- that we were rather Von Trapp-ish. 

And in that moment, I decided to put away some laundry I had been folding. Specifically towels. Their destination was less than five feet away. But here's the rub...those "five feet" were around a corner and down a short hallway. 

As soon as my back was turned, Nora- because, really, it must've been Nora, right? Zuzu is a foot and a half high- climbed a shelf, retrieved a gigantic bottle of baby powder, and powdered her sister. In the face. And the room. In its face. 

Remember that part of Amelia Bedelia where Mrs. Rogers asks her to "dust the furniture" and Amelia throws a bucket of dust all up in that joint? (Also- remember when she had to "draw the drapes?" I still chuckle about that one, occasionally. Mostly late at night when I have trouble falling asleep. Sketching curtains! Amazing.) Anyhow. The furniture was "dusted." Susannah's two monkeys were dusted. The crib and stuffed animals and rocking snail and area rug and humidifier and a small stack of books were dusted. 

Their expressions when I walked back in- and let's remember, this dance party went down in under two minutes- were the stuff of daguerreotypes. Alarmed children frozen in time. (Covered in powder.) Nora looked unsure of how to best play this. Zuzu looked guilty and immediately repentant, like the good little Catholic that she is. 

"These things happen, Mom," Nora assured me. "It's okay to be sad for a minute." 

I got the vacuum. The girls screamed, because- Mother Of The Year that I am- they so rarely see a vacuum in play that they actively fear it. But I turned the thing on and attempted to get most of the powder. And I did- briefly. Until the back end of the vacuum exploded, coating everything on the first floor with a fine sheen of baby powder. (Did I mention that I had mopped earlier that morning? I had mopped earlier that morning.) 

I bathed Zu. Twice. (Nora, miraculously, didn't have a speck of powder on her. SUSPICIOUS.)   

The haze of powder in Susannah's room was so thick that it looked like a [sweet-smelling] London morning. Thankfully it was a 70 degree day in Chicago- since we've obliterated the planet- so I could open her windows and crank her ceiling fan. I wiped and scrubbed and vacuumed and laundered. 

Two days later, the first floor still smells like baby powder.  Two baths later, so does Susannah. 

And every time she lets out a little kitten sneeze, I'm sure that she's got the Black [White?] Lung. But as Nora tells me- It's okay to be sad for a minute. Besides, in Zuzu's relatively short life...

...She's definitely smelled worse. 

The Zuzu Monkey.

This girl.

This girl who stands on things she shouldn't and gets into spaces that you'd think she couldn't...

And preemptively berates herself with a pointed finger and a Nonono...

And thinks that EVERYTHING is simply amazing, including that thing you're holding or drinking or putting on a shelf. Unless it's a diaper or sleeves, then- Gah...do NOT want, do NOT want. (Nosankyou.)

The one who will perch in a corner with an anticipatory grin for as long as it takes you to notice her, whereupon she will promptly fall over herself yelling S'PRIZE at you. And her reflection. And the cat. And there will be much laughter.

The girl who faceplants onto the floor for the third time that day- the kind where you actually hear face smacking into tile- and who will then stand up with a dazed "Whoa." And much laughter.

Who prefers to fall asleep holding all of the hands of both her slightly sticky monkeys right to her nose...

And who thinks that the sun rises and sets in her big sister's expressions and hand gestures and great ideas. (Until her Dad comes home.)

I just love her, this little girl.

2013 Is For Nappers.

Kinda like the Baby New Year (and her sister)...but noisier.

Happy Day After New Year's Day! Which isn't a real thing, but I'm still in yelly, celebratory mode from this intense holiday season!

So, I've gotta say, I enjoyed the heck out of my miniature blogcation- which is the last time I shall utter that word, I promise. (But I did.) It's been a kinda crazed past few weeks, and it was nice to be able to [guilt-free] omit something from my daily list.

And yeah, "Re-Cap Hilarity That Was Monday-Tuesday" is on my To Do list for my midweek post. Kinda feels like I'm revealing the ol' man behind the curtain a little, doesn't it?

ANYWAY. I hope you all had a wundy Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus and that you didn't miss me too much. ('Cause I totally missed the heck outta you.) Another reason I felt okie doke with taking a bloggy break was because I know that a goodly cross-section of you follow me on Facebook and Twitter, et. al. (Because, yeah, this non sequitur/randomsauce display of verbal explosiveness/lifestyle wherein I overshare pictures of Nora drawing on Zuzu's head cannot be contained to thrice-weekly postings. I've tried.)

