Lord Humongous

Well, I did it. I bought bows. They're bigger than I thought they'd be when I ordered them - I was sort of planning to start out slow with a "Oh, there's a bit of lint in her hair" look - but heaven help me, I like them anyway. I ... can't help myself.

And, just for fun ...


Phil has just started speaking to me again. But I think if he decides to go off to work and leave me on my own and "in charge," he's just asking for it.

My girl is growing up so fast. She's started wearing the little duck wambones her brother wore a few years ago ... snif. He was a wee bit older, though, sitting up and all, so I'll be interested to see Elsbeth's measurements come her 6 month appointment.

Els sportin' the ducks at 5 months

Andrew at about 7 months

To continue our journey down memory lane, we borrowed the Intellitainer from the Peasmacks once again. She totally digs it, as did her brother. And check out her sweet leggings! I saw my friend Christi's little girl in some a few months ago and thought they were so cute, and such a good idea! Just pop them on ... you've got warm legs, no need to remove to change a diaper, and all the while you've made quite a stellar fashion statment. I found myself wondering where these were back when Andrew was a baby, but I guess even covered in trucks or puppy dogs they'd be a smidge girly. (And I'm violently opposed to girly things on little boys.)

And we got a fun, if very quick, visit from Nannie and Aunt Sallie to brighten our Monday!

Fortunately we'll get some more Nannie time at the end of this week, and we'll get to see Aunt Sallie again in a couple weeks.

As I type, Phil has one football game being projected onto a sheet hung over our fireplace (fancy equipment from work) and another on the TV right next to it. He's threatened to start streaming another one on my computer and also bring up the tiny TV from the basement for game #4. I feel I've been sufficiently punished for the whole bow thing, don't you?

I Am The Chief, So Everybody Hail Like Crazy

We enjoyed a glorious visit from Nina and Pa this weekend. Things got a little crazy, as they are wont to do when Nina's around.

My playgroup met yesterday at the playground of a local Catholic church, and on my way I noticed a sign listing times to go for confession. I've been thinking about it ever since. To me going to confession sounds like something only done in movies or books, but people go in real life. Apparently.

I'm going to have to chat with my Catholic friends since, for the life of me, I can't figure out what it's supposed to accomplish (unless I'd, say, previously thrown a stink bomb into the little box with the priest in it, then I admit it would be quite appropriate for me to be in attendance). But until I can locate Brooke and Dave's e-mail address, I thought I'd try out some confession here to see if it enlightens me. This is just an experiment and thus I declare that none of this information can be used against me in any form or fashion.

1. I hate women's retreats. There, I've said it. Whew! You know, I DO feel better.

I'm basing this vast judgement of all women's retreats everywhere on my personal experience of having attended, hmmmm, maybe 2 retreats in my whole life, and those many years ago. And if you're reading this and you actually attended one of these conferences with me, please be assured that it wasn't your company that sent me to the dark side. It's the toxic levels of estrogen in the air.

Cutesy gift baskets in the hotel rooms are nice. Bow-bedecked tables laden with books like "Quieting the Demons in My Ovaries" and "Pray Away Your Cellulite" I can deal with. The manicured snipers positioned and ready to take you out if they sense you might not cry while listening to the speaker ... that's when I run away. Maybe you could get a pass if you teared up during the music. I don't know. But I think for it to be considered a truly successful event, clumps of women clutching mascara-laden tissues have to hug each other all the way to the parking lot, promise to hold each other accountable, then make plans to stop by the outlet mall on their way home to shop for Capri pants.

I don't think I'm manly ... am I? I mean, I can chat it up about childbirth and crock pot recipes with the best of them. I love Jane Austin and perfumed lotion and am currently crocheting a baby blanket. The whole thing might benefit from a couple of dudes on the panel - that's all I'm sayin'.

2. I once fixed a cup of tea for Phil and used breast milk instead of cream to see if he'd notice. He didn't.

Nina was determined Elsbeth had to have a turn on a slide. She loved it.

3. For a time while I was in high school, I kept a framed picture of Jonathon Brandis (torn from a magazine) on my desk. I know, your first thought is, "Hey, I did that, too! In THIRD GRADE." Yes, you see, that's why this is a confession and not just a bit of random information about me. Your second thought, "Who the heck is Jonathon Brandis?" I thought he was cute, so sue me. And it wasn't like I was dating a whole lot through high school (and by "a whole lot" I mean "ever"), so the day dreams had to suffice. Aren't y'all glad Phil took pity on me?

Els forgiving Nina for the whole slide incident.

4. I have named my baby fat tummy flap "Kat Von D" after the tattoo artist on the show "LA Ink." I have this compulsion to name everything, I think Kat Von D is a super cool name, and it's nice to imagine the fat flap is something separate from myself. I think Phil is a little disturbed by how often conversation includes her, as in, "Kat Von D is starving and really needs a big bowl of ice cream" or "Kat Von D hates those pants 'cause they pinch her face." He asked the other day how long Kat Von D would be staying with us. I think she was a little hurt.

