I told Elsa this morning that she had two very important jobs for the morning: 1. Be cute. 2. Be quiet.
Today was a special day for her and we didn’t want it to be ruined by anyone saying something like: “Children should be seen and not heard.” Or, worse, “Children should neither be seen nor heard. Especially that one.”
Of course Elsa had no problem with either of those jobs because cute and quiet is her specialty. And so I would say that blessing day went off without a hitch.
Well, except that I knew she was going to either have a blowout or spit up on her dress. It has to happen, you know it does. Even though she rarely spits up and her diapers have been completely manageable for at least a week. And I was right. She did spit up on the dress, but it survived and is no worse for the wear.
And yes, I made the dress. It’s cute, yes, I will admit that. But not as cute as the girl and I made that too.
Micah was offered a job this week and after some negotiating, we decided to take it. He starts next week.
Those are the bare bones of the news.
If you like the fleshy parts of stories, I will tell you this: It’s been 9 months since Micah has been employed in the traditional sense. During that time he was able to work a lot on some personal projects, start his own business, learn a lot about user experience/user interface design, and work for/with some developers for the mobile market.
One of the benefits of having worked with several different companies over the past nine months is that he had the chance to get to know the people he will be working with quite a bit before he actually committed to them. He really likes the people at his new job, which, as you can imagine, is terribly important to him. I am glad he has a high opinion of his boss/co-workers and feels that he can get along well with them.
Our end goal is still to have Micah working from home, but not necessarily as a freelancer. He’d really like to build his own business, develop his own products, and take them to market. At this point, it seems as though the best way to do that is to go back to work full-time, at least for a little while.
We are looking forward to a little bit more structure in our lives. The structure of a predictable paycheck will be nice, of course, but also having a reason to get up at ready in the morning, a definite time to have dinner by, that sort of thing. And we hope that by grouping his 40 hours of work into predictable chunks, he’ll be better able to use his spare time to work on his personal projects.
So that is that. We are both excited and a little bit anxious to see how this goes.
I’m just coming to realize what a wonderful baby Elsa is. She’s super chill. Doesn’t cry much. Sleeps a lot. In fact, she’s been sleeping from the time we go to bed until 6:00 or 6:30 for the past week and a half. I have only myself to blame for how tired I am.
She’s quite patient with her brothers, one of whom likes to get right in her face to give her hugs and kisses, and the other of whom has been guilty of throwing balls that land in her basket as she’s lying in it.
We’ve enjoyed coming up with fun outfits for her to wear and styling her hair and generally doing whatever we can think of that is stereotypically girly. She hasn’t complained about it one bit.
She’s looking quite chubby these days. Last time I took her to the doctor he said she’d gone from being a skinny baby to being a thin baby. I think she’s probably gone from being a thin baby to being average. That’s my guess, but I haven’t measured or weighed her so I don’t really know.
It’s pretty easy to want to hold her all day long just because she’s so chill. She doesn’t scream or squirm much, but she does seem to get a little lonely sometimes if she senses no one is close by and she’ll let us know she’d like to be in on the action.
Her chin seems to be her defining feature. It is so small and round, like a marble. It quivers like a leaf in the breeze. Her round cheeks hang down around it and make it look even smaller and more delicate than it probably is.
And her eyes. Still the color of denim. I can’t imagine they will stay that way, but it is a fun fantasy. I’m looking forward to seeing how they develop over the next several months.
She’s cute. In a very “this is exactly what a baby is supposed to look like” kind of way. We often tell her so. But we also tell her that it won’t be too long before she’s cute because she actually is cute, and not simply because she has a round head and round eyes and a round nose and mouth (and chin).
We like her cuteness, but we like her more because she’s such good company. Not demanding, happy to just sit and observe, happy to be there amidst all the action. She fits right in.
I’m sure none of you have forgotten about the Name Game we like to play when naming our children. I’m sure none of you have been checking this blog for the results every single day for two months. But even if you have, rest assured, it’s been on my mind, too. And we finally managed to score all the entries. Phew! It was a job.
But it’s over now, and without further ado, let me announce the winner: John Larsen of Brooklyn, New York. John and his family have been great friends of ours since they moved here 4 years ago. I am happy to make John (and his family) a batch of delicious cookies.
And since I know some of you are wondering, I’ll give some honorable mentions as well.
Lindsay Batty, also of Brooklyn,came in second.
