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Month: April 2010

I hope we’re able to laugh about this someday.

I hope we’re able to laugh about this someday.

Institute today went something like this: opening prayer, Simon needs some juice, spiritual thought, Oliver needs to nurse (insert battle with the nursing cover/Oliver/clothing), taking turns reading scriptures, Oliver needs to burp, discussion of miracles, Simon needs to use the potty, talk about how Moroni must have felt as the last surviving Nephite, Simon runs straight into a chair and jabs his ribs, I try to console him, Oliver gets upset that I’m not within his sight, I sit on the floor with both crying boys in my lap while the other member of the class shares some great insight (it was lost to me amidst the screaming), the boys calm down, we talk about hope as the knot in the end of the rope that keeps us hanging on when we’ve almost lost it, the class ends, I try to fill out the end-of-semester evaluation, Simon needs to use the potty (again), we say a prayer and partake of the refreshments (which Simon has been snacking away on the whole time), and then head out to catch the train.

Catching the train went like this: go through the turnstile, a train is coming, it’s a G train, but we don’t get there before the doors close, some cops need to get on, so the doors open and we get on too, but Simon wants to take the F train, he whines for 2 stops, we get off to transfer, we wait for a C train, an A train comes, we wait some more, another A train comes, we wait some more and a C train comes, but so does an announcement that the train is running express and will skip our stop, I am tired of waiting and tell Simon we’re going to have to walk from the express stop, then there’s another announcement that a local C train is right behind, so I change my mind, we get off and wait for it, Simon has his heart set on getting off at the express stop, he whines and cries the whole way home, stopping to to sit in the middle of the sidewalk, waving his bag with a muffin and bagel in it until they both ended up on the ground and I have to throw them away. More tears, more yelling. My grip on the knot in the end of my rope is slipping.

The rest of the day went like this: we get home, Simon wants juice (I say no), Simon wants milk (I say no), Simon sits in the refrigerator crying, I go in the living room and tell him to come to me when he stops crying, he comes in and sticks his finger down Oliver’s throat, I just about freak out, we read Wee Gillis, we have have lunch (yogurt for Simon, salad for me), Simon goes to bed, my grip on the rope has stabilized, Oliver eats, Oliver goes to bed, I eat a handful of chocolate chips, I work on a 90-minute shirt for Oliver, I watch some tv on hulu while I sew, I eat a handful of chocolate chips, Oliver wakes up, Simon wakes up, we get ready to go running, I chop up the veggies for dinner (crepes filled with zucchini, mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, and cheese), we run 6.2 miles and meet up with Micah, I’m climbing back up the rope, we come home, I feed Oliver, Micah makes the crepes, I cook the veggies, we eat, I head out the door (by myself!!!), take the train to book club, spend the evening chatting about A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, head home, pick up some Nutella and ice cream on the way, devour some crepes with Nutella and ice cream while chatting with Micah, I feel sane again. The knot has done its job.

I hope we're able to laugh about this someday.

I hope we're able to laugh about this someday.

Institute today went something like this: opening prayer, Simon needs some juice, spiritual thought, Oliver needs to nurse (insert battle with the nursing cover/Oliver/clothing), taking turns reading scriptures, Oliver needs to burp, discussion of miracles, Simon needs to use the potty, talk about how Moroni must have felt as the last surviving Nephite, Simon runs straight into a chair and jabs his ribs, I try to console him, Oliver gets upset that I’m not within his sight, I sit on the floor with both crying boys in my lap while the other member of the class shares some great insight (it was lost to me amidst the screaming), the boys calm down, we talk about hope as the knot in the end of the rope that keeps us hanging on when we’ve almost lost it, the class ends, I try to fill out the end-of-semester evaluation, Simon needs to use the potty (again), we say a prayer and partake of the refreshments (which Simon has been snacking away on the whole time), and then head out to catch the train.

Catching the train went like this: go through the turnstile, a train is coming, it’s a G train, but we don’t get there before the doors close, some cops need to get on, so the doors open and we get on too, but Simon wants to take the F train, he whines for 2 stops, we get off to transfer, we wait for a C train, an A train comes, we wait some more, another A train comes, we wait some more and a C train comes, but so does an announcement that the train is running express and will skip our stop, I am tired of waiting and tell Simon we’re going to have to walk from the express stop, then there’s another announcement that a local C train is right behind, so I change my mind, we get off and wait for it, Simon has his heart set on getting off at the express stop, he whines and cries the whole way home, stopping to to sit in the middle of the sidewalk, waving his bag with a muffin and bagel in it until they both ended up on the ground and I have to throw them away. More tears, more yelling. My grip on the knot in the end of my rope is slipping.