5. Yesterday I poured myself a glass of milk, then a while later when I went to pour some for Andrew, I couldn't find the carton. This morning I discovered it neatly tucked away inside one of my kitchen cabinets. I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing people find themselves doing just before they're diagnosed with a bad case of dementia.

6. I currently have a mild-to-moderate crush on Zac Efron. This means that though I do not have a photo of him framed anywhere in the house, I would most certainly make a gigantic fool of myself if I happened upon him in real life. Phil had made big fun of me and cruelly intimated that I could be his mother (which I couldn't ... I don't think), and really I don't think he can talk since he has had a mild-to-moderate crush on Katie Couric for years, and she could totally be his mother.

Cozy with her Pa

7. I once accidentally took a naked picture of Phil and didn't realize it until after I had it developed. It was during our first year of marriage and I was trying to take some daily life photos of us around our first apartment. There was a strategically placed mirror that I hadn't considered .... This was pre-digital, so I actually had to go to CVS and drop the film off, and when I went to pick it up, I was assisted by a girl who had recently begun attending our college group at church. She was very chatty (and smiley) when handing over my pictures and made sure to mention details about several of them as she had done the developing herself. It was quite a moment for me, standing it the kitchen alone sifting through my cute newlywed snapshots when I saw it. I clung to the hope that it wasn't too obvious, that perhaps no one but me would have ever noticed, so I left it out on the counter. My hopes were dashed when Phil got in from class, picked up the print, and said with a horror-tinged voice, "You took a naked picture of me?!"

That's all I've got for now. How cleansing! Gotta go now - Kat Von D has requested some peach cobbler before she hits the sack.

The Story Earned Her Ten Minutes In The Uncooperative Chair

Oh my sweet Nib. She and I have had quite a week, and it's only Wednesday. Phil and I finally decided we were going to have to let her cry some and figure out how to fall back asleep on her own, but it's been painful. Look at that face! How do you let a face like that feel sad? Only out of desperation, I tell you.

We were going backwards in the sleep department. Quickly. The swing didn't work anymore, and I was spending all evening running back upstairs (often after only a couple minutes) to try to rock her back to sleep. And she started waking up more at night. Doing the same thing during naps. Poor Precious, constantly being left downstairs to do the mending and baking and generally looking after things while I tried to get her to sleep.

I think the kicker was when we had a guest over on Saturday night - a lovely, single college professor - and over and over I kept abandoning the table. I'd come back downstairs all disheveled and find Tovah and Phil discussing absurd things like Aristotle, Descartes and metaphysics. Now let's be honest, all the sleep and calm in the world aren't going to provide me any contribution to a conversation on metaphysics. Ever. But there would be a pause in the discussion and I'd find myself smiling blankly and saying (a little too loudly), "I like pie!" Something had to be done.


So we've been working really hard on this. Last night I rocked her to sleep, she woke up shortly after (which has been her way) but only for about 30 minutes, the she fell back asleep and only got up once to eat the whole night. THEN she took 2 fabulous naps with nary a tear. I was dancing through the streets naked (can you believe you missed it, Erin?) ... then tonight she had a terrible time getting back down to sleep. I was in the depths of despair. Now that it's been nice and quiet for bit, and I've peeked in at her and seen that she's sleeping comfortably, I'm feeling better. Oh, may there be no crying tomorrow!

The Precious has actually been handling all the attention his sister's been getting very well. Today I left him at the table with his art supplies while I fed her and attempted to get her to laugh on video (I'll keep trying).


It could have been lots worse, though his hands are stained green and I'm not sure why.

A couple days ago we had a great rain storm in the middle of the day while Elsbeth was actually asleep, so I let him run around in it for a while. He loved watching the water flow down the gutters along the street, telling me how it was headed for a storm drain. (He loves storm drains.)


We had a really fun family outing on Saturday to Centennial Olympic Park. I thought he'd love the giant spurting fountain you can run around in, but he preferred to stand back and watch. He did love the amazing playground they have there. One of several, I think. Look at this awesome slide! And riding the Marta train is always an adventure.


And just this afternoon I decided to take the kiddos for a walk to take in some of the fabulous cooler air. I put Elsbeth in the Moby, Andrew in the jogger and Shiloh on the leash. I was quite a sight. I wanted to capture Nibblet's cuteness all front-facing in the wrap with her darling hat on, so I asked Andrew to take a picture of us. I thought he did pretty well!


Ugh. I look like ... I don't know ... the Ghost of Christmas Pudding. Yikes. Get that girl some celery and a tan! And a hair dryer! Oh well. I did have brushed teeth and deodorant on, so we'll just be happy with that.