But if you're not a rabid follower (which is totally cool- it can be exhausting), here's whatcha may have missed:

At the risk of coming off as the most maudlin gal around, I helped close out the year over at Families In The Loop with Goodbye 2012, A Year Of Heartache, Loss & Hope.

On New Year's Day, I was stoked to be the first post of Project: UnderBlog for January with my slacktacular list of 10 Totally Attainable Resolutions For The New Year.

Speaking of 2013, New Year's Day was spent wonderfully. Because, as we all know, whatever you do on New Year's Day reflects what you're going to be doing throughout the year. Like a fortuitous Groundhog's Day. The Bill Murray vehicle, not Punxsutawney Phil. (Sidenote: MS Word just attempted to change "Punxsutawney" to "Subcutaneous." Helpful! It's rough when even your word processor thinks you're just batting words at the page like so many bundled gypsy "babies.")

So yes. New Year's Day. According to my January 1st, the entirety of 2013 will be spent sleeping in, reading, napping, taking baths, forcing my neighbors to provide gourmet feasts, playing board games on the floor, removing Play-Doh from Susannah's mouth, calling my family, and ordering Chinese food from up the street. That's a mostly amazing year!

P.J.'s will be spent re-watching Twister.

He did not plan ahead for this one.

Zuzu In The Box.

Still sending love, still sending thoughts, still sending donations:

United Way Fund For Newtown, CT 

CeaseFire 

Newtown Facebook Memorial Fund

***

This is Zuzu's new favorite game:

She brings us her Jack In The Box (or really, her Sock Monkey In The Box) and immediately sits back to watch. She winces from the first turn of the handle. Each subsequent turn is more suspenseful than the last. And finally, when the monkey pops out, she jumps like she had no idea this one was coming.

Then she belly laughs. And demands you do it again.

Fifteen months is hilarious.

Public Drinking And Abject Coveting. (Christmas!)

I hear you're the guy what haz the toy access. Pay no mind to the baby,
she's just a baby. She's not In The Know.

This past Saturday was the annual event that pretty much tops all other Chicago events for me: The Christkindlmarket in the Daley Plaza. That's right, the kitsch fest that contains every German ever to carve an ornament (and some of their Mexican and/or Ecuadorian compatriots with vendor stalls of their own- it's an equal opportunity kitsch fest) is the reason why I love Chicago so hard.

Yes, there's exceptional theatre here. Sure, our transit system is [generally] admirable. And absolutely, the tamale lady on my corner warrants her own spin-off show. But once a year, there exists a square wherein I can weep over miniature glass animals, force my children to be kind to Santa Claus, and drink mulled wine FROM A BOOT.

Now, some of you may recall how I am still recovering from the loss of my glass menagerie. It still stung, what with seeing my M.I.A. collection's brethren and sistren on full display for all of the shove-happy drunkards to poke and potentially break...but I was strong. For the children. (And I got a baby deer! And Nora chose a whale! And Zuzu quickly got a teddy bear! Because by the time we got to her choice, we were really in danger of being stampeded!)

But even though I haven't fully given up hope that I'll find my little glass guys in a shoe or something, I'm happy to be rebuilding my collection. Because I'm an obsessive eight year-old girl.

On a happier note, this was the year that Nora decided Santa was her friend. A good friend who brings her stuff. And all she had to do to get this prize was to be civil (and potentially cheerful- no promises) to the bearded guy. And sister, did she deliver! Unfortunately, (we found out later) Susannah was coming down with a slight cold and wasn't her usual, I Want To Hug The UPS Man self. But hey, one daughter beaming at Santa pretty much beats any other record we've ever set.

And that whole mulled wine in a boot thing? Yeah, it's still pretty much the greatest secular Christmas tradition ever.

Like, ever.

Trees And Panic And Church. And Drinking.

"I have no idea what's happening!"- Suzy

I've been feeling very behind, rather frantic, and Not. In. The. Holiday. Spirit. At. All.

And as ads (and Facebook) have been reminding me...there's only a few short weeks left to get it all done. And this made me panic.

Until I realized that it's December 3rd. THIRD. Not twenty-third. This is actually the official start to the Christmas season. It's true. Think about it: When you were a little kid and read (or watched) aaaaaany story that concerned Christmas...did it take place in October or November? Nope. It was somewhere smackdab in the middle of December. (And generally somewhere smackdab in the middle of the Midwest. I don't know why these shows always concerned families residing in Indiana or Illinois, I just remember that they did. Maybe I'm thinking of John Hughes films.) 