The rest of the day went like this: we get home, Simon wants juice (I say no), Simon wants milk (I say no), Simon sits in the refrigerator crying, I go in the living room and tell him to come to me when he stops crying, he comes in and sticks his finger down Oliver’s throat, I just about freak out, we read Wee Gillis, we have have lunch (yogurt for Simon, salad for me), Simon goes to bed, my grip on the rope has stabilized, Oliver eats, Oliver goes to bed, I eat a handful of chocolate chips, I work on a 90-minute shirt for Oliver, I watch some tv on hulu while I sew, I eat a handful of chocolate chips, Oliver wakes up, Simon wakes up, we get ready to go running, I chop up the veggies for dinner (crepes filled with zucchini, mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, and cheese), we run 6.2 miles and meet up with Micah, I’m climbing back up the rope, we come home, I feed Oliver, Micah makes the crepes, I cook the veggies, we eat, I head out the door (by myself!!!), take the train to book club, spend the evening chatting about A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, head home, pick up some Nutella and ice cream on the way, devour some crepes with Nutella and ice cream while chatting with Micah, I feel sane again. The knot has done its job.

Just so you know I’m not totally incompetent.

Just so you know I’m not totally incompetent.

At least when it comes to making homemade patterns and sewing things from them. Of course, pants are much easier, much more forgiving, and I’ve made several pairs of pants in my life. But still, I think it is a bit of an accomplishment to have done it with a pattern I made and to have done it in less than one naptime. (Measuring things in naptimes is becoming my new favorite thing.) The most difficult part of the process was stealing the elastic for the waistband from another pair of pants. Plus, Oliver makes them look sooo good, don’t you think? And so what if the legs are about 3 inches too long? He could grow 3 inches in 2 weeks, right?

Just so you know I'm not totally incompetent.

Just so you know I'm not totally incompetent.

At least when it comes to making homemade patterns and sewing things from them. Of course, pants are much easier, much more forgiving, and I’ve made several pairs of pants in my life. But still, I think it is a bit of an accomplishment to have done it with a pattern I made and to have done it in less than one naptime. (Measuring things in naptimes is becoming my new favorite thing.) The most difficult part of the process was stealing the elastic for the waistband from another pair of pants. Plus, Oliver makes them look sooo good, don’t you think? And so what if the legs are about 3 inches too long? He could grow 3 inches in 2 weeks, right?

I’ll get it if it kills me.

I’ll get it if it kills me.

I worked on the blasted shirt a little bit more last night. And again this morning. Don’t ask me how demoralizing it is that I’ve now been working on this thing for three days and it still isn’t perfect. Nope, not perfect. But it is okay. Much better than before. It’s just the left sleeve/neckline that is giving me issues. I will fix it. And then I will perfect the pattern. And then I will make a 90-minute shirt in 90 minutes. And then I will cry with joy. And blog about that as well.Don’t you worry, I had to bribe the boy to put the shirt on and then bribe him again to stay still and smile for the camera. He tells me he never wants to wear it anyway, so it really doesn’t even matter that it looks so funny.

I'll get it if it kills me.

I'll get it if it kills me.

I worked on the blasted shirt a little bit more last night. And again this morning. Don’t ask me how demoralizing it is that I’ve now been working on this thing for three days and it still isn’t perfect. Nope, not perfect. But it is okay. Much better than before. It’s just the left sleeve/neckline that is giving me issues. I will fix it. And then I will perfect the pattern. And then I will make a 90-minute shirt in 90 minutes. And then I will cry with joy. And blog about that as well.Don’t you worry, I had to bribe the boy to put the shirt on and then bribe him again to stay still and smile for the camera. He tells me he never wants to wear it anyway, so it really doesn’t even matter that it looks so funny.

Dear Jodie,

Dear Jodie,

Please come to NYC to teach me to make patterns so that I, too, can sew my boys some adorable envelope shirts. Believe me, I tried to do it on my own. But after spending the equivalent of two naptimes on the supposed 90 minute project, with multiple unpickings and alterations and nothing wearable to show for it, I’m willing to admit that I need help.