Abby Blackhurst of Harlem, New York was a close third.
And Jodie Heiselt of Louisville, Kentucky came in fourth.
Thanks, all ya’ll for playing. ‘Til next time . . . if there is a next time . . . .
Simon’s not in school, but Oliver is! Two days a week he’ll go to a friend’s house to learn another letter of the alphabet, sing songs, read stories, move around, and do a craft. Or something like that. He’ll also eat lunch, which means he needs a note from Mom:
His first day went great, although he was really concerned about whether or not other people have bathrooms that he can use, and stools to stand on when he needs to go. He also was very curious about who was going to pick him afterward. (Me, that’s who.)
He came home with a toy ice cream truck that he borrowed. Apparently, borrowing is all the rage at joy school these days. The poor girl who hosted this week had to lend out her best toys to her classmates. But she’ll get her turn to borrow too . . . we’ll be hosting in 4 weeks. Looking forward to it! Kind of!
In case you hadn’t heard . . . I got into the Boston Marathon! Barring illness or injury, I’ll be running it April 15, 2013.
Just like last time, I went from wanting to clone my 2-year-old to wanting to put him up for adoption pretty much overnight – the night Elsa was born.
It’s true. I love love love 2-year-olds. Until the moment they become big brothers. And then can’t they just be in school already?
We knew Oliver would need some special attention when Elsa was born, and we tried to keep things as “normal” as we could for him. But it seems as though he changed over night. We thought if we kept our laps open for our cuddly boy to come sit in, he’d be fine. We thought if we had arms available for hugs after naptime, he’d be fine. We thought if we had ways for him to be “helpful” he’d be fine.
We thought wrong.
Because he didn’t want to cuddle any more. He didn’t need a hug after bedtime. And his idea of being helpful have drastically changed in a very short time.
For example: he used to be helpful by doing things we asked him to do. Often he would even see things that needed to be done and take care of it. But now he tries to be helpful by doing things we ask him not to do. Like get the peanuts out of the cupboard.
“Can I have some peanuts for a snack” he’ll say.
“Okay, I’ll get them down after I finish feeding Elsa.”
But he’s got a chair and a sly smile and the will to do it himself, even after I’ve asked him not to climb on the counter to get into the cupboard. It’s good to know he can do it himself, and he can do it safely, but he was still disobedient and he knew it.
Tricky little beast. Helpful, and yet not.
It’s been a bit of a challenge to get to know this new Oliver and to not try to make him be the Oliver we used to know. But we’ll get there. This new Oliver is nearly potty-trained. He starts pre-pre-school tomorrow. He can ride his balance bike for over two miles. And he turns 3 next month. He’s not my baby any more, and he knows it. And that’s a good thing.
A friend of a friend needed some cute little boys to model her clothing line. And since this has been a semi-serious dream of ours since Simon was born, we decided we should take advantage of the opportunity to achieve the dream and then set it aside.
We took the boys to a casting call last week and after seeing them in front of the camera, we were sure they would not be called back. We had a great time watching them lift up their shirts and fall all over themselves trying to stand still, but we thought they were probably not the right fit for the job.
So we were more than a little surprised when we got called back for the real deal. We took them in yesterday and had a fabulous time. It was awesome to see the boys looking so sharp in really nice looking clothes (even with their shaggy hair).
The photos will be up on the website in a couple of weeks, and I’ll be sure to let it be known when they are, but until then, here’s a bit of a sneak peek:
The thing that is hard about raising Simon is remembering his age. Right now he is 5 years old. He’s a 5-year-old. Kindergarten-age. Where they eat glue and wet their pants because they are afraid to ask to go to the bathroom (if they are in school).
But it gets confusing when the kid who cannot tell which side of his shirt is the front and which is the back is also saying things like, “Now, how many seconds are in an hour? Sixty times sixty? So three thousand six hundred? Oh, yes, that is right.” (<—-True story.)
So you see where the difficulty lies. We don’t know how much credit to give him. Is he really capable of giving people accurate directions? He has the whole subway map memorized . . . . But then, do you want to trust someone whose idea of humor is saying things like, “The sky is . . . RED!”?
Yeah, probably not.
That’s where we’re at these days with that kid. He’s 5. Except for when he’s 50. And it’s a little bit difficult to reconcile the two.
What little girl wouldn’t love to play cars and airplanes and trains and bouncy balls with her big brothers?
Right . . . ?