Anyhow. I'm trying desperately hard to enjoy this season. We got our tree this weekend (at the traditional Home Depot tree lot) and as we pulled into the parking lot I had to reassure myself that there would still be "good" trees. On December 1st. (There were.) Nora was stoked beyond belief to choose a tree that "wasn't too thin." Susannah was rather confused but determined to enjoy herself. (And P.J. did that Guy Thing with the tree man where they spun the tree and banged the trunk officially.) 

That night, the girls were positively vibrating off the ground with tree ornament excitement. Zuzu's job was to walk across the room with larger ornaments, hide them under a shoe, squeal excitedly at them, and then fling them in the general direction of the tree. Nora's job was to carefully suspend nine ornaments on the same branch, roughly two inches from the floor. They did this for an hour and a half. And honestly? That was magical. 

Everything you need to know is
going down in this very pic.

The next day we went to the 10am mass, which was being said for my Dad. (Thanks, Kris!!) P.J. was actually the one who got to say the intentions for my Dad, which was rather special (even though, at the time, Nora was attempting to raise and lower the kneeler onto the pregnant lady next to us and Susannah was preoccupied with peeing through her outfit onto my shirt). But being there made me think of the Christmas stuff I treasured doing with my family growing up- and especially my Dad. Like getting the tree. Hanging the lights. Watching the favorite TV specials (over and over and over). Having him read The Night Before Christmas to the four of us girls. And then the four of us girls and the five grandkids. Having a cordial glass of peppermint schnapps on the rocks in front of the fire (which, as he's repeatedly told me, is the perfect Christmastime drink). 

I would so love to be sitting in front of the fire drinking something with him right now. I'm sure he'd dig that, too.

Because I am his favorite.

But for now, I'll try really hard to slow down and not feel the Christmas Panic every morning and night.  I bet a schnapps would help. 

Maybe just a [singular] schnapp. 

The Spooky Salon.

I was pulling together costume pieces (and sorting the copious piles of clean/dirty laundry), with my two miniature helpers- namely, half-dressed Orange Butterfly and fully dressed [pajama-outfitted] Brown Puppy. Nora announced that she wanted to play Jeremy (the dude who cut her hair, not the Pearl Jam song, sigh). I handed her a small pink comb and the water spray bottle, and opened Susannah's closet with an armful of sweaters. I turned back not three seconds later to find-

-A confused Susannah, drenched from head to toe, and a startled Nora, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Nor, did you just open the spray bottle and dump it on Zuzu?"

"Yes, I did."

I grabbed a towel and dried off the already cheerful toddler, who was totally ready to forgive and forget.

"Nora, you can't dump water on people, especially not your little sister."

The Orange Butterfly stood with her hands on her [glittery] hips and exclaimed, "Well, if she didn't want a trim, she should have SAID SOMETHING."

(Happy Halloween, from our [slightly damp] home to yours.)

Things That Actually Happened.

Yesterday, as I sat on the couch and tried my darndest to write, I realized that my fingers were frozen solid. Despite the thermometer doing its best to tell me it was a balmy 70 degrees in here, I believe that it told a lie. (I think P.J. might actually have paid it off.) My actual thought to myself was- Good Lord, this blanket is unwieldy. Can't someone just give me something as cozy yet infinitely more wearable?

Then I realized I was a walking (sitting) infomercial for the SNUGGIE. I experienced a moment that I myself had mocked as unrealistic. Yet there I was. Having a need for something not entirely unlike a Snuggie.

I felt shame. Yet that was nothing compared to what happened a mere two hours later.

I was sitting on the bathroom floor at Nora's request- to come hear the exciting story line she was reading- and was also listening to Susannah protest her first real nap of the day. Suddenly, I had an almost out-of-body experience; fueled by the buzzing of my children's voices, the questionable middle of the previous night's session of Life Questions, and the after-effects of way too much coffee. I leaned my head back against the bathroom door, closed my eyes, and marveled at how GOOD that felt.

The very next thing I knew, I was being nudged awake by an irate preschooler's foot, telling me that this was NOT "good behavior" and this was NOT "what we do." (I don't remember ever having had the Don't Sleep On The Bathroom Floor convo with her...but she has a mind like a steel trap. She'd know. Also, I had the niggling suspicion that perhaps I shouldn't be teaching her to sleep on the bathroom floor.)

So, yeah, the first two events were prime examples of my dorkiness (and potential poor circulation) and conditional narcolepsy. It wasn't a banner day in terms of self-image.

But then the craziest thing of all happened:

...Which is by far the wackiest thing that a human can do. Just- one day- stand up and start moving around like you hadn't spent the first 12 months of your life on hands and knees and bellies and occasional faces? And sure, I can't take too much credit for Susannah's motorin' about...but I can count it as something that upped the coolness factor of my day. 