Apparently, I stink at pattern-making.

love,
lizzie.

ps Bring chocolate. Please. Dark is good. No nuts. Please. Thank you.

He’s three.

He’s three.

Over the past few days our kitchen floor has developed a light dusting of red along with some nice red splotches. I’m sure they’ll come up when I mop, but who has time to mop when their eldest child is turning three? Not I. There was cake to be baked, food to prepare, presents to wrap (and, in one case, spray paint — hence the red dust on the kitchen floor), a party to plan. And then, of course, there was the actual celebration of the birth of the most fantastic 3-year-old currently on the face of the earth. How do you celebrate such a momentous occasion? With lots of red, it turns out. And balloons. We thought it wouldn’t be a real party without balloons, and it turns out that the party actually was the balloons, as 5 children ages 5 and under demonstrated for us. I would love to document every moment, from loading up our stroller as if it were an SUV to asking random people at the park if they had a lighter for the candles (no luck), but it just can’t be done. Nor is there enough room for the 170ish pictures we took throughout the day (excessive? maybe — but he only turns 3 once, and it’s hard to get good pictures of such wiggly children).
Even with the wind and the cold and the threat of rain, we had a great time. Of course. Because what could be more fun than celebrating Simon? And we know he is indeed three because despite all the effort we put into the cake and the party and getting the right gifts and everything else, the thing that excited Simon most — that caught his attention and wouldn’t let it go — was a tape measure in the shape of a dinosaur.Someday, 50 years from now, he’ll appreciate everything we’ve done for him.

He's three.

He's three.

Over the past few days our kitchen floor has developed a light dusting of red along with some nice red splotches. I’m sure they’ll come up when I mop, but who has time to mop when their eldest child is turning three? Not I. There was cake to be baked, food to prepare, presents to wrap (and, in one case, spray paint — hence the red dust on the kitchen floor), a party to plan. And then, of course, there was the actual celebration of the birth of the most fantastic 3-year-old currently on the face of the earth. How do you celebrate such a momentous occasion? With lots of red, it turns out. And balloons. We thought it wouldn’t be a real party without balloons, and it turns out that the party actually was the balloons, as 5 children ages 5 and under demonstrated for us. I would love to document every moment, from loading up our stroller as if it were an SUV to asking random people at the park if they had a lighter for the candles (no luck), but it just can’t be done. Nor is there enough room for the 170ish pictures we took throughout the day (excessive? maybe — but he only turns 3 once, and it’s hard to get good pictures of such wiggly children).
Even with the wind and the cold and the threat of rain, we had a great time. Of course. Because what could be more fun than celebrating Simon? And we know he is indeed three because despite all the effort we put into the cake and the party and getting the right gifts and everything else, the thing that excited Simon most — that caught his attention and wouldn’t let it go — was a tape measure in the shape of a dinosaur.Someday, 50 years from now, he’ll appreciate everything we’ve done for him.

Easterishness. Better late than never?

Easterishness. Better late than never?

So, a week and a half has passed and Simon is still requesting we hide some eggs so he can find them. And when he says eggs, he means candy. (He is unaware that we still have some of his Halloween stashed away just waiting for him to find it so that we have a reason to throw it away already.) We had a great time with the egg hunt, mostly because it didn’t occur to the boy that he could find all the eggs at once and then have a big ol’ pile of candy. So the Easter egg hunt lasted late into the evening — or even Monday morning — as he would find one, pop it open, shovel the contents into his mouth, and forget about finding any more. Actually, he was more than generous about sharing his loot with his loving parents, and really really wanted to share with his brother too. I’m sure Oliver will one day love m&ms, but today is not that day. We loved asking him to go see if he could find some book or ingredient and then have him come back jumping for joy with another egg in his hand, jellybean juice dripping down his chin. We’re so sly.
We didn’t do all candy eggs, of course. We also did hard-boiled, dyed with onion skins. After he found the first one, he ran to the kitchen, got himself a spoon and assumed the roll of Lola in “I’m Really Really Really Concentrating.” It wasn’t until all of the hard-boiled eggs were severely cracked that he finally put the egg-and-spoon-race to rest. We enjoyed it while it lasted.