Which, let's be honest, was rather off the charts.

Birthdayed.

Courtesy of Godfather Nat. And there is so much
going on in this pic that I simply adore to bits.

Well, I have a one year-old. Like, officially. Like, We Had The Birthday And The Party So Now It's Officially Official.

The day of the party was frigid. Seriously cold. When I woke up it was 41 degrees- and keep in mind, here in Chicago it had been 80 degrees since maybe February. (I didn't say it was normal, just that it was.) This would've been totally fine if not for the fact that we had planned a party outside, at the park. Where the main draw was gonna be letting the children frolic [and not having to mop immediately afterwards]. However, I wasn't too sure about having it at my house- because I didn't much know what ten children would do to the inside of it. Or rather, I did know. And it wasn't pretty, there in my mind's eye.

So we had it at the park. And our friends- truly fantastic as they are- showed up in their mittened glory. And you KNOW you have good friends when, as you show up five minutes late to your own Igloo Park Party (because you've just woken your eldest child from her irrationally long nap), everyone runs over to your car to unload your decorations and cupcakes and children.

Preparing to let go in 3...2...1...

And even though 75 percent of the miniature animals meant for the treasure hunt were discovered by two of our smallish guy friends (mere moments before I announced the beginning of the treasure hunt)...

And even though, once the sun started to go away, it got for real real cold...

And even though we had no less than four mammoth party guest faceplants (by the shorty set- I've stopped counting the faceplants of my close friends) including a gargantuan one by the birthday girl...ten minutes into the party...onto the concrete...because she was hugged too hard by her sister and then, you know, just let go...

...Everyone seemed to have a grand ol' time.

A man approached me to take a picture of these "for
his wife." Whatever. I actually BAKED. If you want to
have them bronzed, I will not stand in your way.

Because the cupcakes were shaped like monkeys. (Thank you, Pinterest.) And the party favor CDs of Suzy's favorite songs were ridiculously cute (if I do say so myself), and the party favor treasure hunt prizes were ridiculously cheap (and went over like whoa). And Susannah- even with her frozen hands and road-rashy face- had a blast.

Because even with all of those other negative factors, a party is a party is a birthday party.

And birthday trumps all.

I will love you forever.

When Did Monday Become "Photo Essay" Day?

It's now officially Fall, so this weekend was mandatory Drive Your Kids Across State Lines For Apple Pickin' Day (Observed). We went to a super sweet orchard in Hobart, Indiana, and had a great time- even though there weren't any actual "apples" on the "trees." Due to the awful growing season, they had to think outside the box. Er, branch. 

So they rigged- I kid you not- gutters between the trees and filled them with apples from all over the Midwest so people could still feel like they were "picking." The gals all had an amazing time because, while living in our neighborhood, they've seen far weirder things hanging from trees and houses and cars. 

And as my friend Tim observed- Bad season for the apple growers. Excellent season for the plastic gutter industry.

Mom, I have ONE tooth.

Apple Dumpling herself.

Confused Dumpling.

C'mere, doll. Eat this thing in your face.

Hey big girls- can I have some?

No, for real...can I have one?

Mooooooom...

Owww...

Fine. Here. Eat this apple. Just take it.

Psych!

I'm Worse Than Honey Boo-Boo's Mom.

Oh sure, now you're smiling.

I'm ready to pick up my Mother Of The Year badge now. (And sash. There used to be a sash, right? I haven't won for a while.)

The other day, Susannah's agent called. (Just let that one sink in for a sec. I worked my butt off for years to secure a commercial agent...only to have him go to prison for embezzlement just after my first commercial aired...but that's currently neither here nor there. My point is that this kid scored an agent at eight months of age, and never even had to whip out a classical monologue. As proud as I am of her, it still ain't right.)

Anyway. She was being called in for a print audition- the very next day. No problem, I said. Even though there was a problem. A big one. "The very next day" I needed to be at Nora's preschool for my co-op day of helping out in her classroom- my very first time doing so. (And I kinda wanted to be awesome at it, so I'm not ashamed to say that I pretty much read the handbook like nine times.) Nora has school from 9-11:30am, with about a ten to fifteen minute [rush hour] commute tacked onto either side. Now Zuzu, for her part, was going to spend the morning at a friend's house, one whose son was in Nora's class, and for whom I was going to watch her younger kid on her co-op day. (Still with me?)

So on Tuesday morning, the girls and I left the house much earlier than normal, drove across a few neighborhoods to get Susannah all comfy at my friend's house, then took both big kids to school. Even with crazy traffic, we got there in the nick of time. Spent a few hours prepping apple tree cutouts for painting, helping kids wash (and re-wash) hands, and reminding children that puppets don't go in faces- you know, the usual. After the very last kiddo was picked up, we helped straighten the tornado zone, and then took off back to my friend's house to do a kid swap. Zuzu was confused but excited to see me (she had napped, but not nearly as long as she would've at home). I had prepped lunch before leaving- so I plenty of time to cram food into my kids once we got home, and change Zu into her Camera Ready outfit (which the agent's assistant had vaguely told me should be "cute" but "comfortable." Okie doke!)

And here's where I made my rookie error.

I had been told that we could come anytime in the afternoon- but that the audition would definitively end by 3:30pm. At this point it was one o'clock. Now, I know my kids. They nap. A LOT. And they need those naps to be their cheerful, non-destructive selves. But I worried that if Suzy napped, she'd wake up right around 3ish, leaving us no time to jet downtown. So I packed them right into the car and told myself that they'd sleep. I told myself this for about twenty minutes, right until we arrived near P.J.'s office. That's when Nora fell asleep, of course, right before she was going to be dropped off to hang out with her Dad for a few. So we woke her. And she...wasn't thrilled about it. But there was no time to stress about her (because her Dad was totally on it), and besides- Susannah was starting to look a little overly bright and giggly.

We zoomed to the audition and signed in, where we were promptly informed that the baby would need only to be clad in a diaper and onesie. 'Cause the shoot was for a diaper ad. (THAT would've been GOOD INFO TO KNOW. Cute n' comfy, my foot.) Susannah was thrilled to be free of her [really, really cute n' comfy] overall dress and striped tights. Thrilled, that is, until the photographer's assistant came in to get her. Then...we weren't so sure about our purposes in life. (This is the same girl who reached out to be held by a friend of ours whom she'd never even met just this past weekend. Zuzu likes people. She likes to hug them. And give them "pat pat pats." She's no shrinking violet, this one. I had contemplated having Nora do auditions a couple of years back, but when I considered the prospect of momentary parent/baby separation, I realized that it wasn't gonna be Nora's cup o' milk.) But off Susannah went, and I was sure her sunny demeanor would kick back in.

Fun aside: During the time that Susannah was auditioning, a woman came in (dressed to the nines) with her two week-old infant. In a pram. An actual pram. Bundled into a lacy gown, a sweater, a stroller blanket, and other soft fripperies. The assistant informed the woman of the audition dealie and the woman looked horrified. Because she didn't want to wake her baby. Because her baby would need to nurse immediately. And she didn't do that in public. Did they have a separate room for her to use? And she'd rather not undress her infant. And it would be great if no one else would touch the baby or lift her out of her stroller. The assistant looked confused and asked how the woman thought baby auditions worked. The woman replied that she'd be more than happy to, you know, lift the stroller slightly so the photographer could see her baby and take a few pictures...but no touching and no waking. After a few minutes of gentle dealings, the woman took it upon herself to freak out and say that she was leaving, IT WAS TOO HOT IN THE ROOM AND HER BABY WAS ABOUT TO OVERHEAT. (I almost suggested removing one of the seven blankets.)

A few moments later, Zuzu was carried back out. And she looked concerned. I asked how she did, and the smiling assistant said "Great, just great! We only got a few pictures in before she started crying, so we brought her right back out."

And me- awesome parent me- had the first thought of I foisted Nora off on Peej's busy schedule for this? And then came the tandem thoughts of we skipped naps for this/ I am completely exhausted. Nary a thought of my baby's potential overloaditude. So I asked if we could try again in a few minutes. They said sure.

So Zu and I played for a little while, and she was all sunshine and roses...until it was time for her to go back in to audition. She gave the woman A Look. And then she gave me A Look. (And I swear to God she sighed.) But she let the gal carry her back in. A short while later she came back out, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Again, I asked how she did.

"Great! She looked a little confused, but we got a few shots in."

Meaning...those pictures probably weren't any better than the first ones, and most likely reinforced the idea that this kid was not gonna be the one they'd want to work with. I explained that she was just a little tired and was normally so cheerful. The assistant nodded politely, because I'm sure she hadn't heard that a trillion times already that day.

Long story [slightly] short[er], I drove home, cross at myself for messing up our schedules and paying the price in the form of two very crabby and exhausted kids. With absolutely nothing to show for it except for a husband who had had to hold off on actual work for a little longer than expected.

But both girls woke up right as rain this morning. And Suzy seems to have forgiven me. And we even commiserated about bad auditions. I told her about the one where I had to be attacked by a hamburger. She smiled at that one.

She really is a pretty good actress.